I got called into THE Boss’s Office for a bit of a chat. My Supervisor told me not to worry, everything is fine. It’s just that She and I have not met up to this point. Needless to say, this is not a situation I am comfortable with and my stomach was threatening to expel everything I had consumed since the day I was born. I was sweating in places I didn’t believe were sweatable. My heart was pounding in my ears so loudly that I couldn’t hear for several minutes, I just saw mouths move but no sound.
I tip toed down the carpeted hall toward the door which had a shiny brass placard stating the Chief Librarian was contained inside. Along the walls were photos of Chief Librarians from past decades. And the closer I got to the door, my stomach lurched and I knew it was coming…..I farted. Not one of those loud rippers you jump up and yell “YEAH BAYBEE!” about, rather it was the silent variety that will take the colour out of the carpet and will melt the metal radiator.
When I finally reached the door, I knocked, rather timidly, and waited, picturing in my mind a stern, severe faced woman with a very tight bun, a boring suit, very thick glasses and a giant mole on the end of her nose which kept her spectacles from sliding off. The door opened and I prepared to gasp (or worse again), but the person who greeted me was a lovely woman who appeared to be in her mid forties. She was polite, courteous, friendly and sincere. She invited me into her lair….ummmm….office. Offered me a cup of tea, which I didn’t feel I should or could refuse, so I accepted graciously. She invited me to sit next to her on the rather luxurious leather sofa.
She kicked her shoes off and curled her feet under her as she relaxed. We chatted a bit about this and that, nothing of any import. I was beginning to feel more at ease when she said, “I suppose you are wondering why I asked to meet you.” Being nervous, my focus was in keeping that which I had left in the hallway from reoccurring in this enclosed office. I admitted that I was curious, not in the “what does being dead feel like” curious, rather more in the “how delicious is this beer going to be” curious.
As we talked, she told me her name was Linda and that she had started at the Library doing my job 25 years ago (which stunned me) and she said everything at that time had to be done by hand and typewriter. Then came the inevitable question, out of the blue and without warning, “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?”
How does one answer such a question? I mean to I tell Linda that I want her job by then, or that I plan to marry some ancient rich guy pump him full of Viagra and ride the wave into a wonderful inheritance? Do I tell Linda that I’m going to write a best seller, go on a lecture circuit, and become the mermaid I always wanted to be as a child? What about the pirate daydream? Or just being the best me that I can be?
I can honestly tell you that I have no idea where I’ll end up 10 minutes from now!
I HATE these type questions.