You're Next, A short, short Options

[Terocon101]

The heat in this tiny waiting room is unnatural. I mean, here I am, suit and tie and they have the heat turned up to sauna levels. Anyway nevermind... theres not much longer to wait, I'm getting closer to that door now. This is the big one baby. In this interview, everything has to go right. How long have I been here now? The clock on the wall says....
Wait a sec..I cant believe it, did the hand on that clock just go backwards? No, wait.. maybe the batteries are dead, WHY HAS TIME STOPPED??
OK, one thing about me you should know. I don't mind hard work, pressure, long hours all those things I can handle standing on my head. But for me, this waiting is torturous, I imagine hell would have a lot of it, although I bet the devil's waiting room would have better air conditioning than this place.

Yup, waiting is the hard part. Its not just me, these moments have often been described by soldiers, seconds before they charge into oblivion; or by actors and comedians, just before they look into the hungry eyes of the live audience.
Its the anticipation, you see... its like a mixture of fear and excitement, joy and dread, you know?
Then theres the expectations, and not just your own..worse than that... your family's and your girlfriend's. And of course all the years of hard work, all coming down to the impending moment of truth. All the time thinking, is it gonna explode in my face, or, dare I hope, (for hope can be a torturous itch that is just out of reach) that it might just work out for me? That I am the man they want, more suitable than the rest of these freshly-ironed shirts and their carefully chosen ties, just like mine. Of course I have a good chance.
I mean we had all got the call for the interview, they've read our C.Vs, talked to the chosen referees. Surely it all comes down to what transpires during the next twenty minutes on the other side of that door. They wouldn't call me here if I didn't have a chance,would they?

I have been examining the faces of the men as they exit the door, that door to my future. They give away nothing, except to tell the next in line to go through.
"You're Next" they are probably the only two words these men will ever speak to each other. Some add a "Good luck" but I'm not sure about their sincerity. These men who sit silently, side by side, some for hours, some for only minutes, what can we say to each other, honestly? The man who sits beside me, my enemies enemy, rises and vanishes to the other side as he is called.
I scoot over to his vacated seat, nearest that door. I don't know why, but it seems to be a tradition of this small band of brothers and so I carry it on.

So now I'm next. Once more into the breech, don't shoot till you see the whites of there eyes, remember your lines, firm handshake, be confident...
HA! confidence, I remember it, that fickle friend of mine. Oh yes, confidence can sometimes be a yellow-bellied coward in the face of battle. That imagined belief in ones ability. But I do know I could do this job, I CAN do this job, but the question is can I do this interview??? Oh God!

OK, I'm losing my cool now. Not externally but where it really counts. Got to breath slowly, go to your happy place, just be yourse... that door opens once more, as it always will, that door, the test, the moment, the future, the past, the probing questions, the eluding answers.
I look up into the face of the man who had sat where I now sit as he exits stage left, he looks at me, I know what he is going to say, I'm already rising, "You're Next!!" but I'm not next anymore.
The man who is scooting over into my briefly vacated seat, is next. I am now, and with that realization all the clinging apprehension falls away.

Sure, I may have some problems with sitting in these stuffy waiting rooms, but right now, I know...
I CAN do this interview.

[Judi]

A rising tension threatens to suffocate {everyone in}[/color]the small waiting room in which I now find myself.

You have to have someone alive to suffocate


Around the room each of the potential employees sit and not-so patiently wait their turn to see the panel of interviewers. I don't mind pressure or hard work but this waiting, {[color="#CC0000"{was torture} the sentence felt unfinished there
I imagine hell would have a lot of it.

Moments like these have often been described by soldiers seconds before they charge into oblivion, and by actors and comedians just before they look into the hungry eyes of (the) live audiences. That mixture of fear and excitement, and (the) knowing that it is now, and its either gonna explode in my face, or, dare I hope, (for hope can be a torturous itch that is just out of reach) that it might just work for me. That I am the man they want, more suitable than the rest of these freshly ironed shirts and their carefully chosen ties, just like mine. Of course I have a good chance.

I mean we had all got the call for the interview, they've read our C.Vs, talked to the chosen referees. Surely it all comes down to what transpires during the next twenty minutes on the other side of that door. I wouldn't be here if I didn't have a chance.
I have been examining the faces of the men as they exit the door, that door to my future. Those faces give away nothing, except to tell the next in line to go through.
"Your Next" they are probably the only two words these men will ever speak to each other. Some add a "Good luck" but I'm not sure about their sincerity. These men who sit silently, side by side, some for hours, some for only minutes. The man who sits beside me, my enemies enemy, rises and vanishes to the other side as he is called.
I scoot over to his now vacated seat, nearest that door. I don't know why, it is a tradition of this small band of brothers and I carry it on.
So now I'm next. Once more into the breech, don't shoot till you see the whites of there eyes, remember your lines, look in (there) their eyes, firm handshake, be confident... HA! confidence, I remember it, that fickle friend of mine. Oh yes, confidence can sometimes be a yellow-bellied coward in the face of battle. That imagined belief in ones ability. But I do know I can do this job, I CAN do this job, but the question is can (i ) I do this interview??? Oh God!
OK, I'm losing the cool now. Not externally but where it really counts. Got to breath slowly, go to your happy place, just be yourse... that door opens once more, as it always will, that door, the test, the moment, the future, the past, the probing questions, the eluding answers.
I look up into the face of the man who had sat where I now sit as he exits stage left, he looks at me, I know what he is going to say, I'm already rising, "Your Next!!" but I'm not next anymore.

I think this could be a little clearer.

I enjoyed your accurate description of a job interview...there are only a few suggestions I had for this, very minor ones...you know the drill....use or lose..Good Luck with your story, Judi