Eden Can Wait

Chapter Three: We Expect a Very Strong Commitment

I sat down. The chair was cold and hardly comfortable.

“Thank you for coming to this interview,” said the bearded man. “We have some questions we’d like to ask you and, undoubtedly, you have some questions you'd like to ask us. We’ll start with ours and then will get to yours.”

Long or not, the conversation was clearly not going to become very informative anytime soon. These people were not even introducing themselves. In person, ESI staff seemed to exude the same “whatever” attitude that was so evident in their written communications. 

“Please tell us, Mr. West," went on the man with a beard without waiting for my reaction. “When was the last time you were under severe stress and how exactly did you handle the situation?”

I ditched “how about now” response and thought about a high school fight that left me with a broken rib. However, the ghost of the questionnaire with its three pages of questions about violence suggested that it would be prudent to keep that story to myself. In particular, the people I was facing would not have liked the “how did you handle the situation?” part. So instead, I told them about one of my startup days when I had just a single night to deliver a long article full of half-verified facts and half-baked conclusions, so that we would be the first to cover what looked like a very promising story. It felt like a safer bet.

They seemed to listen to me very attentively, as if trying to grasp every sound. And they were staring. Staring as if they had never seen a talking human before. On top of that, the woman started smiling halfway through my story, although there was nothing funny in my depiction of the event.

When I finished, the bearded man glanced at the man on his left. 

“I know,” said his neighbor, his tone slightly annoyed. 

He drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the table and turned to me.

“Mr. West,” he said giving me an attentive studying look. “We know that you aren’t married. But are you presently in a serious relationship?”

Comparing to the hundreds of personal details I had already shared with ESI through the questionnaire, the question seemed innocent. Yet there was something different about it. It just felt too personal. Maybe it was the way he had emphasized the word serious. I considered suggesting that it was none of their business, but decided that I could always leave without making a scene. There had to be a more reasonable way to respond.

"Would you mind explaining to me why you need this information?" I asked, proud of my mature attitude. “This isn’t a question I’d expect from a prospective employer, especially given the fact that I still don't know anything about your organization and its goals.”

“We are not any employer,” replied the man on the left. “And should we hire you, we expect a very strong commitment on your part, so we need to know ahead of time about any conflicts of interest. That said, if you find any of our questions objectionable, you can leave at any time.”

I was getting used to being given explanation that were equally logical and irksome 

“I'm not in any serious relationship,” I said.

The man in the middle nodded. He seemed pleased. Then he looked again at the man on his left, this time as if waiting for something.

The man on the left sat still for a few moments, his gray eyes studying my face thoughtfully. 

“Okay,” he said, finally.

With this word he unleashed a mad torrent of questions. 

If there was something they didn’t want to know, I didn’t notice it. Religion, phobias, things I like, things I hate, things I hate but can tolerate, beliefs, moral principles, religion again (“So you have never been religious, correct?”), aspirations, failures, proud moments, traumatic moments, friendships, hobbies, favorite books, fights (to my surprise I found myself telling the story of that school fight), favorite music, favorite sports, nightmares, long-term aspirations . . .