Vampire with an interview.

The rather stout man mumbled to himself as he strode hurriedly through the double glass doors.

"Wind up the stairs, hang a right... Wind up the stairs, hang a right...."

He almost bowled over a tall blonde woman heading for the same doors, barely glimpsing her materializing out of the dim foyay he now found himself in. At the last second she sidestepped the stout man with a friendly "excuse me" and caught the door as it glided closed.

"Er, um sorry." the stout man stammered as he stepped aside. In the distance a few feet away he could make out a large silver door with sunlight streaming in next to it.

The stout man realized he had forgotten to remove his rather dark sunglasses, rendering him near blind in what the architect type would call "ambient lighting." Quickly he removed and folded them into his pocket with one hand, the other clutching a cellphone with the kind of grip that a climber might use for dear life. As if the death-grip could give him an extra minute or two.

"Well, not late, but not early..." he shrugged while looking down at its lit face. reaching out for the "up" button next to the elevator door.

"No, the stairs dummy!" the stout man veered his course up the flight of stairs to the left of the elevator. He ran his hand along the smooth marble that separated the two means of ascension, until he caught the metal railing on the other side. He was able to clear at least three steps with each stride, tugging on the banister for a little extra burst of speed.

Near the summit his hustle became a strut, back cracking slightly as it straightened and his pace morphing into something like a military march.

A very audible "Clack, squeek, clack, squeek" echoed through the chamber in a rythmic manner as if Michael Flatley was dancing about.

The stout man relaxed for a second, cracking a slight smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Relax Damn it!" he thought "If you march in like this they'll think that the Nazi's were rolling in to invade their office."

He let his shoulders drop a bit, returned his breathing to normal, and returned to a confident strut. He reached for the wood handles on another glass door and slipped into an odd environment indeed.

This new room was mostly one large open space, with what appeared to be private offices jutting out here and there, a few cubical-style partitions seemed to flow off from a couple of the supports. The lighting was the same strange gold glow as the marble chamber he had just come from, only this room appeared to be lined mostly in wood, or something that had been painted to give the impression of wood. This new spaces deco was far more organic and friendly than the cold functionality of the stone and metal enclosure the stoutly man had just journeyd through. Were as one was a geometricaly perfect display, simple and intuitive to grasp, the new rooms surfaces were rounded and rolling, like an open ocean swell. The entire Feng shui reminded him of 60's secret agent hip crossed with Google'ish trendy.

"May I help you?" asked the receptionist to his right in a gentle tone.

The stoutly man turned and smiled at her, acting as if he knew exactly where he was and where he was going.

"Yes, I am here for a job interview I had scheduled for 3:30."

She pointed to a basket full of id tags, the kind that hang from those thick itchy bands and dig into the back of your neck when you are sweaty and nervous.

"Sign in please and give your name to her." She motioned towards a brunet woman with glasses standing next to the desk. This woman was probably in her 20's, dressed in "business casual" and holding a clip board. The stoutly man on the other hand was wearing a heavy woolen pea coat that would have been fashionable if under it he wasn't wearing a blue stripped shirt and a metallic azure tie he had picked up the previous night. Instead his pea coat clashed horribly with the faded khakis that he had worn to every job interview he had ever had, or at least he thought so, but the off and on showers that had been rolling through that day necessitated he wear something, and the pea coat was the best he had. In one hand he carried a yellow spiral notepad, stuffed with papers, in the other he fidgeted with a pen, trying and failing to twirl it like a rock drummer.

The stoutly man signed the ledger on the wavy table in front of the receptionist while saying his name. Then looked up at the woman in the glasses for further instructions.

A moment passed in silence as he locked gazes with what appeared to be a deer caught in the headlights. He kept his confident but forcibly relaxed pose, probably looking like some half-ass'd, barrel chested, seizure suffering, wanna-be Casanova.

The woman in the glasses cleared her throat and asked "Name?"

The stoutly mans eyebrows jumped up and he said "Oh, right" he repeated the moniker he half whispered to the Ledger, this time in a more audible tone.

"Great start moron." he thought as the woman in the glasses scrolled down the clip board.

"And you have an interview this afternoon?" she asked in a freindly enough tone, but with just enough genuine curiosity as to cause the stoutly mans mind to race with worry.

"Oh crap! Had I come to the wrong office?"
"No, no, it was through the doors, up the stairs, hang a right!"
"Was it the wrong day? WAS I LATE!?!?!"

He nodded and replied "Why yes, I have an interview at 3:30 for the Level 1 Techn..."

He was cut short from reciting the entire job description as the woman in the glasses nodded and motioned him to wait on the couch.

No sooner had the stoutly man taken off his coat than a gentleman in a stripped shirt and fohawk, sporting a soul patch seemed to jump from around the corner and inquire if he was the 3:30 interviewee. The man with the fohawk motioned for him to follow and they were off, the squeaking and clacking still slightly audible.

A moment later and they had both traveled a distance that seemed to be far too short for the space it occupied, to an office with panes of smoked glass for walls. The gentleman with the fohawk had taken a seat on a yoga ball next to a young woman behind a desk. The stoutly man smiled and introduced himself, shaking hands with both of them and then resuming his same position with coat in hand as if he was back in the hallway. They looked at him oddly as he motioned to a chair and inquired if he might have a seat. The stoutly man sat down in a small black office chair with wheels, and proceeded to drape his coat over the back of the chair, whip out the notebook and pen he had been carrying.

"Why don't you pull the chair a little closer?" Inquired the woman behind the desk. The stoutly man realized that his chair was in one corner of the room, and the desk was in the other.

"How about the rain?" He asked, trying to break the ice a little. He wracked his brain to think of something better than the obvious "Hey, I have nothing clever to say that isn't sarcastic or that makes me look like a dick so lets just talk about the weather." but came up nill.

"Relax DAMN IT!" he thought again, this time deciding that no matter what he does, things have to go better now that the game is afoot.

The Interview shot by with alarming speed, they asked the usual questions and the stoutly man felt that he had answerd all of them with relative ease. "Companie's a family, family's a team, team's thrive on communication, and communication starts with me." type answers, the same that most anyone would come up with in a similar interview. They responded with "the ideal candidate must be organized and aware of..." style questions. As time wore on, the stoutly man started to notice that they were staring at his chest a little more than normal. This started to throw him off a little. Were they looking at his shirt? Had he sweated so much in the rush to get there on time that it now was soaking through? Was it his pen? His motions? what were they looking at? As he started to think more and more about it, he stuttered on a question.

Then he got caught in a "Stupid Loop"

The act of trying to figure out what his interviewers were looking at, and answer the question had caused him to forget what the original question was.

All functions of the stoutly man's brain stopped as he strained to think of the original question. "What should I do?" he thought, "Do I pretend like I'm finished and hope they move on? Do I just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind? Or should I politely ask them to repeat the question even though I already started in on the answer?" His brain had a fatal error and needed to reboot.

"I'm sorry, my ear you see...." He rubbed his left lobe, slightly "I have a bit of an issue with it, and..."

The gentleman with the fohawk leaned over and mumbled something to the woman behind the desk.

"Relocate! Yes that's a near-future goal of mine!" The original question had shot back into his mind, or at least he hoped that's what it was.

The woman behind the desk looked up at the clock. "Thank you very much for coming in today. But unfortunately we're out of time and have many other interviews to get through today."

The stoutly man nodded, stood up, and shook their hands. He thanked them for the chance to come in and interview and wished them well. Walking out of the glass office, he paused for a moment. The large room looked totally unfamiliar to him, he knew they had walked straight from the reception area. But didn't realize how far it was until now. He strode with confidence "clack, squeak, clack, squeak" into the waiting area and looked around for the receptionist.

She appeared from behind a "The Persistence of Memory" partition and asked him to please sign out and leave the ID in the basket. The stoutly man had forgotten he was wearing it, the strap being made out of a soft cotton and sitting on his neck quite comfortably after all. He thanked her and donned his coat, preparing for the cold labyrinth of marble he would have to navigate in order to find his ride home.

What seemed like moments later he was back at the house, slowly unbuttoning his shirt running over the interview and trying to get a gauge on how it went, he knew that his friends and family, like everyone else's were always curious in such matters as employment and relationships.

Sure enough no sooner had he set down his coat than one of his friends asked him "So, how did it go?" followed by "Is that a price tag on your tie?"

The employer passed.