Steel

You come out of the chute in a roll, land in a ready stance, instinctively sweep the room.  The stone floor is slick, and the air feels thick, oily.

“Come out here please,” purrs a voice.

You step out light, on the balls of your feet.  A woman in a business suit with a clipboard nods, checks something off.  “We’re interested in your problem solving skills.”

The lights come up on a long, steely hallway.  Unseen motors spool up, and shiny blades spin along the walls, the floor, the ceiling.  There’s a distant, animal roar.

“Take your time,” she says.

Preliminary

You adjust your shirt and comb through your resume for the twenty-fourth time. Then the secretary looks over her glasses and tells you to go in.

There’re three of them, and they’re nice enough – there’s some banter, a question about your volunteer experience in Ghana. When they get to the meat of the thing, you’re feeling pretty good.

“Mostly,” says the woman, her legs folded to the side, “we’re wondering how you deal with the unexpected.”

You’re about to tell her something about the deadlines at your last job, and then the floor drops out from under your chair.