The Art of a Terrible Interview

A derailing train that shrieks loud AF

Ezinne Ukoha

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What did you do immediately after sitting through the worst interview of your life? Did you dissolve into tears and dive into a bottle of wine? Were you able to shrug off the bad energy and beg for more?

My first-ever interview from hell left me shell-shocked, confused, and unusually anxious for fresh air. My apartment had turned into ground zero, and I needed distance for safety.

Stepping into the battle between the shiny globe in the sky and menacing clouds was a jolting reminder of the ongoing war between us and the entire planet. If we don’t fight to save the earth — summers will be winters and vice versa.

And while I’m petrified at the notion that we could all burn to death tomorrow as punishment for our negligence, I’m also immersed in a personal quest to scrub my life out of the gutter.

Maybe I’m being paranoid, but it feels like everything is upside down and conforming to the ever-evolving landscape of functionality demands a lot more than I anticipated.

My terrible interview was for a position that matches everything I’m currently seeking as a frustrated Gen-Xer who wasted the best years of her life claiming the role of a “starving artist.”

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