04. Post-parasitic stress disorder

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"Chrysanthemum?" asks the woman, and I get up as I ready myself for the interview

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"Chrysanthemum?" asks the woman, and I get up as I ready myself for the interview. However, and much to my surprise, she does not direct me to the conference room just like she did with the last three applicants. Instead, she tilts her head to the left as she shoots me an apologetic look.

"Is something wrong?" I ask, a knot finding its way to my throat as several flashbacks run through my head.

"I'm sorry, your profile doesn't quite fit what we're looking for."

"Then why did you call me for an interview?"

"I'm terribly sorry, it was a mistake."

Feeling consecutive waves of fire and ice hit me in the face, I can't help but clench my fists in attempts to tame the raging beast inside of me. Why in the world is this happening again? It's the third time this week!

The other day, a dude said I was overqualified for the job after going through three interviews and having him gasp each time I passed his stupid tests. An hour after I got home, he called me apologizing because money magically evaporated from his bank account, and he couldn't afford another landscaper on his team anymore.

Then there was this woman who said that, and I quote, "Tropical and co. are out of their minds for letting such a brilliant mind go". Her bewilderment with my abilities did not last for too long because she hit me with that classical "you're overqualified" bit on a cursed Monday that was supposed to be my very first day at her company.

I'm really beginning to believe that this black dress I'm wearing does actually give away Maleficent vibes. Maybe I shouldn't have hit Dan with a cushion when he pointed that out.

Looking down at the copy of my resume, a smirk finds its way to my lips as I remember how naively hopeful I was when I printed it for the fifteenth time, hoping and praying that I finally get hired. Little did I know that the witch's curse stuck to me is very far from being over. Companies seem to be avoiding me like plague, and my self-esteem has shrunken to a point where I don't even believe I can walk straight anymore.

"I'm really sorry, Chrysan..."

As the lady tries to comfort me on my walk back to depressed unemployment, a young man comes running to her, his lungs on the verge of bursting from all the running he's been enduring.

"Samuel Green..." he says, his hands gripping on his thighs, "he's calling again!"

And the doors to burning hell fly wide open as I walk out, Maleficent horns on the verge of breaking out of my skull.

🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂

"Chrys, he's in a meeting. Please!" screams Regina, her heels clicking as she follows me. I pick up the pace, however, ignoring her cries and push the door open only to find Samuel sitting back in his chair, a cigarette in hand, with the T-Rex sitting on his lap.

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