Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 95311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
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It was lucky for Hannah that she knew a thing or two about how to cut back. She had grown up with a thrifty mom and with the recent shortage of cash flow, she put her imagination to good use. She had even taken to grabbing the pile of newspaper on the curb before they went out to recycling so she could use them as the bedding for her guinea pig, Ricky's, cage.
After laying the fresh bedding in the cage, she chased the screeching guinea pig around her apartment floor, marveling at how quickly such little things like them could run.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror, her black hair pulled up into a messy bun, her gray eyes, the absurd high cheekbones that hinted at Native American ancestry but were in complete contrast to her pale British-like skin. She was getting a bit thin, she realized with a closer look. In general, she was a size six on a good day, and a size eight in the winter when layers and bulky sweaters were more forgiving of an extra doughnut or two. But joblessness had eliminated take-out food and she generally chose to walk everywhere to save on gas money.
She had just put Ricky away when her cell phone let out a shrill ring.
Her heart always leapt into her throat when the phone rang lately. Which usually proved pointless because the other end of the phone was typically her worried mother or a bill collector hellbent on making her lie and say their check was already in the mail.
"Hello," she said somewhat unenthusiastically into the receiver.
"Hannah Clary, please," came the high-pitched and clipped female voice on the phone, reminding Hannah of her sixth grade troll of a math teacher.
"This is she. Who may I ask is calling?"
"This is Sally from EM Corporation. I am calling with regard to your resume. I was wondering if you would be able to come in for an interview."
Hannah felt her heart thrum against her rib cage. "Yes. Yes, absolutely," she couldn't help but to say whilst chiding herself for sounding too eager, too desperate.
"Will tomorrow at nine sharp work for you?" Sally asked and Hannah could hear the clicking of computer keys as Sally, presumably, multi-tasked.
"Of course."
"Nine sharp," Sally said again, firmly, and hung up the phone.
"And a nice day to you too," Hannah murmured at the silence of the dropped call.
Ten minutes later, she sat with her hands on her knees staring at her phone. She wasn't about to let herself get too excited about it. That had only ever left her devastated in the past. Just because she got an interview did not mean she would get the job. But, gosh, how amazing would that be? It didn't even have to pay that well. It just had to pay... something. Something would be more than she would be getting in a few weeks when her unemployment was over.
With a deep inhale of breath, she went over to her closet to pick out her most professional yet, at the same time, most practical work attire. High heels would look great, of course, but they would imply she wouldn't be able to be on her feet all day if necessary. High necks were a must, no middle-aged female interviewer would want to see some twenty something's gravity-defying chest. No skirts. Same rule goes for the legs when it came to women. She didn't want to come off slutty or like she was, in any way, competition. In the end, she chose black slacks, an emerald green sweater, and black ballet flats. Professional, yet casual. She didn't want to look like she was trying too hard.
She spent hours asking herself interview questions and coming up with clear, professional answers that showed her in the best light. Confident and competent without seeming cocky or unwilling to learn.
There was no lying to herself. This interview would be much more demanding than the ones she had had at small doctor's offices or at the deli in her neighborhood. These people were clear professionals.
You probably needed a masters degree to scrub their toilets.
And she knew that, for once, her youth would be more of a downfall than an asset. She clearly could not compete with someone who had been working in the field for twenty years. There was no way a resume with only maybe one full year of office work would be considered over a more seasoned candidate unless she brought her A-game to this interview.
She felt her nervous energy like electricity just under her skin. She painted her nails. Then she repainted them a more dull color. She arranged her makeup and brushes over her bathroom counter for the morning. She printed out directions and placed them next to her keys. She hung her outfit in the shower after ironing the pants three times to get the cleanest lines she could manage. She set her coffee pot to start brewing at five-thirty in the morning. Then she set her alarm clock for five minutes after that. According to the directions, it would only take her ten minutes to get to EM Corporation, but she decided to allot herself three hours to go through her morning routine. Even though it rarely ever took an hour.