Excerpt from The Bureau of Voluntary Services
From Applicant Larry Fletcher.
Question: Understanding that your application’s outcome will be made based solely on this interview, do you have any final statements to add to the record?
"No, not really.
"Well, it sounds so stupid I feel like I shouldn’t even mention it. But . . .
"I was going on a walk about a week ago, down seventh district. I remember it being cold and there were leaves scattered around with the trash and outdated flyers on the street. White and yellowed paper, brown and yellowed leaves, and one thing that jumped out at me: red and white. It was a playing card—you know the kind, like for Poker or whatever—laying face-down on the street. The back was this really intricate red paisley pattern on a white background. I have no idea why, but I just kind of stopped and stared at it. I felt my mind going in so many directions. I wondered how it got there, what the story behind it was, and what card it must have been. Maybe just a number, maybe a face card, maybe an Ace. I wondered if it would mean anything if I picked it up and flipped it over. Like, was it some kind of sign? I mean, I had been asking for a sign for so long. But I knew—I just knew—if I picked it up I would assign some kind of significance to it no matter what it was. I was so desperate for a sign that I was totally aware I would just turn anything into one. So I shook the feeling off and just kept walking.
"But the rest of the day I couldn’t stop thinking that I’d gotten it backwards. It was a sign and I just ignored it. It had to be a sign, right? I mean, this bright red playing card, pristine and lonely in the leaves and trash, steadfast against the wind and the cold—it had to be a sign. And I was just convincing myself to ignore it because . . . I dunno, I think I was scared. I was scared it would be a sign and that I’d have to make a real choice instead of just showing up for this interview and letting you make the decision for me.
"But it just kept eating away at me. So I went back to look at it.
"By the time I got back to where I saw the card, it was gone. And, as stupid as it sounds, the regret I felt at not flipping it over to see which card it was? It's been haunting me. It’s the only real regret I can think of right now. I just . . . I wish I had flipped over the card. I don’t care if it was something as normal as a Six of Clubs. I just wish I had looked."
