Wedding Games

The Interview

Those bright green eyes. That handsome chiseled face, that tousled brunette hair… that strangely flat, frozen, 2D expression… that black camouflaged combat armour and the bloodied machete in his hands, the Mk 19 grenade launcher strapped to his back...

I realise with a sigh of relief that it’s not Oliver right outside the open elevator doors, but rather a giant framed poster portrait of him hanging on the wall.

No. Not him - the video game character who he bears a strong resemblance to.

Blaze Firestorm - the lead playable character in Tournament of Heroes, the Winsworth Interactive Company's new bestselling combat game.

Maybe he works here, and some concept artist based the new character on him. It would explain the uncanny resemblance. If that’s the case though, then what was he doing visiting the offices of WhiteStar Gaming Studios back in October? It’s not like he would have been there for a job interview. WhiteStar’a a pretty cool place to work (if you ignore the bureaucracy and the blatant theft of intellectual property by some senior staff members), but no one in their right mind would give up a role at Winsworth Interactive Company for a job at WhiteStar. It would be like swapping your Ferrari or Cadillac for a beat-up old golf cart. A major step down.

And what did he mean when he said he was there to “take control of his destiny?”

So many questions with so few answers.

Oh well, it hardly matters. It’s not like I’m going to run into the guy anytime soon.

Or ever again.

I have more pressing matters to worry about - like this interview with Annemie Beenhouwer.

I walk past the Tournament of Heroes poster into a lobby almost identical to the first. A young man in a sharp black suit smiles warmly at me as I approach his desk. 

He glances over to the sticker name badge on my lapel, then gestures towards a row of plush black velvet armchairs and a glass coffee table along the far side of the lobby.

“You’re a bit early, but you can wait over there, Ms. Greene,” he says. “Ms. Beenhouwer will be with you in a moment.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, making my way over to the chairs.

I settle down into the one furthest from his desk, placing my art portfolio case to the side of my chair and glancing around at the items on the coffee table. A vase of blood red spider lilies, a ten inch black marble statue of the Goddess Athena - one of the playable characters from Winsworth Interactive Company’s debut (and to this day, most popular) game, and a stack of glossy magazines. 

The issue of TIME magazine at the top of the pile has an eye-catching portrait of an imposing older man in his mid to late fifties. He’s wearing an immaculate charcoal grey suit, and his face is lined but handsome. His dark wavy hair is streaked with silver, and his eyes are the colour of steel, matching his cold, hard glare. The headline above him reads:

“Franklin Winsworth: The Gaming Mogul on the Future of his Multinational Empire.”

Franklin Winsworth - the founder and CEO of Winsworth Interactive Company. 

The big, BIG boss. If I by some miracle manage to get this job (and it really will take a miracle - I’m sure every concept artist in the USA has put in an application), chances are I’d never even cross paths with this guy. He’d be my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss’s boss or something like that. 

And that’s something to be grateful for. He looks scary as hell. Plus, if I’m to be honest, he already seems like a bit of a power hungry, self-centred egocentric douchebag. From what I can see, every magazine on this coffee table has him on the cover or as the lead story, singing his praises and heralding him as the “King of the Gaming World.”

What sort of person has complimentary puff piece articles about themselves placed in strategic locations all around their own office building, for visitors and staff to see? An egocentric douchebag, that’s who. 

“Valerie Greene?” The receptionist guy calls out my name from across the lobby. “Ms. Beenhouwer will see you now. Her office is through the frosted glass doors to your right.”

He points down the hallway, and I pick up my art portfolio case, feeling the butterflies fluttering frantically around in my stomach as I prepare for this make-or-break interview.

Annemie Beenhouwer’s office door is slightly ajar. I take a deep breath in before I enter, smoothing down my blazer as I centre myself and battle my nerves.

Stay calm, Val, I tell myself. Relax. Make a good impression. You’ve got this. 

I steel myself as I walk into Ms. Beenhouwer’s office. The moment I step inside, I stop in my tracks, staring open-mouthed at the incredible space. Her office is roughly circular, with a domed roof and floor-to-ceiling glass, showing off an incredible panoramic view of Central Park and New York City stretching out into the distance far below. A flock of birds swoops by outside the window, and I feel like we’re literally in the clouds, in a glass bubble high above the world.

“Oh my god,” I say dumbly, momentarily-awestruck. “This is-”

“Incredible,” Annemie says in a crisp, germanic-sounding Dutch accent, finishing my sentence for me. “I know. I’m very lucky - those of us on the Executive Board of Directors and heads of departments all get these flashy corner offices. If you think this is impressive though, you should see Frank’s - I mean, Mr. Winsworth’s - office. It’s really something else.”

The longer I stare at the panoramic view outside the window, the woozier I feel. I’m usually not afraid of heights, but this is all a bit much. I can see yellow taxi cabs the size of ants milling around the busy streets below, and for a split second I feel the inescapable pull of vertigo. I stand blinking at the view, frozen in place.

“Are you alright, Valerie?” Annemie asks, a hint of concern entering her voice. “Perhaps you should sit down.”

She begins to rise from behind her desk, and I quickly shake my head, springing into action.

“No need to get up, I’m fine,” I say apologetically, moving to the grey chair opposite her dark wood desk. “Sorry.”

So much for making a good first impression. Dammit dammit dammit.

“Oh, it’s quite alright,” Annemie says with a small smile. “Are you afraid of heights?”

“Not particularly,” I say.

“Any other phobias?” She asks. 

Huh? Well that’s a strange question to kick off a job interview.

Something about her wide, inscrutable smile and her intensely watchful gaze is making me extremely nervous.

“I don’t like spiders, but I’m not sure I’d say it’s a full blown phobia, exactly…” I say, trailing off as I try to think. “And I’m not exactly a big fan of snakes either, they freak me out, but I’d say that’s more survival instinct and common-sense than phobia. But I mean, it’s not like I hate them or hold it against them or anything, I know it’s not their fault that I’m afraid of them, spiders and snakes just freak me out a bit...and uh...”

Oh god no. I’m rambling now. I’m getting verbal diarrhoea thanks to my nerves, and I’ll just carry on spewing out garbage until she stops me.

“Noted,” Annemie says, and to my surprise I can see she’s actually writing down my answers in a printout on her desk.

“I presume you’re unmarried?” She says, flicking her eyes over to my ringless hands.

“Um… yes…” I answer, wondering where this strangely personal line of questioning is coming from.

“Single?” She asks, and I nod.

“Children?” She asks.

“What about them?” I ask, wondering if I heard her right.

“Do you have any?” She clarifies.

“No… but I hardly see what that’s got to do with-” 

“And you’re straight,” Annemie cuts in, more a statement than a question. 

I nod, starting to feel slightly dazed as I watch her tick a checkbox on the printout.

“To the best of your knowledge, do you suffer from any diseases, disabilities or mental health issues, including but not limited to genetically transmitted diseases, such as Bipolar disorder or hereditary hemochromatosis?” She asks, and I shake my head, leading her to smile with satisfaction and tick another one of the small checkboxes.

What in the hell is going on? Asking questions like this in a job interview… it’s illegal, it has to be. But still… I really need this job. It’s not like I’m in a position to be picky. 

And so I try to keep my cool and answer the oddly prying questions.

“Describe yourself in five words,” Annemie says. “Without thinking about it for too long. Just say the first few words that pop into your mind.”

“Diligent,” I begin. “Efficient… Reliable... Versatile…  and uh… Hard working. I know that last one is two words, but I-”

“I’m not asking about your working life here, Valerie,” Annemie says, cutting me off mid-sentence. “I want to know who you are as a person. Try again.”

“Ok… umm… Shy… Imaginative… Loyal… Sincere… Creative… Dreamer.”

I immediately regret the last one - I’m sure it makes me sound like an unreliable space cadet - but she’s already written it down, so I leave it be.

“And how are you with kids?” She asks.

“Will my role involve me dealing with children?” I ask back, sure that the confusion must be showing on my face. 

“Maybe,” she says vaguely. “Hopefully.”

“This is a senior concept artist role I’m interviewing for, right?” I ask, wondering if there’s been some mistake and they’ve actually got me mixed up with another applicant for an entirely different role. 

“What are your religious beliefs?” Annemie asks, completely ignoring my question.

“What does this have to do with the role?” I reply, finally losing my patience with the invasive line of questioning.

Annemie smiles gravely and then leans forward in her chair, as if she’d been waiting for this.

“I’ll be frank with you, Valerie,” she says, her stiff, forced smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Being offered a job here at Winsworth Interactive Corporation is like winning the lottery. We chose your resume out of not thousands - but hundreds of thousands - of applicants from all over the world. Even just getting to the interview stage is a huge achievement, and an honour few people might dare dream of. With this in mind, we feel entitled to ask a little bit more of our candidates. Our approach may be unconventional, but we’re no run of the mill company. An exceptional company needs only exceptional people, and that calls for exceptional methods of sorting the wheat from the chaff. We’re after a very specific type of person. Valerie - are you wheat, or chaff?”

I feel my body twitching in the seat, willing me to stand up right now, walk out of this accursed office building, and never look back. But then the thought of my pathetic bank balance flashes across my mind, and my dashed dreams of saving enough money to hire a lawyer and wrestle Ghosts of Paris out of my ex-employer’s iron grip.

“Wheat,” I say, trying to hide the rising irritation in my voice.

“Good,” Annemie says with a genuine smile. “Now, let’s try this again. Religious beliefs?”

“None,” I say, and she raises an eyebrow at this, writing something down on the printout before her. “I mean… I was raised Anglican, but I’m sort of… undecided. I’m not sure I’d say atheist… maybe agnostic. I’m still figuring stuff out.”

She nods at this, scratching something out on the paper and writing next to it.

“Well, I’m happy to let you know that you’ve made it through to the second part of the interview,” Annemie says. “This afternoon we’ll be sending you a series of online questionnaires to fill out via the email address you provided in your application. Please do take your time answering, but don’t wait too long - we have a lot of applicants for this position, and we’re looking to make our selection well before Christmas. Any questions?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me anything about my career?” I ask incredulously. “Like my skills as a concept artist, my work experience and-”

“You’ve already told us everything we need to know,” Annemie says.

“I bought along my art portfolio,” I say, pointing to the black case propped up against the leg of my chair. “Usually in these things the interviewer would ask to see some drawing samples.”

“No need,” Annemie says, looking down at her phone to check the time. “Now, if you’ll excuse me please - I have a nine thirty appointment I need to prepare for. Keep an eye out for those questionnaires. Oh, and Karl at reception will take a photo of you on your way out. For your second interview, should you progress to that stage.”

She rises to shake my hand, and I mimic the gesture awkwardly, forcing myself to smile. 

Karl is already waiting for me as I walk out the door of Annemie’s office. He leads me to a small, separate room down the hallway, completely white with only a series of ring lights and a fancy DSLR camera on a tripod at the centre of the space. He points to a spot on the floor, and I stand awkwardly, waiting for him to take the photo.

“One… two… three… smile!” He says cheerfully, and I give in, flashing him the best “hire me I’m awesome” smile I can muster. He takes a few more shots, then tells me I can leave.

I wander out through the HR lobby and into the elevator in a half-daze, numbed with shock at the bizarre events of the past half hour. By the time I’m out of the building and standing once again outside in the chilly morning air, I’m starting to feel a little better about the whole strange situation.

I guess it’s like Annemie said. The Winsworth Interactive Company is no ordinary business. It figures that their interview process wouldn’t be ordinary either.

And besides, I CANNOT afford to be picky right now.

Come hell or high water, I’m fighting for this job.