Formal interviews always make me feel like a sharp beak is forcing my neck down while a claw spreads my legs and wings pin my arms back in preparation for rear entry. So the sound of ravens fucking in the trees seemed appropriate as I walked down Church Street this morning to my second job interview of the week.

Typically the interview follows the same process:

Raven: "So tell us a time when you exhibited the following traits that actually have nothing at all to do with you getting us coffee and donuts, which is basically what all those big words in the job description actually mean."

Chick-a-dee: "Well, here's a completely made up example of just what you're looking for, but who cares since I'm only going to pretend to work while playing minesweeper for 8 hours a day and in the end I'll just download a report from the internet, change a few words then pass it in as my own work and you won't be any the wiser since you were just going to add it to the dusty pile of similar useless reports written by countless other zombie interns over the past two dozen years."

Raven: "I'd say thanks for your time but frankly I wasn't listening and will probably just end up tossing all the resumes up into the air and whichever one I pick up first gets the job."

Chick-a-dee: "I'm going to get so drunk this weekend that, frankly, I won't remember this come Monday."

Raven: "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out. Oh, and nice suit."