The Interview Where I Lost My Mind

We are looking for a CPA to work in our Accounting Firm. We have three offices now and a rapidly growing client base. My husband is just one guy, and God knows, I have needs.

We needed to find another Accountant.

So we cull through resumes. (Hello, is the “Cover Letter Thing” completely obsolete? Cuz I really long for you to tell me something about why you want to work for my company.)

One person in particular has a great skill set. And an MBA to boot. This makes our hearts race a little faster. (That and the stairs up to our office.)

And maybe his cover letter was a little odd and stiff, but hey, when you see the Hot Guy on Match.com, you don’t ask if he’s living with his mom. You just let crap like that slide. Cuz Baby, it’s all about the fantasy!

Sadly, because we are overworked and needy, we start fantasizing about him. No, not sexual fantasies. (There is no CPA hotter than my husband.)

But fantasies about how this Magical CPA guy is going to solve all of our needs: He’ll be in two places at the same time; he’ll charm the most difficult of clients; he’ll knock out tax returns faster than a speeding bullet; he’ll bring in so many new clients we won’t know what to do with all our money!

And all this, while championing our business and our values.

And then: The Interview.

I usually run a VERY tight interview ship.

But . . . for this fantasy CPA, I’m like the giggly school girl. I’m shuffling my papers and I think I see fairy dust twinkling from the pages.

I do my little song and dance at the beginning. You know, flip the hair, lick my lips, bat those Latisse lashes. I was working it. I asked my first question, waiting with baited, minty-fresh breath for his answer.

He opened his mouth, and answered. And answered. And answered. And Dear God, he answered some more.

Saying the man wouldn’t fucking shut up is an understatement.

He makes John Kerry look pithy.

I realize at some point during the answer to the first question-- the FIRST question, let’s be clear-- that I've left my body and am hovering in the corner of the ceiling thinking to myself: Help!!! Get me out of here!!! What the hell is happening???

This guy won’t shut the fuck up. So finally I wedge my way into his answer. And by “wedge,” I mean I just start to talk over him.

And I say, in the interest of time, maybe you could just jump to the bottom line, you know, in the interest of time. (Inside I’m still screaming – HELP ME.)

But as he is into his fourth minute of “cutting it short” I still can’t let go.

Cuz remember, this could be my Magical CPA! He still could be. I swear. Just wait. I know at any moment he’s going to bring this home.

It was like being held hostage in a basement on Criminal Minds. Except of course, I could get up and walk away. But then what about all my dreams and fantasies about my Magical CPA?

Then he proceeds to tell a story about a job he didn’t get, cuz they thought he wasn’t interested.

YES! I exclaim. I too thought that from your oddly perfunctory cover letter.

I’m waving the three sentence letter in the air, animated for the first time in an hour.

His response? “I pride myself on being short and direct in all my communications.”

WHAT??? (I’m still oddly waving the letter in the air.) You did NOT just say that???

All of a sudden my lovely crossed ankles, leaning forward posture, fake but hard worked-for look of interest in my eyes, is OVER. My legs fall apart, my mouth drops open, my head flops back in a seizure type movement.

Turns out my Magical CPA is still just a figment of my imagination. #Dammit.