I Took a Magic Mushroom Microdose Before a Job Interview
It did not go well.
It was right about the time Theresa’s shirt started bleeding lava in front of me when I realised I might have overdone my morning microdose. Theresa was the woman interviewing me for the copywriting position today.
She was saying something about air-conditioning units, and how many words I’d have to write for each model in the new brochure and… holy shit, Theresa, do you even know what is happening to your clothes right now?!
I tried not to look at the patterns erupting like volcanoes across my interviewer’s voluptuous breasts but they demanded it.
LOOK AT ME.
GO ON. LOOK.
I almost laughed.
Then my soul wept for sweet mercy. I was not making a good impression.
On Theresa went, tapping and turning pages, clicking keys, revealing the intricacies of some new circular air-con device like she was letting me in on the biggest technological advancement since A.I.
I managed to nod in polite appreciation, but all my brain could really do in the bleached-white tomb of a conference room was give me a running commentary that went a little like this:
Should I tell her I really like her shirt against these white walls?
She looks like a cartoon!
Shit, don’t laugh. Think of something sobering. Think of air-conditioning units.
I don’t like air-conditioning units.
I don’t want to write about air-con? Why am I pretending I want to work on this?
Oh yes, because of the money.
We do everything for money, really, don’t we? Why do we do that? There would be enough stuff to go around if we’d all just share things nicely.
But no one wants to share things nicely.
Don’t cry.
Oh God. Too many emotions...
Theresa turned the projector on. Up came the Powerpoint slides and with them a cascade of air-con units, melting slowly like Salvador Dali’s clocks from the wall behind her. So much for The Persistence of Memory, I couldn’t even remember how I got to this point.
My lowest point of existence in almost 40 years.
I don’t even know how long I had to appear normal. I’m not even entirely sure I managed it.
I doubt I’ll get this gig.
If this experiment is going to continue without me being ostracised from the working world entirely, I need to get this microdosing thing right. Silicon Valley techies manage it every day; what the hell is wrong with me?
Maybe biting off a bit of magic mushroom every morning and going about my day was not the best advice I’ve been given so far on this journey.
Has anyone else interviewed for a job successfully while tripping on magic mushrooms? If so, how? It makes me hot and bothered just thinking about Theresa’s spewing psychedelic volcano-shirt.
It makes me need her air conditioning more than I’m comfortable admitting.
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