If your table could speak, it would have an interesting tale to give. It would tell of the countless files that have sat on its surface with name of names of countless qualified candidates, who you never pick. It would tell of the buttocks that have plastered themselves on it while you hurriedly raised their skirts. It would tell of the countless legs that have spread to give you access, just so they could access, the positions meant for the names in the files of the qualified candidates.
If your table could speak, it would tell a disturbing tale of the time when you scratched off a name with your pen held with manicured fingers, careful not to chip a bright red nail. It would tell of the little quarrels between you and Miss Laura that made you decide she wasn’t due for a raise. Never mind that you were in the wrong and that she was in the right or that the quarrels were about a matter that took place on Saturday night at a bar.
If your table could speak, it would have a sad tale to give, of the time when you removed a name from the list because, “this job naim go fit my pikin”. Or the other time when you replaced a whole file with one of your own because, “if I no do for people from my side, who will?”
If your table could speak, maybe we would finally understand why we’re applying and other people, you are hiring.
jaymarensworld 