Darren sat across from the committee. The space between his chair and the table was vast, a chasm that weighed on Darren’s mind. He didn’t like it, but couldn’t say anything.
“And why do you want to work here, Mr. Richardson?”
“Well, I like the business, it really suits my background, but seems to, um, offer opportunities for creativity and innovative pursuits.” He was struggling, he knew, but what can you do?
As the committee scribbled on their paper, a head poked out from under the table. Nose to the floor, the dog made its way over to Darren, taking a zig-zagging route. Darren watched the dog come toward him while the committee wrote.
When it reached him, Darren checked to make sure they were still writing, then bent over. He offered a hand to the dog, who smelled him. Approving, the dog offered its back for scratches.
Darren checked again, and noticed one of the members was watching him. He smiled as he stroked the dog’s back.
“Are you a dog person, Mr. Richardson?”
“I am. I had one growing up. I’m looking forward to adopting one, when I have the resources.”
Everyone was scribbling again, while Darren kept petting.
Finally, he heard someone say, “I think that’s everything. You’re our last interview, and the only one to show such initiative. You’ll receive your employment contract in a few days.”
Darren raised his eyebrows in surprise: one question and he got it. He looked at the dog, whose tail wagged. He smiled. The dog seemed to smile back.
“Thank you,” Darren said, rising. He said goodbye, both to the committee and the dog, then left, humming to himself.