Interview

“Why do you want to work here?”

I’ve been warned about this, the stupidest, trickiest interview question. Don’t say you, like all job seekers, need a paycheck to pay the rent. They don’t want reality, they want flattery. But don’t get personal. Don’t say it’s because the interviewer is charming. It must be something you like about the company, and it must be believable.

Easy! I give her the real reason I’m attracted to this place. The building is right next to a bus stop, so I won’t have to walk far in bad weather.

I don’t get the job.

From Guest Contributor R.K. West

Leviathan

April worked the shop counter, gritting through the arthritis and the insinuations, hoping her obsolete wedding ring would ward off anything worse. Her smile was too often seen as an invitation, but her popularity with the customers meant her paycheck was one less thing she had to fret over. Plus she got free repairs.

In winter, when she was locking up after dark, she noticed the shadows piled up in the corners of the lot despite the reflected fluorescence. Something was out there waiting for her, waiting for her to be buried under debt and trauma, waiting to consume her.

The Greatest Show

We climbed down from our platforms and out of the ring, inhaling deeply of sawdust and popcorn, sweat and dung. We turned out the lights and broke down the tents, ropes biting into our palms. We watered the elephants and fed the lions; we waved at stragglers and kissed our new lovers goodbye. One last campfire, one last harmonica bray, one last cloud of dust kicked up by our dancing feet. One last paycheck pressed into our hands. No train tomorrow. No makeup, no spangled costumes. We’ll tip our heads back, way back, and spread our arms for the net.

From Guest Contributor Tara Campbell

Tara is a writer, teacher, Kimbilio Fellow, and fiction editor at Barrelhouse. Previous publication credits include SmokeLong Quarterly, Masters Review, Jellyfish Review, Booth, and Strange Horizons. She's the author of a novel, TreeVolution, and three collections: Circe's Bicycle, Midnight at the Organporium, and Political AF: A Rage Collection.

At Least It Gets Me To Work And Back

I pass the dump truck parade on my way to work, and I pray the spider cracks in the windshield of my creaking and shaking and ground-scraping savior will remain intact until tomorrow. But this is the end for it. The heavy glass shatters on me, pouring down with a ripping gust of gravel and unpaid bills. I cover my scrunched face to protect from the impending costs. I bleed my next paycheck into the repairs. There is a new scar on my credit report, just next to my student loan debt. My last breath is spent coughing up pennies.

From Guest Contributor Stacy Gorse