No one writes me back. The week I got back, I sent out twenty resumes, cover letters, and numerous letters of interest, but not one company writes back. I’m starting to panic.

And then I receive a call.

My cell phone rings at nine in the morning, and the number is marked private. I usually don’t answer private or unknown numbers. Typically they are debt collectors calling about late payments. But I do today. What if it’s a recruiter? A human resources person? How lucky would I be?

“May I speak to Ms. York?” a smooth voice asks.

“Yes, this is me,” I say and immediately kick myself for not sounding more professional. Less casual. Would it kill you to say, yes, this is Ms. York? Dammit!

“My name is Margaret Black, and I’m calling to set up an interview with you at Wild International. I’m looking at your resume, and you seem like a good fit.”

“Oh yes, of course. That sounds perfect,” I say.

Wild International? What the heck is Wild International?

“Are you available later on today? We have a lot of people interviewing, and the spot will go fast.”

“Yes, I am. Of course. What time?” I ask quickly. This is the first person who has called me in months. I’m not going to pass this up.

“How about noon?”

I look at my phone. Three hours is not enough time to get ready – mentally and physically – but I don’t have a choice.

“Noon is perfect.”

Ms. Greaves gives me the address of the building and tells me to arrive fifteen minutes ahead of time to take care of some paperwork.

I hang up the phone in a daze. Did this really just happen? Do I really have an interview?! I can’t believe it. Also, for the life of me, I can’t remember ever applying to any Wild International. Something about that company sounds familiar, but I don’t know what.

I pour myself a bowl of cereal and sit down on the couch with my laptop. According to their website, Wild International is a global pharmaceutical company that does drug testing and clinical trials on a variety of different drugs to treat a variety of different diseases. Biology was never my strong suit, but from what I gather, they develop and test drugs on cancer, tumors, and other kinds of diseases.

Now that I know what they do, I try to find what position I actually applied for.

I search my inbox for a confirmation email but find nothing.

I then search my documents folder where I label each resume and cover letter that I send out to keep track of all of my applications. I had read online that resumes and cover letters should be tailored to each position to show the prospective employers that you’re interested in them and them alone. So I copy and paste my generic resume and cover letter and alter them with the name of each company and position that I apply to.

I search the documents folder visually and find no trace of Wild International. Then I search it again using the ‘find’ button, but still nothing!

How can this be? How did they invite me to an interview without an application? Did they think I was someone else?

No, they couldn’t have. My mind continues to race as I start to get ready. I take a shower and lay out my outfit – a black pencil skirt, a pink polka dot blouse, and black heels.

No, they couldn’t have thought that I was someone else. Ms. Greaves called me by name. Or did she? She did just say Ms. York, not Ms. Annabelle York. But if she wasn’t calling me, how did she get my number?

By eleven, I’m ready. My makeup is demure and professional, but feminine. The high-waisted skirt makes it hard for me to breathe, but it does make me stand up straight and prevents me from slouching. The blouse is frilly and something that a hot secretary would wear in a movie. The stilettoes pinch my toes and send shooting pain up my heels into my hips. I haven’t worn heels in months, and I’m not adjusting well. But I’m ready.

In the car, I put the address into Google Maps and turn up the speaker on my phone. The place isn’t very far away. About a ten minute drive. I’m sweating profusely, and my hands are ice-cold and shaking. I turn down the radio and try to focus.

Wild International is right in the heart of downtown LA. That means that there’s no street parking, and I have to bite the bullet and pay $20 for parking in their parking garage. That was half of my food budget for the week. Maybe they validate. Either way, this interview had better be worth it!

On the first floor, I hand the security guard my ID and wait for him to call upstairs to confirm my appointment. When I pick up a magazine, my hand is so sweaty and cold that it sticks to the cover. I decide against it, placing the magazine down once more.

“Ms. York, you can go on up now,” the security guard announces. “Take the elevator all the way to the 67^th floor. Take the elevator on the far right – it’s the only one that goes all the way up there.”

The walls of the elevator are fabric. I don’t want to wipe my sweat off on my clothes, so I slide my hands against the wall behind me to get rid of some of the moisture.

“Calm down, calm down, calm down,” I say to myself aloud. “You can do this.”

On the 66^th floor, I take a deep breath and only breathe out when the doors open to the 67^th floor.

The doors open to a large spacious lobby surrounded by windows. The entire space has not one wall. Clouds are hugging the windows, and a few specks of sunlight break through. The lack of sunlight is the least unusual thing about this Los Angeles day.

“Ms. York, I’m glad you made it,” a familiar voice says. It’s Ms. Greaves. She is a middle-aged woman who looks a lot like Kathy Bates. She also puts off a no-nonsense vibe that makes me feel comfortable.

“I’m going to be the one conducting the interview,” Ms. Greaves says. I can feel my shoulders relax. Even though she comes off a bit confrontational, she’s also straightforward, and I appreciate that.

“Follow me, please.” Ms. Greaves leads me into a large ballroom with floor-to-ceiling windows on all sides. The ballroom is empty except for one small circular table and two chairs. She sits down and opens my file. I follow her lead.

“Well, first of all, I would like to know why you applied to work here?” she questions, looking straight at me. I know that I should keep her gaze, but I can’t help but look away. I have no good reason for applying here since I never did, but I can’t blow this question.

“Well, I’ve always admired Wild International and all the good that they’re doing all over the world. I want to be part of something like that. I want to work for a place that makes a difference.”

Where did those words come from? I have no idea.

“Excellent, okay then.” Ms. Greaves nods. I try reading her, but I can’t tell if she’s one of those people who say excellent all the time, the way that others say ‘okay’, or if she really is impressed with my insane answer. The one thing I know for sure is that I am certainly impressed with myself. Thinking on my feet is not one of my strong suits.