Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Il a blagué

Which roughly translates as "he joked" in French. It's a bit late to tell the people at the Guardian that I was just joking about my love for rallying, swimming, track & field - just so they would give me a job. Well, they've only gone and invited me to an interview for a trainee sports journalist position. Can I plead the fifth amendment at an interview?

The geeky looking Guardian journalist/sports anorak walks into the freezing cold room. Don't be fooled by the thick rimmed NHS issue glasses. "We keep the room cold to intimidate interviewees. Are you nervous yet? Not to worry, if you're not yet, you will be."

"So Mr. Ifejika," he continues, "rallying eh? We'll see about that". Pause. Then fires three questions in succession, machine gun fire couldn't sound any worse. "Who won this year's driver's championship?* Who won the constructor's championship?** Who's having chemothrapy after the removal of a brain tumour?***"

"Erm, can I google it?" Ifejika stumbles.

"ANSWER Ifejika, ANSWER!" he bellows, nostrils flaring, showering Ifejika with tiny morsels of his breakfast.

Okay, I have to brush up on my sports current affairs (is there any such thing?) I'm only going to be in the interview for twenty minutes. They couldn't possibly ask me enough stuff in that time. Interviews are supposed to be events where one is hung, drawn, and quartered over the course of a day, not a twenty minute chat. I should be happy, I hear you say. Perhaps I should be, but it's at times like this the masochist in me surfaces. Make me bleed!

*Sébastian Loeb
***Richard Burns
ps I'd like to thanks Google for making these answers possible.

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