Written - A Flash Fiction Trilogy

Shut Up and Get The Job

It's best not to know a big moment is happening in your life as it's happening. At least, that's what I always try to tell myself. But some moments are significant, and you know it. As my foot tapped the bus floor while Deson buzzed by the window, I knew this was a big moment. All the years of school had led to this interview, and if I blew it, I didn't know where my life would spiral. This was the newspaper I had wanted to work at since I could barely read. Not only had I loved the Deson Chronicle, but landing a job there would mean I could stay in my home city. All the pressure was ebbing through my body, causing my stomach to churn with panic.

When the bus glided to rest at my stop, I stumbled my way down the aisle, muttering apologies for my inability to exit gracefully. Each misstep of my feet and errant elbow to a poor unsuspecting passenger chipped away at my confidence. When I hit the pavement, the thick humid air of the summer afternoon swirled around me, pulling a sheen of sweat across my body. Instinctively, my hand tugged and tucked at my new suit, trying to find some relief from the mental and physical boiling that was now taking over me.

"Excuse me," the older woman's voice came in a soothing hum. "I believe you dropped this."

She thrust a notebook in my hand, and unconsciously my fingers wrapped around the cardboard cover. My eyes fell to it, but my mind was still in the throes of deep anxiety. I stared at the standard composition notebook for five painful heart pounds before realizing that, while the notebook was familiar, it was not mine.

"No, I'm sorry, this isn't..." but as my eyes lifted to correct the woman, she was gone. In my delay, she had made it halfway down the block. I was already far too late to catch up to her. Instead, I shoved the notebook in my bag and headed to my interview. My mind forgot the pad as quickly as a passing cloud.

"I bombed," I announced as I slid onto a stool next to Amanda, my best friend.

"Carly, you always do this. I'm sure you crushed it!" Amanda's confidence was rubbing against my negativity, edging me closer and closer to anger.

"Not this time; I stammered, stuttered, and spoke in circles. If they have a wall of shame for interviewees, I have claimed my spot," I lamented.

"Ugh, you need to stop being so pessimistic. This is your dream job. Put out good vibes," Amanda pleaded.

"Is there where you pull out a crystal or something and tell me that if I hold it and spin around three times, all my dreams will come true?"

"Um, no; this is where I tell you to take a breath and focus on getting this job." My annoyance spread to Amanda fast, and my eye roll only exacerbated it. "Seriously, find a pen and paper in that bottomless pit of a purse and write 'I will get this job' three times," Amanda demanded.

"I don't carry paper around with me," I complained.

"I don't care. Use a receipt or something. No drink until you write it down and change your mood!"

"You're annoying and ridiculous," I grumbled as I grabbed my bag, expecting an extended pawing to find a receipt at the bottom.

"Thank you; I'll take that as a compliment," Amanda shot back triumphantly.

"Oh, right," I said as I pulled the notebook from my bag.

"Really? You don't carry paper with you?"

"I don't usually. This woman thought I dropped it on the bus this morning, and by the time I realized it wasn't mine, she was gone."

"See, the universe is speaking to you. It knew you'd need paper to document all your positive thoughts!"

"Uh-huh, I think the universe overestimated the number of positive thoughts I have. Maybe if it had brought me to a sticky pad," I joked, but Amanda didn't receive it well.

"Carly Snow, open that notebook and write that you will get this job six times!" Amanda demanded again.

"You said three!" I protested.

"I doubled it because of your poor attitude! Turn it around, or you'll be writing all night!"

"Fine, fine," I whined as I opened the notebook and scribbled the words.

Amanda was right; as I wrote, 'I will get this job' a few times, it felt like more of a possibility. By the time I got to line six, I felt like I had a chance, but I wouldn't admit it to her!

"You feel better, don't you?" Amanda could tell by the weight lifted that I did; she didn't need the satisfaction of me confirming it.

"I feel like I need a drink," I diverted.

As I pined away, waiting for a call from the newspaper the next day, I nearly forgot the notebook. It wasn't until I looked for my lip balm that I eyed the book again. I pulled it out and read over the repeated lines, chanting them in my head. I was so focused on the words that I missed my phone buzz. Nearly a half-hour later, I noticed the voicemail.

My finger shook as I tapped play.

"Hello, this message is for Carly Snow. Carly, this is Gloria Brown from the Deson Chronicle. I wanted to say how much we enjoyed speaking with you yesterday. We would love to discuss an offer for you to join us. Please call me back so we can discuss details."

A squeal burst from my lips in excitement as I ripped the page from the notebook and stuck it to my fridge. I had gotten my dream job.