Ruth is a full-time writer. Foodie. Happy camper. Wanders a lot. Used to have the worst taste in men. A reformed swipe-a-holic. Reviving her blog after its death.
Friday, May 09, 2003
I always have had bad premonitions of applying for big companies with fancy names. They tend to have hard and silly mathematical questions that I would have never answered without Jay Retiro (the high school math whiz and my crush) behind my back, coaching.
Anyway, my well-meaning friends signed me up for this certain company without my knowledge or consent. I didn’t want it, even from the start, because Zha told me that she knew someone who graduated magna cum laude, and had to start at the bottom.
The very bottom. She became a saleslady for the company.
I think, it’s a very honorable job (It is! It is!). But considering the very bottom for a magna is that. What could be the bottom for me, given my extreme knowledge in mathematics?
I know, peddling soaps and shampoos on the street.
***
But hell, what the heck, any excuse to get out of the house is good reason for me.
When we entered the examination room, everybody was already seated. We were late for fifteen minutes. The proctor, meanwhile, made sure that we knew this, so she kept repeating the phrase, “For the late-comers…”, for our benefit.
Why did the sight of a calculators on our table, did not ease my apprehension? In fact, it made me feel like I wanna flee out of the room, screaming and crying, ”I’m a journalist, I use calculators to add, subtract, multiply, and divide. Anything more complicated than that is beyond me.”
Halfway through the exams, I was looking around for some kindred spirit. Alas, no such luck. They were all serious. My seatmate, who saw the way I was craning my head, thought I was cheating, so he covered his answers.
I didn’t mind though. At that time, I was so fucking tempted to change my name in my answer sheet, go to the bathroom and never come back.
But that’s not reality, so I gritted my teeth, stopped reading the questions, and blocked the circles in a pattern that I thought would look nice.
I looked so smug after the exams, that I thought I convinced even my seatmate that I was the goddess of algebra.
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