The room was humid and dazzling in the magnetic office of Mrs. Claddetta’s office; the interviewee sat twiddling his shapely thumbs. He hoped the utter desperation in his sparkling dark terra-cotta brown eyes wasn't too obvious; her cerulean blue eyes narrowed, burrowing into his like ice cold spears, piercing through his eyes and his brain, prying him open like a book. Her physiognomy coiled into a stone carving of irritation, sweat poured down his back like a hot sticky waterfall, She opened her mouth and…

“For God's sake!” Mrs. Claddetta screamed to the writer, “GET ON WITH IT!”

Sorry, Sorry, I’ll stop. Let's see… where were we?

“Did you just seriously forget?” Mrs. Claddetta scolded.

No no, I know what I’m doing.

The interviewee sat up straight, lofty and enduring; he struggled not to wipe away the sweat that beaded his full luscious brow; his powerful face was filled with the prowess of a lion on the hunt; his glasses glinted like quartz in the invigorating sunlight.

“Seriously,” The Interviewee groaned, “I haven't even gotten to introuduce myself yet and you’re acting like I’m an Alpha male in a stupid romance novel! I just want to work at Starbucks!”