Looking from face to face, and body to body. You feel sure that whatever the job, you can outplay all of these rivals. Your interview skills, and experience will craft a better applicant than anyone here.
Your intense desire to win at any cost. Obviously you don't want this job, but you do want to be offered it... and turn it down.
The interview panel start with a few softball questions, setting everyone at their ease. You like the way they're approaching things. Glancing around, you see it's working on them. As each of you, give a brief history. Your name, your experience, and you add in why you want to work for the company.
Thankfully, you aren't the first to be asked to introduce yourself. You mask your smile, as they make notes about 'Brandi Boudoir.', only after you've given it does it sink in.
The questions don't get any harder. Instead, it's more like a conversation in a bar, as you try to get the measure of the person opposite. You hear the subtle probing about sex, sexism, sexuality. They move on to checking that nobody has any significant political views, or extremely strict religious beliefs.
Looking up and down the line, you think that was probably redundant. It's clear you're all being judged more on your looks than anything else.
You want to ask what the job is. But none of the others has asked, and you don't want to sound entirely clueless.
Putting your best valley girl accent on you ask." So, like... what's the job... I mean... like the details..."
They don't appear bothered by your manner, or way of talking. Even taking your question in their stride.
"We're like looking for model for the coming trade show."
It's the man in charge, you believe that's taking the mickey of your valley girl-isms...
"One will model with the cars. Another with the household appliances, and the last with the boats."
"There will be some light reading, but you won't have to know about the products." His neighbour assures you all.
"We will have salesmen to answer questions and take the orders." he adds.
"Eeeww, I hope I don't end up with the kitchen appliances..." One girl mutters to her neighbour. "I'm not a maid." she adds.
"None of you object to wearing a bikini, if you're selected to work on the boat stand."
The nodding heads look like a line of toys, and you find yours bobbing along in harmony. Absolutely glad, this isn't your body.
The girls in sequins now make more sense to you. Obviously they want to preen and pose by the car. Imagining themselves like a TV show model.
The panel allow you to talk amongst yourselves, in friendly tones. The conversation supportive and sisterly, but you quickly feel that's a sheen, for some truly bitchy glares.
With you all distracted, the panel put their heads together. Openly pointing to their own favoured choices. It's an odd sensation, to feel those jabbing fingers pointed in your direction.
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