"I'm sorry, we don't want students from three colleges."
HR rolled his eyes, his eyes were like looking at bugs in a garbage dump. I pulled my resume back, my fingers trembling.
What I fear most in my life is this kind of scene - being stared at, scrutinized, and judged like picking pork. The palms of my hands were all sweaty, and the file bag was almost dripping with water.
Gotta go, go quickly.
But the moment I turned around, the door of the Imperial Group opened again, and a man in a custom-made suit passed me by, bringing with him a gust of cold wind. I heard the little girls at the front desk screaming in low voices: "Mr. Jiang actually came to the interview in person today?"
I don't know which tendon was wrong, and my mouth started to move on its own.
"Wait!"
The man stopped and looked back at me.
My mind was buzzing. It's over, I didn't even want to call him. But once the words have been said, they can't just disappear. I bit the bullet and heard my own voice say: "I'm here to interview for the assistant to the president. I have eight language skills, which is top-notch."
