I Am Alone, Yes, I Know
The phone rang. It was the call I had been waiting for; they were going to interview me. I just had to show up that day at 2 pm with my printed resume. So that’s what I did. I checked over and over again that my resume was in perfect order, without spelling errors or anything out of context, almost as if my life depended on it. And, in reality, it did.
I searched for a suitable outfit for the occasion. I had to look well-presented, but since I only had a pair of ripped jeans and some faded blouses, I opted for an old blazer that a friend had given me. It served its purpose; I looked professional.
I left the room and said goodbye to the owner of the house, heading to the interview with great enthusiasm.
I arrived at the given address, and the place was one of the supermarkets I had often seen when passing by on the bus, in one of the central areas of the city. I asked for the person who had called me: “I’m looking for Carmen, I’m here for an interview.” — “Yes, come in, sit where the others are.”
To my surprise, there were 8 more people waiting for the interview; we were all women between 18 and 20 years old. My spirits sank; I didn’t think there were so many candidates, although I didn’t know how many vacancies were available, so I tried to stay positive.
It was a burgundy wooden bench; three women were sitting, the rest were standing. I decided to sit on the side.
Twenty minutes passed, feeling like two hours. A secretary came out of one of the offices and addressed us: “Those who are here for the interview, please come this way.” I thought, all of us? Well, apparently yes — I answered myself.
We all entered to go to a different area, arriving at a hallway with different doors. Through the windows, you could see desks with many folders and books on top.
At the end of the hallway, a woman in her 50s was waiting for us. She introduced herself as Stella, pointed out where we should sit, and it seemed the interview would be a group one.
She began by asking our names, experience, knowledge; each one answered in turns in front of everyone. Everything was going well, although, for some reason, every passing minute made me feel further from the possibility of being hired. The questions became more personal, and at one point, Stella asked, “Who do you live with?” The answers varied; some said “with my parents,” “my aunts, grandparents,” until my turn came.
My answer was, “I live alone,” and suddenly all eyes were on me, some with compassion and others with astonishment. Although the look that mattered to me was Stella’s, I looked at her, trying to understand her thoughts, but I couldn’t decipher them.
The interview ended, and Stella told us they would call in the next few days, so I held onto hope.
Days passed, but the call never came. In that moment, I understood Stella’s gaze.
While trying to understand why my situation was so alien to others’ eyes, at the same time, I tried to accept that this was my reality. My days passed in that room, without calls, without visits. I went to interviews, but each time I returned, my wound grew larger. Why am I so alone? I wondered, trying to find meaning.
Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s them, maybe it’s just bad luck.
