This is a little something I wrote in my notes one night. I’m not quite sure when it’ll be completed but at least it has a nice little foundation.

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He just wanted it over. The inevitable “thanks but no thanks” wasn’t something he was looking forward to. Rejection was a hard thing to swallow.

His gaze took in the other, more younger, applicants and sighed. The young man next to him was still filling out the form. He couldn’t help but sneak a glance. Jerry Damrell, 26, was a MIT graduate with honors as well as a Masters from Berkley.

He knew this was a waste of time.

He stood to leave, the clipboard half way to the chair when the door opened.

“Base?”

“It’s Bass, like the fish.” He said automatically. Bass flinched and his grip on the clipboard turned white. He hadn’t meant to correct the woman, only leave. Now he had to face her and the inevitable rejection.

He turned to find a woman in a suite looking bewildered as if she never met a man named after a fish. Well, he hadn’t either besides himself. “Right this way.”

Bass followed her, clip board in hand, to a corner office that was bigger than his apartment. A different woman sat behind the desk in an outfit Bass was sure cost more than a whole years rent at his place. “Hello Mister Base,” she smiled and motioned to one of the soft leather seats in front of her desk, “have a seat.”

“It’s Bass. Like the fish.” He corrected for the thousandth time that week. Everyone assumed it was bass, like a bass guitar, not bass like a fish. Why he didn’t know.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve just never heard of someone with a fish name!” She slapped her desk with a small giggle but quieted down when Bass wasn’t laughing. “Right, let’s-”

“It’s Sebastian but everyone calls me Bass.” Why Bass thought he had to explain himself to another interviewer was beyond him. He shifted, uncomfortable in his old, worn suite.

The woman motioned for the clipboard. Bass didn’t want to give it to her but he had no choice in the matter.

She smiled and somehow it seemed condescending. “Well Bass, I’m Diane Maycome but you can call me Diane. Shall we get started?” Her gaze flicked over the questioner on the clipboard. She was disappointed, he could tell.

“Fire away.” Bass immediately regretted his poor word choice when Diane’s smile darkened. Her gaze racked him up and down that had nothing to do with mentally stripping him and everything to do with concealed loathing. To him, it seemed she really did want to fire him before even hiring him.

He just knew this was a waste of time.