A Comedy of Errors - Part 2

 

The Interview That Never Stood a Chance

Raghav believed in preparation.
Not because it helped—but because it gave him something to blame later.

On the day of his interview, he woke up two hours early, an achievement so rare that he stared at the ceiling in suspicion. He brushed his teeth carefully, wore his least-wrinkled shirt, and even ironed his trousers with a dedication usually reserved for farewell ceremonies.

The bus arrived late.
The auto refused to go.
A stray dog sat on his shoe and refused to move, as if sensing destiny.

By the time Raghav reached the office building, he was only five minutes late, which in his world counted as punctual. He stood before the glass doors, inhaled deeply, and stepped inside.

The receptionist looked at him kindly. That should have been his first warning.

“Interview?” she asked.

“Yes,” Raghav replied, handing over his résumé with both hands, like an offering.

She typed his name into the system. Once. Twice. Then frowned.

“Oh,” she said. “The position was filled this morning.”

Raghav nodded, as if this was information he had expected since birth.

“But… I got a confirmation mail yesterday,” he said, softly.

She smiled. “Yes. For yesterday.”

Raghav checked his phone.
The email was indeed dated yesterday.
He had spent the entire night preparing for an interview that had already happened—without him.

“Is there… any other opening?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

The receptionist paused, thinking hard. “Security guard?”

Raghav looked down at his résumé—MBA, certifications, years of experience.

“I faint at the sight of confrontation,” he said honestly.

She nodded. “Understandable.”

He left the building with the same dignity he had entered with, which is to say—none at all. Outside, it started raining. Of course it did. He opened his umbrella confidently.

It folded inside out.

A man ran past him, splashing water onto his trousers. The man apologized—to the umbrella.

Raghav stood there, rain dripping from his hair, trousers soaked, résumé turning into paper pulp. And for a brief moment, he laughed.

Not loudly.
Not happily.

Just a small, tired smile that said, Of course.

He went home and updated his job portal status to: “Available Immediately.”

Life, as usual, remained unavailable.