Interview #skillz /./ [Thimba]
@ensnaredsailor
Simba had never interviewed for anything in his life.
How is that possible? You may ask.
Well, he worked at InterPride and his aunt’s nonprofit all through his teenage years. When he’d gotten the job at Pixie’s, Tink had practically scraped him off the floor and shoved a rag into his hand. It had just--kind of happened. He had no real memory of it (had been drunk more than not.)
Any club that he was part of, that he was a leader of, president of, etc--had all been democratic votes that voted him in. Being rugby captain had been a decision by the coach--same with rowing, same with cricket. Even when he’d gotten the part as a director for the teens, that had been more of an offer than an interview, really. And auditioning wasn’t the same as an interview. It was different to act like someone else than act like yourself.
He’d been handed CEO without even wanting it.
Simba had never interviewed for anything in his life, and he was fucking nervous. He wanted the job at the daycare, he really did. Things were hectic and busy right now--with wedding planning starting to get into swing (with a guest list first up), the play, the kid’s camp (which only lasted for two weeks, but still), not to mention taking care of Bowie, and the fact he wasn’t living at his own house, and that Kiara he had to watch pretty much 24/7. People had always said that becoming a “parent” was a full time job, but it had never been so literal.
But, when the school year started and Simba was only going to class ten hours a week, he was going to be restless for the rest of the time. He didn’t do well sitting still, hence the hectically full summer schedule.
And he wanted the experience. His resume was a joke right now. No real experience, just the play, just working with the kids when he was 15, 16, 17. Just some volunteer work and babysitting jobs he’d had over the years (most of the kids almost grown up by now, and the parents--mostly--he’d fallen out of contact with for references.)
So, he had asked Thomas to meet him, because he could only hear Ber say he would be brilliant and not to worry and just be himself so many times.
Thomas wanted what he wanted. Thomas would be objective.
Simba had texted him, asking if he’d be willing to do a walk through interview with him. Thomas, of course, had agreed and Simba had given him the address to his mum’s house in the Woods.
When the doorbell rang, Simba was in the parlour, sitting on the floor with poor Bowie, whose hind leg was in a bright pink cast (real men wear pink.) Bowie woofed and tried to get up, but Simba settled him.
“Mum! Door!”
“Yes, thank you, I’ve got it. I do know how to be a hostess,” Sarabi said, appearing from down the hallway. She opened the door and smiled.
“Thomas, right? Jambo, I’m Sarabi, Simba’s mum.”
“The best mum!” Simba piped up from where he was still sitting on the floor, stretched out with Bowie.
Sarabi looked over at Simba and rolled her eyes, but stepped away from the door so Thomas could enter.
“‘Ello!” Simba greeted cheerily.
“Would you like something to drink, dear?” Sarabi asked, moving a step towards the kitchen.
