I arrive at the downtown hotel for the interview five minutes in advance of the scheduled time. I’m to meet Jim Goodlatte in a café off the lobby. Jim Goodlatte hasn’t described himself or told me he’ll be wearing a red tie or a blue shirt or name tag, so I’m wondering how I’ll identify him. When I enter the café, there’s a huge guy in a suit with an open laptop and smart phone sitting alone and almost no one else there, a few elderly people in armchairs at the front window, staring out at the sidewalk, backs to the rest of the café, lethargic turn of their heads following the traverse of any passerby.
We shake hands and mine is lost in his, though he has an easy grip and lotiony soft hands. He asks if I’d like something and I say sure and he says go ahead, I’ll wait, and gestures toward the counter. I order a latte, pay for it after a moment’s hesitation, the woman behind the counter waiting patiently for me to hand her my debit card. She gives me a plastic number like a miniature sandwich board and says she’ll bring it over when it’s ready. I put the number at the edge of the table and it doesn’t take long. She picks up the number and sets the latte in the same spot. As we’re talking, I’m compulsively pulling on the latte despite how hot it is. The aftertaste is melted cup. I’m getting pretty geeked and the roof of my mouth becomes callused. My responses are more elaborate than they need to be because I’m overstimulated. I’m careful to maintain eye contact, Jim Goodlatte is an eye-contact guy.
Jim Goodlatte pokes at his computer. His fingers are too big for the conventional keyboard. I can tell when he’s backspacing by the peck-peck-peck with his bratwurst of a finger. He mispronounces my last name, pauses, asking me how I pronounce my last name, I pronounce it correctly and he apologizes, smiling introspectively, like fucking up names is a lovable flaw. He’s staring at the screen of his laptop facing away from me and he goes hmm, huh, asks me a few questions about my jobs past and present. It occurs to me this is the first time he’s looked at my résumé. Initially, I find this off-putting, but then I decide he’s just not that into his job. I’m waiting for him to ask me to describe a weakness and stare blankly at me, not listening to my bullshit, wondering why he asks this question when people always respond by blowing smoke up his large ass.
