It’s 9:30 AM on a Thursday morning. I’m out the door, a disposition completely different from all the other mornings of this unemployed past month. It’s interview day. One more in the pile of mediocre positions that I’m applying to. Today’s company? A stuffy corporation that has coerced me to don the only pencil skirt and heels that I own.
As I’m trekking the mile and a half commute by foot (catching every pothole in the sidewalk with the spikes of my heels), I hear the voices of my peers pestering me about my “next move.”