cbs interviews cbs

Nimbus -

A man who is his own interviewer has a fool for an interviewee. Or should it be the other way around?

Years ago a columnist wrote that 1/2 of the representatives in Congress were idiots. The Speaker summoned the columnist and under pain of contempt asked her to recant. Fearing for her job, she apologized in the august chambers of Congress and, before its distinguished men and women, said in all humility, "I'm very sorry for my grievous mistake, your honors. I am now recanting. When I talked about idiots in Congress, I was referring to the other half".

All through today nobody wants to hold me into inqury. Perhaps people think everything I respond to is a product of my own revising. Sometimes people think correctly and I don't like it especially in these stolid times when all I wanted to announce is to what point my knowledge has risen.

Probably not much higher than my ass, the repository from where all my good intentions come. Or as the R-ish may say, "knowledge my r's".

I remember being interviewed with some interest when I was in college which, in hindsight, I considered as my 15 minutes of shame. There, in the security office of the university, I was asked to strip naked while being continually asked if I indeed broke the glass windows at the ground floor of our building's right wing.

If I knew James Carrey then, I would have acquired his rigmarole and let my butt do the talking. "I did not do it", my flamboyant butt would have said, opening and closing the orifice with the help of my hands in the same extenuating and cavorting movements of puppetry.

Right now I try to muster some sense in the act of my interviewer. Why did he accuse me of bashing the windows like I was some kind of celebrity? Did I look like Russel Crowe? Did I pitch like Kenny Rogers? In frustration, all I could think of was that the university analyzed my dossier as someone finding ideology not just in humans but in buildings as well, judging me as someone too willing to smash anything right wing.

Here in the Northeast I was interviwed, too. For a job. I was just barely a resident, having arrived from the Philippines for like 10 days prior.

"Do you speak Spanish", the interviewer asked.
"Un poquito", I said, with the confidence of El Sombrero.
"Say something to us in Spanish, then", she commanded.
"Un poquito", I said, with the confidence of El Sombrero.

Another time I was interviewed by still another company - they did huge landscaping and irrigation contracts for developers - for a crucial position. The interviewer said it would help if I knew a little accounting.

"You mean debit and credit?", I asked. His face lit up and queried if I knew the essence of a debit. "Sure, sure", I assured, with the confidence of a Filipino. "Debit, isn't he the one who killed Golliath?" The interviewer laughed heartily without cease, with mouth agape showing the amplitude of rotteness within. The thing I learned then was that bad breath, when extensively savage, became visible and procured a fiendish form. I was even tempted to tell him, to further reveal my knowledge of the discipline: Sir, all your cavities are accounted for!

to be continued...