The air in my moms car was thick with the smell of the air fresheners she bought earlier that week. I pulled my hand up to my mouth to continue biting my nails even though my mom told me to stop three times already. Outside the passenger window I saw the sign reading “The Bird” on big red fluorescent letters. The sign flashed “Now Hiring,” and for me, that meant “Now Judging.”
“Just take a deep breath, honey,” my mom said gently, her hand resting on my shoulder. “It’s just an interview for minimum wage. They’re lucky to have you.”
I nodded, half listening, but my internal voice was screaming the opposite. This is it. This is your one chance at independence. You have to prove you’re responsible enough, fast enough, smart enough to pour soda and take orders without completely embarrassing yourself. My foot was pressing into the floor as if it were a second brake pedal. I felt like I was paralyzed in the car seat.
I’m only 15. The job is to stand at a counter and ask, “Do you want fries with that?” This shouldn’t feel like I’m going in for an interview at NASA. Yet my palms were practically dripping with sweat, and the little card with my information on it felt like a first class ticket to my humiliation.
I started listing all the ways I could fail in my head, stammering over answers, my voice cracking, or completely freezing up. My whole body was shaking so uncontrollably I was certain if I stood up I would fall flat on my face.
I looked at the clock. Three minutes until my scheduled time. If I waited any longer, I’d be late and failure felt worse than anything else. Being late meant I’d blown it before I even got to the lobby.
I tried to distract myself. I didn’t want to focus on the interview so I focused on the simple tasks before the interview. I had to press the release button on my seatbelt. Swing my legs out. Push up to a stand.
I didn’t let myself think about the manager or the uniform. I just focused on the simple task of leaving the car. With a big deep breath, I pushed the door open and smelled the fresh summer air.
I took one small, wobbly step toward the building. My heart still felt like it was going to beat out of my chest, but my feet were moving. I counted the steps as I got closer to the big heavy glass door.
I didn’t feel any braver as I pulled the door open. I just felt like I had successfully completed the first task: showing up. The rest of the disaster, I figured, would just have to happen on the other side of the counter.
