United states (new York)2006
Trevor sat in the hallway chair, patiently waiting for his turn to be interviewed. He wanted to pray but was not sure what to say. This was probably the one hundred and oneth interview he would had since starting his job search. He was unable to comprehend his own shortcomings; he had all the qualifications needed for every position he had applied for, yet he was not hired. He attended the interview today for a project manager position at one of the city's largest businesses. He had applied for the position last year and was pleased to be called for the interview. Despite his incredulous luck, he has decided to give up and accept his fate if this does not work out.
At the age of thirty-five, he lacks a decent apartment, savings, or even a good life. While every child who left the orphanage with him is doing well, his was an exception. Last year, he almost ended up on the street, so he had to shamelessly beg the owners of the orphanage for assistance, which is why he still has a roof over his head and a small amount of money to live on.
He had been unlucky all of his life. During his early years at the orphanage, no one wanted to adopt him; either they did not like him when they saw him or he became very ill, which could have lasted for a month on the day he was to be adopted. As a result of his bizarre illness and terrible rage, the children at the orphanage avoided him. He was alone as a child and lived with it throughout his life. Sister Agnes, a nun who also worked in the orphanage, was the only person he had ever spoken to. She has been a mother figure to him, and she has not judged him as the rest of the world. She had made him believe that his bad luck was not something he should dwell on because anything bad could turn out well for him. She was the one who persuaded her reluctant colleagues to assist him with his housing problems. He was forever grateful to her.
He felt pressed as he waited patiently for his turn to be interviewed, so he asked for directions to the bathroom. After calming down, he turned on the sink faucet to wash his hands, but the water splashed on his pants. Desperate, he took off his pants and turned on the air conditioner, then put them on the air conditioner and waited patiently for them to dry. Despite the fact that it was not particularly damp, it would be improper for him to enter the conference room for his interview or walk out of the restroom in this state.
He wore the trousers as soon as he was sure they were dry and hurried to his previous seat, but to his surprise, no one was there. He reasoned that they might have entered while he was away, and it would not be an issue if they returned to call the next person he would go in he thought. With that, he sat for several minutes until it was two hours. How long does it take these people to interview their prospective employees, he wondered as he glanced at his watch. A woman stopped in front of him, most likely one of the many secretaries who work here. He could tell from the way she dressed.
"Jesus, why are you still here? The interview has ended, and the others have been asked to leave. She informed him
Without answering the woman, he grabbed his briefcase and found himself on New York's hustling and bustling street. He was so preoccupied with his thought that he did not realize he had nearly hit by a car,He did not respond to the insults the driver threw at him or notice the glancez the onlookers gave him, so he kept going until he realized he could not walk home on his own and called a cab to take him there.
He would not call it a home, he reasoned as he paid the cab driver; there is nothing about his apartment that appears homely. He has no new furniture in the house; everything appears to be outdated, and he shares the apartment with various household pests; this is understandable given that the building is overcrowded with families, and most people had to share their small spaces with paired roommates, but he was fortunate in that no one wanted to be paired with him, and he considered himself lucky. Sister Agnes was somewhat correct when she said that bad things can sometimes turn out well
. After dinner, he got out his drawing board and began painting. This has been his method of coping with depression and anxiety since he was a child. He paints whenever he feels the world has abandoned him, whenever he finds a reason to keep living, to remind himself that life is truly beautiful, and to express himself because he has no one to talk to. He loves painting; it is a part of who he is.After painting for what seemed like hours, he looked at the time and realized it was past one a.m. He covered his painting, took a shower, took his sleeping and anxiety pills, and went to bed. He wanted to hope that tomorrow would be better, but he was tired of always hoping and praying; perhaps it was time to accept fate. If he was destined to be poor and homeless, he would accept his fate with open arms; after all, he was no better than the homeless people on the streets of New York, nor was he better than those who have nothing to eat and rely on alms to survive.