I’m not entirely certain about how the interview went. On the one hand, the questions were all of the difficult to answer variety (e.g. – describe a time you failed, etc.), but I think I did an alright job with my answers. After I was finished meeting with all of the various interviewers, though, I felt exhausted and vaguely traumatized. And the traumatization physically manifested itself in the form of armpit sweat. Gross. I know. I’m generally not a sweaty person, but I got to experience the treat of being one for the rest of that afternoon.

The HR representative said that I should hear back from them one way or the other by the end of this week. I’m trying not to think about it too much in case I get my hopes up, discover that I failed, subsequently feel crushed and spiral into a terrible depression. Or maybe just feel sorry for myself. So my plan of approach is to maintain a fatalistic mindset in regards to the entire situation.

Which means, enough mulling for me for now.

At least until I find out. And possibly during moments of weakness throughout the next few days.

I ran into Jay again this morning. (You recall my red-headed co-commuter.) He finally introduced himself.

It went like this.

Me standing outside of the Wellington station fumbling frantically through my bag to find my el pass. Right as I victoriously locate it in the depths guarded by my laptop, I heard someone say hello.

I glanced up to see who it was, despite the fact that I already knew.

“How was your weekend?” he asked as we trudged up the stairs.

“Good. Yours?”

“Fun. I went to the Cubs game yesterday.”

“Hey – I was there. I mean. Not in the stadium, but at a bar across the street. I was hanging out with some friend’s in the beer garden at Murphy’s.”

“The weather was awesome, wasn’t it?”

“It was. You got a little sunburned,” I pointed out.

He touched his nose, “I know. It looks a lot better than it did yesterday, too.”

The train came, and he followed me into the front car.

We both leaned against the Plexiglas partitions that surround the two sides of the door. Across from each other. We were quiet for a few minutes, and I gazed to my left out the window at the blurred trees and parks and buildings that reside along the tracks between my stop and the Fullerton station.

“I’m Jay by the way,” he suddenly said.

I looked at him.

“Elizabeth.”

I reached out to shake, and he laughed at me before extending his arm to grasp my hand in his own.

“You seem like you’re in a good mood today,” he pointed out.

“I am.”

“Me too.”

We were both quiet for several more seconds. This time I was trying to think of something to say.

“Where do you work?” I asked.

He said the name of a law firm.

“So you’re an attorney then?” I pointed out inanely.

“Yeah.”

“How do you like it?”

“It’s pretty boring.”

I laughed.

“How about you?”

“I’m an accountant.”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s pretty boring,” I shrugged, “but I’m the sort of person that enjoys really boring things.”

“I know what you mean.”

We were quiet again as we crossed the River on our approach to the Loop, and our respective destinations. I got off at Washington, and smiled my goodbye.

As I exited, I heard him tell me that he would see me tomorrow.

Which is part of the reason why, in the midst of my walk across the few blocks between the station and the office, it dawned on me that my Monday had gotten off to a good start.