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The Interview

'I can't believe he's messing us around like this!'

'You're telling me. I could have been-'

The talking stopped; whoever was there must have heard them coming.

Clifford spent a few seconds trying to see through the stained glass windows that lined the front of the property, and all Zach could do was watch awkwardly. Then the older man slowly opened the green-painted door and glanced from side to side.

'No. No. No!' A shoe shot from the opposite end of the entrance hall to make a thud when it hit the door. Then another almost put one of the windows out.

Suddenly, a bare-footed lady came marching across the carpeted floor. 'How many times do we have to tell you, Clifford. Only staff can come in before opening. You're a volunteer. You don't work here.'

Zach felt like throwing up. He'd been led around by a fool and had missed his actual interview.

'Can I help you?' The lady eventually asked, rubbing the soles of her feet on the carpet so fast it made her upper lip curl.

'My name is Zach-'

'Garrett?!' The other person shrieked with disbelief, still hiding in the shadows. 'Let me guess. The old snot told you he was your boss?'

Zach let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. 'Yeah! He even started calling me Tod.'

'That sounds about right. Anyway, what do you say we go ahead and start your interview?'

Zach's grin began at his lips and ended at his eyes. 'That would be great.'

The lady started banging her fists against the door. 'Clifford's trying to sneak back inside.'

'What a nuisance.'

'No means no!' Yelled the lady again. 'Come back later like everybody else.'

'I'm not coming back to this sh-.'

'Then don't come back and see if I care.'

Zach tried not to laugh. He could hear Clifford cursing them all, but his voice steadily grew distant. And when the golf buggy engine roared to life outside, a stack of wooden crates slid out from a recess behind the floral print welcome desk.

The fellow that climbed out must have been seven-foot-tall, and Zach couldn't help but wonder how he'd managed to squeeze himself into such a tight gap in the first place.

'Call me Hilton Flurbury,' the mystery man said. 'I'm the Museum's Manager. And in case you're wondering, Frederick Flurbury and Polly Flurbury, the original estate owners, were my great grandparents.'

The bare-footed lady snorted. 'You tell that to everyone you meet, Hilton, including the damn plumber this morning. He's here to fix the urinals, not listen to you talk about your family history, for crying out loud.'

Hilton made a face. 'I'm sorry about my colleague.'

'Right,' she answered with a wide-eyed glare. 'Call me Amy Oates, Museum Supervisor.'

Hilton sprinted ahead with a hulking set of keys. 'Follow me, Zach; the Catty Kite exhibition room is this way.' 

Amy took off after her boss, and Zach had to jog to keep up. He didn't want to get left behind.

The red and blue carpeted corridor seemed to stretch forever, but it offered Zach a chance to get a good look at the spaces. The first room they passed was a lounge, boasting a wood-burning fireplace with a gold-plated surround. But that was all, aside from a single wooden stool facing a boarded-up window. Zach hurried past that one, hoping he'd never have to go near it again.

On the right side was a tiny closet of a room filled with at least a dozen propped-up mops, but only one bucket and no taps. There was even a neat pile of chocolate wrappers on the floor, and Zach knew he'd have to ask about them later.

The third room on the left was huge, with two crystal chandeliers dangling above a thirty-foot mahogany dining table and over twenty cushioned chairs surrounding it. It would have been perfect for holding an interview, but Hilton and Amy walked straight past.

At last, Hilton slowed and began fumbling with his keys. The manager had tried to run ahead because he knew he needed every spare second he could get to find the right one. 

'It's got a yellow sticker-'

Hilton pulled the set away from Amy like a child unwilling to share a toy but suddenly laughed when he rammed the right one into the keyhole and began to twist.

Zach cringed at the sound of metal grating. The Edwardian-style door was never supposed to be handled that way; even he knew that. Still, the manager shoved against it, rattled the doorknob and lifted the entire thing until it finally gave.

'This way,' said Amy, heading in the room first. 'Take a seat.'

Zach froze mid-step. Painted against pink and yellow backdrops were murals of cats dancing, rolling, laughing and skipping. That wasn't all, though. Each cat had a kite handle in its mouth; it was as if they were trying to see who could fly theirs the highest. And worse still, the cats' soul-piercing eyes followed him wherever he moved.

'Distracting, aren't they?' Asked Hilton, closing the door.

'Only a little.' Lied Zach, struggling to sit down on the hard plastic chair presumably built for a child. After realising he wouldn't find comfort here, he immediately took the offered glass of water and leaned forward, eager to be asked more questions.

Amy smiled and shuffled her notes. 'Zach. Why did you apply for this job?'

Boredom as an answer wouldn't have curried any favour, so the lad thought hard before opening his mouth. 'I'm fascinated with history and how people interpret it. And that brought me here to the best museum in eighty miles.'

It was also the only museum in eighty miles, something that probably hadn't been lost on the interviewing pair. Yet, if Hilton was offended, he didn't show it. 'What customer service experience have you got?'

Zach shifted in his seat. 'This is my first job interview, and if I'm lucky, my first job. It'll also give me a chance to gain the experience I need to develop.'

Hilton nodded and scribbled on his notepad, leaving Amy the opening she wanted.

'If a visitor wanted to donate their old clothes to the museum, what would your answer be?'

'I'd-'

The floorboards started creaking in the corridor outside.

'Ignore that,' said Amy with a scowl. 'Want me to repeat the question?'

'It's alright. I'd say no unless it's something you wanted in the collection.'

'What if a visitor asked you whether we did car repairs?'

Zach tried to keep a straight face. 'I'd apologise and say that the museum isn't a garage, but I'd point them in the right direction if I could.'

Something scratched at the door, and Amy bolted to her feet. 'We're busy in here. Use another room.'

Whoever it was persisted, and amidst the sounds of scraping wood, there came an obnoxious scream.

'What the hell was that?' Asked Hilton, pale as a ghost.

'Let's find out.' The fearless Supervisor reached for the door while Hilton slid his chair back and held up his pen like a knife. 'On three-'

The countdown had been useless. The moment Amy turned the doorknob, something barged its way inside. It was a dog, two and a half feet high, with tangled black fur, a slobbering tongue and one eye. And as it bounded in Hilton's direction, the man fell backwards, and the dog cocked its leg for a wee.