[ WP ] Imagine a world where dating and job hunting are switched . Dating now involves sending emails and resumes , while people seeking employment frequent the hottest clubs .

`` Remember, Joe, this interview is n't just about whether you'd be a good partner for Samantha. It's also about whether Samantha would be right for you!'' 
 
 Joe shifted in the tiny wooden chair. He'd tied his tie far too tight and it was slowly squeezing all the oxygen out of him, such that he had to keep taking deeper and deeper breaths, all the while doing his best to smile in a way that suggested nothing was wrong. 
 
 `` Of course, Ms. Avery,'' said Joe. 
 
 `` Please, Joe. Call me Becca.'' 
 
 `` Right. Becca.'' 
 
 `` Now, as Samantha's best friend, I can tell you just about anything you'd like to know about her. Do you have any questions?'' 
 
 This was always the worst part. You were expected to have questions, real questions, questions that showed you were insightful and genuinely interested. It had been hard enough to make it through the `` Why Samantha?'' portion of the interview. He'd applied to over a hundred relationships over the past year, and it was getting increasingly difficult to come up with plausible reasons that he found each candidate uniquely attractive. At this point all he wanted was a girlfriend -- *any* girlfriend. But of course he could n't say that in an interview. 
 
 `` I'm wondering,'' said Joe, `` does she have any allergies?'' 
 
 Becca raised an eyebrow. 
 
 `` Well,'' she said, shuffling her papers, `` if *that's* really the question that's burning away at you -- she does happen to have a mild contact allergy to Styrofoam.'' 
 
 `` I see.'' 
 
 `` Would that be a problem?'' 
 
 `` No, of course not,'' said Joe. `` What about pets? Does she want a pet?'' 
 
 `` She hates animals, I'm afraid.'' 
 
 `` Oh.'' 
 
 `` Are you an animal person, Joe?'' 
 
 `` Nope,'' said Joe, wondering if he knew anyone who would be willing to adopt his pet iguana. It would hurt, handing Fluffernutter over, but it was a price he was willing to pay. 
 
 `` Right, then. Any other questions?'' 
 
 `` I think I'm good,'' said Joe. `` I just want to say -- I think Samantha would be perfect for me, and if she gives me a chance, I'll give a thousand million billion percent. I mean that. I'll pour my heart out, if she gives me a chance.'' 
 
 `` That's nice,'' said Becca. `` You're very nice, Joe.'' 
 
 `` Thanks,'' said Joe, following her lead and standing up to shake hands. His legs were half-asleep from the hard edge of the tiny chair. He needed to stall long enough to recover some feeling in them, so that he did n't look like a zombie tottering to the door. 
 
 `` Well,'' said Becca, `` we'll give you a call in a week. I will forewarn you, we've had quite a few applicants.'' 
 
 `` Of course,'' said Joe. `` Understandably. Thanks for the interview. I look forward to hearing from you.'' 
 
 `` Well then,'' said Becca. 
 
 It was go time. Time to walk to the door. His legs tingled. He smiled weakly and turned, then walked. Could she tell that his legs were stiff? What was he doing with his arms? He held them still at his sides. Did that make him look like a penguin? 
 
 `` Wait, Joe! You forgot your briefcase.'' 
 
 He took his hand off the doorknob and turned back to her. 
 
 `` Thanks,'' he said, risking another few steps and reaching for the briefcase. 
 
 Becca released the briefcase just a half-second before he was ready to take it from her, and it fell against the corner of her desk, snapping open and spilling papers everywhere. 
 
 `` Oh, sorry,'' he said, kneeling to clean up the mess. 
 
 `` That's alright,'' said Becca as she knelt to help. `` What's this?'' 
 
 She held up a glossy photo of Fluffernutter sunning himself on a log. It was the photo Joe pulled out whenever the girl he was interviewing for happened to be an animal lover. 
 
 `` Oh, that's for my job,'' he said. 
 
 `` Your job as an accountant?'' 
 
 `` Yes,'' said Joe stiffly, not-quite-snatching the photo from her hand and stuffing it back into the briefcase. `` My job, as an accountant.'' 
 
 Out he went, the briefcase clamped under his arm. It was raining outside, a deluge of fat round drops. He ran to his car, hunched over, fiddling with his keys. Inside, he tossed the briefcase onto the passenger seat, slammed the door shut, and thunked his head against the headrest. 
 
 `` Fuck it,'' he grumbled. At least he'd get to keep Fluffernutter.
