I feel like a freak. Like a pariah. Like a clown. Mostly like a cripple.
I found out today that the state court is hiring. Judging by the way I’ve been acting for the last six months, you’d think I’d be ecstatic; sprinting to the courthouse with my resume plastered to my chest.
You see, I’m starting court reporting school next month and it’s common knowledge that court reporters who work in the courts pull the highest salaries; we’re talking in the ball park of $10,000 for a three-week trial, which is all fine and dandy, but the catch is these jobs are all sowed up, (surprise, surprise).
So, it’s been my dream—not in the sappy sense—to get my foot in the door at the court, as a clerk, so that I can woo the judges (and their staff) and eventually—after I complete my court reporting certification—steal a lazy, unknowing court reporter’s high-paying job.
But today, when I saw that posting for the clerk job on the court’s website, I nearly crapped myself. Actually, I’m lying, it wasn’t until I read the words, “those most qualified will participate in an oral interview or interviews before a panel,” that I nearly crapped myself.
Panel interview? Um…NO!
Release the anxiety gates! Ever since I read those dreadful words, my mind has been flooded with potential botched panel interview attempts.
Red face. Stuttering. Sweating. Crapping on the panel members. Or my chair.
Instead of excitement, I feel fear. Instead of opportunity, I smell failure. This damn job posting—that I don’t even have to respond to—has ruined my day, and probably my week. I’m pathetic.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I know I can handle the job. I don’t think I can handle the panel interview. I want it, but I’m scared. I don’t know if I have it in me to apply.
I wish I was someone else. A braver, stronger someone else.