So... I'm sitting there in the waiting room. My interview is in 11 minutes. My mind is racing. My heart thumping like an XT 500. I have to convince them that they want me. Fuck that. They want me. They NEED me. This job is mine. "They will be with you soon" the blonde at reception says matter-of-factly. I loom over to her and smile. She is overwhelmingly ordinary. She's not ugly. But nothing about her says sex. It's all middle-class, strugging single mom vibes. The washed out, bleach-attacked curry stain on her collar says it all : "I've tried and I've given up." My mind wanders back to possible interview questions. "What's your greatest weakness" is a goody. "Well," I think I'd say, "I'm a perfectionist and sometimes don't stop till the job is done just right." Fuck, I'm smart. I'll ace this. I glance over to the reception lady, looking to see if she has any update on my impending confirmation of employment interview. She has dropped something. She is scanning the ground at her feet, trying not to make it obvious to anyone else. Not bending. Not facing downward. But just her eyes. Searching. Scanning. I go back to my day-dreaming. Coming up with witty retorts. It's been almost 15 minutes now. I stand up, approach the reception desk. I'm about to open my mouth, but suddenly I no longer have words. Gone are my thoughts. Gone are my day dreams. Gone are my witty remarks and quick ripostes. Suddenly the question resurfaces: "what is your greatest weakness?" Instinctively and animalistic in nature, my sub-conscious replies, "I'd get your message to the market. Get the right people to the right places. I'd up your conversion rate by at least 25% in the first 3 months. But I'd throw it all away, to bend that weathered blonde mommy over the boss-man's desk, shove my cock in her mouth, my thumb up her ass, and make her call me Sunshine Johnny." What the actual fuck?? Where did that come from? What do that even mean?? I'll have to explain in a bit. They just called me in. Wish me luck... it seems I might need it.