‘Twas the night before interview…

‘Twas the night before interview, when all through the house
The only thing stirring was the click of a mouse;
My smart suit was hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that a job offer soon would be there;

The Red Bull was drunk, and all interview prep read,
While answers to competencies danced in my head;
I’d charged up my I-Phone and checked Google Maps,
And just settled down for a long winter’s nap,

When out of my laptop there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to my home office I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-opened screen,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to an email unseen,
A note from my recruiter did slowly appear,
Maybe last-minute changes, that would fill me with fear,

With a J-Peg attachment, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment I was sure to be sick.
More rapid than eagles I clicked on the screen,
And I screamed, and I shouted, as I read what I’d seen;

“Dear Candidate,” it started, “I hope you are well?
Now please don’t get angry at what I’m to tell.
There’s a last-minute change, to the task on the day!
Just a quick presentation, well what do you say?”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
My mouth turned to ash and I started to cry,
I opened up the attachment, maximising the view
And blinking back tears, read what I was to do.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard from outside,
The slam of a door and footsteps up the drive.
As I unlocked the door, and was turning around,
From an Uber my recruiter appeared with a bound.

He was dressed in T.M. Lewin, from his head to his foot,
And his brown shoes were tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of print outs he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes — how they twinkled! his Christmas tie, how merry!
His gelled hair tips were frosted, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
The hipster beard on his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of an E-Cig he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had an old face, not at all like LinkedIn,
And an aroma of something I thought must be gin.

He went straight to my laptop, a right jolly old elf,
How refreshingly consultative, I thought to myself;
He opened up PowerPoint, and with a nod of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Laid out all his notes; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He wrote it all for me, in elegant prose;

He sprang to my printer, and he started to whistle,
And out came the pages like the down of a thistle.
And I heard him exclaim, as he started to bind,
Good luck for tomorrow, I am sure you’ll do fine!


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