March 6th, 2009
Toby
A bead of sweat drips down my temple as I wait in Dr. Jacobs’ office. It’s a job interview with someone I know and respect, so why do I feel the need to apply another layer of deodorant? Dr. Jacobs stands in the doorway talking to one of the office assistants. I could grab the stick of deodorant in my backpack, swipe my pits, and be done before his conversation ends, but then again, he could turn around while I’m mid-swipe. Would it be so awkward for him to learn I wear deodorant?
I reach for the antiperspirant in my bag as Dr. Jacobs turns around. I stand and shake his clammy hand with my sweaty one and hope I smell better than I feel. He shuts his door and gestures for me to sit.
“Mr. Delgado.” Dr. Jacobs leans back in his chair, fingers laced together in his lap. He’s studying me. “I’m not sure if I can get used to you without the mustache.”
Join the club. I smile through my naked lips.
Dr. Jacobs taps his desk with his fist. “I’ve got to say, I was surprised when I saw your application.” I nod and smile. He continues, “I was surprised you would want a permanent position. The first time you subbed here, I could tell you were happy, and substitute teaching isn’t an easy gig. You’re great with kids of all ages, you meld right into any environment, the kids love you, and teachers you sub for always give you a glowing review.”
I’m waiting for the but. I am a great sub, and great subs are hard to come by, and I love doing it. I love that I never have to take my work home, that I get to meet all kinds of people of all ages, and that I have the freedom to take a day or a week off when I want it.
He leans forward. “And then there’s the subject matter. Isn’t your degree in English teaching?”
My turn. “Yes.” One little word and my voice cracks. I clear my throat. “You’re right, world history isn’t exactly my ideal subject.” In truth, I only applied because Rose insisted on it. She thought it was destiny falling into my lap. She’d reminded me that substitute teaching doesn’t offer the benefits, pay, and stability I would gain with a full-time teaching job at Cleveland Middle School. “But I’m confident I can teach the content.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can, Toby.” He has a twinkle in his eye, and I’m confused. Did I say something funny? “So, I was thinking about you and this sudden interest in a position that is not subbing and not teaching English, and I thought to myself, Why would Toby, a single guy without the responsibilities of a family, suddenly decide to take on a full-time position? And why would he be willing to do something he doesn’t love? And it hit me.” He leans forward, as if he’s sharing a secret, and whispers, “Toby, are you engaged?”
I smile, but it’s a weird, forced smile. Doesn’t he know I’m engaged? “Marry Me” is plastered all over Rose’s wall with twinkle lights, and he’s the principal at her school. Is he joking? Rose has told everyone about our engagement: strangers at the grocery store, waitresses when we’re eating out, her mailman.
“Yes, I’m engaged.”
Dr. Jacobs hits his hand on his desk. I jerk backward with surprise. “I knew it.” He grabs his phone. “I’ve gotta tell my wife. She’ll be thrilled.” This is the weirdest interview I’ve ever had. When I applied to work as a grease monkey, my boss clipped his toenails during the interview while his dog licked up the clippings. This is weirder. Why does Dr. Jacobs need to tell his wife about my engagement? It’s not like we’re close.
Using the landline on his desk, he hits his wife’s number on speed dial while talking to me. “I told her you two were perfect for each other early in the year, but it wasn’t until the eighth-grade dance when I saw you two together that I knew…” His wife’s voice is on the line. She says hello and Dr. Jacobs responds with, “Hi, honey, you are not going to believe this.” Dr. Jacobs’s excitement is palpable. “Toby Delgado is here in my office.” She asks who I am, and he answers, “The sub who coached the girls’ basketball team. Well, he’s engaged.”
Mrs. Dr. Jacobs screams.
It takes me a second to process, but Rose wasn’t at the eighth-grade dance, JerryAnn was. Dr. Jacobs thinks I’m engaged to JerryAnn, and he’s more than a little excited about it. Do I interrupt his call or wait until he’s done?
The couple talk about how sweet and talented and lovely JerryAnn Rice is, but I should have put on another layer of deodorant because now I’m sweating bullets. I stand. Dr. Jacobs looks up at me quizzically. His wife waxes on about JerryAnn, but I don’t want to hear it. I reach my hand over to the phone, and press my pointer finger into the switch on the phone receiver.
Dr. Jacobs stands and blurts, “Did you just hang up on my wife?”
“Yes.” I swallow hard. I hung up on Dr. Jacobs’s wife during a job interview. “I’m sorry, but I’m not engaged to JerryAnn.”
Dr. Jacobs sits slowly, leans back, and lets out a long sigh. “Oh.”
I sit. “I’m engaged to Rose.”
“Oh.” The single-syllable word spreads across five seconds. He’s not reaching to call his wife, and he’s leaning back again, but now his arms are folded across his chest as he studies me. “I’m confused. Are you sorry that you hung up on my wife, or sorry you’re not engaged to JerryAnn?”
I squint, hesitate, and I’m glad Rose isn’t here. “I’m sorry I hung up on your wife.”
Dr. Jacobs nods slowly like he doesn’t believe me. “Ah, so you’re the guy the custodial staff is mad at for plastering thousands of staples and twinkle lights all over Rose’s wall.”
I smile. “That’s me.”
“Hmm.” Dr. Jacobs’s eyes are a permanent squint. “I misread that one.” He opens his mouth like he has more to say about it, then closes his mouth. “Well, that was awkward.”
We laugh nervously. Dr. Jacobs rearranges some papers on his desk and looks at my resumé, but he keeps glancing up at me. “I understand you’ve been subbing at an elementary school this week. How’s that going?”
Finally, safe territory. “Great. I’m teaching kindergarten.” I smile. “They call me Mr. Deltaco. It’s been fun.”
Dr. Jacobs points at me. “And there’s your smile.” He leans back. “You’re happy talking about subbing in a kindergarten classroom, but I’m guessing you don’t feel the same way about teaching world history?” He’s right. I look down at my hands. “Before you stepped through this door, I’d decided you’d have the job. You’re an excellent teacher, hard-working, and would excel in any position you wanted, but I get the feeling you don’t want this job.”
He’s right.
He unfolds his arms and tilts his head to one side. “Toby, are you happy?”
Whoa. It’s a loaded question, not one of the ones I found while reviewing possible interview questions last night. Am I happy? Happy about what? Are we talking about my job, my engagement, and the fact that I’m moving in a few weeks when my lease is up, or is he referring to a more general happiness? It’s ridiculous to expect someone to be happy all the time, and how can anyone be happy in the middle of a job interview?
“It’s not a trick question.”
Then why does it feel like one?
He leans forward. “Are you happy with your current job?”
I let out a breath. “Yes.”
“Toby.” He’s exasperated. “This may be oversimplified, but if you make decisions in life that increase or maintain your happiness, you’ll be happy.”
I nod my head. I’m not getting this job, and I’ve never been so relieved to be rejected. “Dr. Jacobs.” I lean forward and then stand. He stands as well. “I don’t want to waste any more of your time. Thank you for helping me realize I don’t want this job.”
He smiles widely and reaches his hand across his desk to shake mine.
“Also, tell your wife I’m sorry for hanging up on her.”
This time, Dr. Jacobs’s hand is less clammy and mine isn’t sweaty, and when my hand falls to my side, my pits are drier.
“Mr. Deltaco.” Dr. Jacobs’s eyes twinkle. “I pride myself on my ability to find and hire great teachers. You’re one of the great ones. Come back when you’re serious about a position.”
“Thank you.” I nod and smile. “That means a lot.”
Dr. Jacobs steps out from behind his desk and opens the office door but does a surprising about-face that lands us a few inches from each other. I take a step back into his office. “Toby, that thing I said about happiness, it works for all parts of your life, not just your career.”
I take the long way home on my motorcycle and let the cool dry air wash over me. I consider my happiness, Rose, my future. The time on my bike feels good, but my happiness feels as fleeting as the street signs I pass. Here, then gone. I pull into a burger place because all I can think to do about it is eat something.