My Cardboard Balcony

My Lucky Sushi Socks by Belinda Roddie My lucky sushi socks were what I wore to my interview, as well as my green jacket, my brown slacks, and my black shoes. More and more, I felt the sewed on unagi rolls and embroidered nigiri would make this one-on-one successful. I thought my love for the Japanese cuisine could shake away anxiety, if only I could give it power to shift my focus to the task ahead. The interviewer was gruff and unkind and would not discuss my credentials at all. His cellphone purred through the whole session. Somehow, I knew the sushi socks signaled, "No job for you!"

I chose the one table in the cafeteria where no one else was sitting, plopping my red tray down in front of me. The whole meal glowed with grease, a yellow tint to each element of the cuisine. The hamburger was so overcooked that I thought about taking the patty down to the local hockey rink and using it as a spare puck. I picked up a French fry, and it drooped like it was being weighed down by the salty judgment of an unknown fast food god.