[ WP ] You are interviewing for your dream job . Everything that could possibly go wrong does .

Brian Lindale cursed at his wife's dogs, like he did every day. Except this time, when he told the purebred Yorkshire terrier to `` Die like the rat you are'', he meant it. He could deal with the smell they built up over spending hours in their kennels, or the 2am barking that would spark the others to echo that sharp yipping. He even managed to somehow forgive when the smallest one chewed through the power cables on his 66'' flat screen television, right when he really needed to just sit and watch something distracting for an hour. But now, images of drowning the animals in their swimming pool were tempted to stay in his mind's eye. Hell, he'd even bury them afterwards, which would be more then they deserve. 
 
 He hated them especially today because now instead of leaving the house five minutes early, he would be leaving just on time. He checked the clock on his phone. 
 
 *7:00. Takes twenty minutes to get there, interviews at 7:30. I'll be fine* he hoped. 
 
 Brian carried their kennels to the back door and opened their little gates. He gagged at the smell, and realizing that there was shit even on the handles. He rushed to the kitchen sink to wash his hands immediately, using too much dish soap as he always did. Brian was the type of person who liked clean hands, and if they were ever dirty at some point in the day, he would feel anxious. And even worse, Brian bit his nails down to the flesh, so he had to be extra careful to avoid situations like these. 
 
 Scrubbing that bit of brown on his hand that just would n't come off, he looked up to find the dogs playing with each other, covering their white fur with shit and piss. He looked over to his phone. It showed only a black screen. Brian nudged the front button with his elbow and it showed 7:03. *Ill be fine* 
 
 He stepped over the kennels to get to the backyard, careful not to swing the door open too much so the little rats could n't scurry inside. He scolded them as they tried to jump on his legs. `` Shoo, you little shits. Get the fuck away from me.'' 
 
 He managed to get to the side of the house, walking barefoot over their white rock landscaping, peppered with bits of dry dog shit. He evaded them all and got to the green hose the gardeners used to water their four palm trees. He traced the hose to its source and turned the spout. He held the hose up, and chilling cold water dribbled out from the tip. He held his thumb on it, but there was n't enough pressure to make a spray. Brian had to trace the hose again to find where it had folded, and found it on the third try. The pressure inside the hose finally let out, spraying water straight into the air. Now he had dirty water on him, but he did n't care. After this, he would need to shower again anyway. 
 
 He held his thumb to the tip and sprayed the hose water at the dogs. Of course, they took him for playing and tried to jump at him. If his wife saw him repelling the little rats now by spraying directly into their faces, she would be livid. *They misbehave because they know you hate them! * she would say. It was the kind of thing that he thought was cute when she said it, but thinking on it later would just irritate him. *What kind of sense does that make? Shitting on yourself must be some protest* 
 
 When finally they were as white as their innocent little souls, Brian ushered them into their spare kennels. Of course, the last one never wanted to go back in once he had been let out. But like Brian, we do n't all get what we want. 
 
 He carried their now full kennels inside, trying not to let their yipping get on his nerves. He set them down, walked back to the kitchen sink and checked his phone. *7:08. I'll be fine* 
 
 The shower was nice, at least. He liked his showers hot enough to fog the mirrors. But he did n't have the time to stew in it long. He jumped out, toweled off and slipped into his extra suit. 
 
 As he walked out the door, he checked his phone. *7:15 If I hurry, I'l be fine* 
 
 Brian powered on his GPS device, and waited anxiously for his directions. Suddenly the screen went dark. 
 
 *Dead? No not now* 
 
 He pressed the power button desperately, but nothing else happened. `` Damn NSA'' he said aloud. The National Security Agency years ago made a deal with global phone providers to record all audio around every cellular device, and to shut down phones before all power was depleted in order to maintain recording. 
 
 At least, that's what he had heard. He cursed the NSA out of habit, but also to try and make light of this awful situation. Brian certainly remembered where he was going: for a job interview at the local paper to write a sports column. The press factory for the Reno Times was the largest building in town, outside of North Virgiinia Street. Damn near every schoolboy in the city worked as their paperboys back in the 60s, when he grew up. Times were simpler then. Dogs stayed outside, phones did n't die and employers understood if you had a bad morning coming in. But now, companies just dont care. With one of every seven people unemployed, the companies could be as hard as they wanted on their workers. What would they do, quit? Good luck feeding your family. It was a kind of leverage that would be called criminal, back when Brian grew up. Now it's just good business. 
 
 He checked his phone again to check the time. *Still dead. No idea how late I am* Nervously he looked at his hand, and found the nail on his right pinky finger just a bit longer than the others, showing the tiniest sliver of white at the tip. He bit down, remembered his cleaning work that morning, and gagged. He spat outside his window. *Best not to think about it. Think about the road, we got ta hurry on* 
 
 Brian backed out of the driveway and went. The kids were on summer break, so there would n't be any pedestrians running about trying to catch busses or chase playballs. He remembered almost hitting a child while he was checking his phone for the time. He remembered the panic, a kind of trance you enter where everything can go wrong and your mouth tastes like metal. 
 
 But seeing no pedestrians around, he sped out of his home. While driving, you always believe you're hitting every red light. Like a man in a traffic control tower is looking at you, making sure the yellow light comes on just far enough away to make you doubt yourself. But now he was certain of it. 
 
 Brian passed by Piggy Pete's Coffee, which was really just a donut shop with week old coffee. This was the type of place that stayed open until 11pm so the city's hipsters could eat donuts snobbily, if that were a thing. He remembered being a kind of social rebel back then, insisting that his friends listen to the Stones instead of the Beatles, and before that Beatles instead of Elvis. But only the young have time for that now, and certainly not Brian. 
 
 Traffic slowed to a crawl, and Brian cursed aloud. `` Are you fucking kidding me, what now?'' He nudged his car to the right so he could look ahead. A quarter mile ahead, on the side of the road, a red minivan had sideswiped a green honda. It was always the green hondas. It's like people who ca n't drive gravitate to cheap cars they can use up and throw away. 
 
 But what bothered Brian was that everyone wanted to slow and see what was going on. He was n't the kind to nose into other people's business, especially one so boring as a traffic accident. But sure enough, every single person driving by bneeded to slow and inspect it. And once they had, they revved up to meet the normal Reno driving speed: Speed Limit + 10. 
 
 When he had finally broken free of the slump, he reached that certain Reno Go, everyone in a rush to get nowhere. Except he had to rush to the Reno Times, and now he finally saw their large sign just around the I-580. 
 
 **Reno Times** it flashed. 
 
 **7:35pm** he panicked. 
 
 **August 5th** 
 
 **Do n't Text and Drive** 
 
 He raised his fingernails to bite them, remembered the smell of shit, and grimaced. He looked down at his hand for a second and found it: a dab of dog dung on his wrist. Somehow he missed it while washing. *Oh god, what if I went into the interview like this* 
 
 He looked up at the road again and found the RT Drive exit coming, where he would need to turn off. Suddenly the smell of shit was giving him immense anxiety. He would need to wash it off now. Brian turned the wheel toward the exit, and started steering the wheel with his knees. He leaned over to the glove box where he kept a small stack of napkins. He pulled one out and wiped off his wrists, looking up at the road every half second to make sure he was still in his lane.He finally wiped his wrist clean when the wheel sllipped over his knee. He quickly grabbed the wheel, napkin still in hand. 
 
 `` GOD FUCKING *DAMN IT*'' 
 
 He let go of the hand holding the napkin and it stuck to the steering wheel, held in place with wet dog shit. He rolled down the windows to let out the smell as he turned into the Reno Times parking lot. He came to the end of a line at parking validation, each driver waiting their turn to get a ticket. 
 
 *Come on, come on. Get your fucking ticket already* he cursed to himself, realizing the absurdity of what he said but he did n't care. These people needed to hurry up. Now.
