Twenty minutes later I emerged from the tall building and slowly walked down its steps. I found a bench and sat down.

I wished I had a time machine, to go back just twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes ago, the me that determinedly climbed those steps and yanked the door open to my fate had no idea what she was in for.

I met the man who would hold my fate in his hands, shook one of them firmly, and gave him a confident smile. He gestured to a seat and I sat down.

I answered his questions, showed him my portfolio that took years to compile, and thought I was giving a strong presentation.

When I was finished, his mouth was drawn in a line, his eyes glassy, and his posture was not relaxed. He said the words I dreaded, “Well call you,” and gestured to the door with a, “Good day.”

I knew I had blown it. I couldn’t figure out where, but I just knew I did not get the job. I slouched on the bench, defeated.

At least it was over. I had to move on.

My phone rang. I picked it up, read the number, and smiled.