In the Altogether

Mark sat patiently in the waiting room, back straight, looking ahead with what he hoped was a pleasant expression. A stack of magazines sat on the low coffee table in front of him, easy bait for anyone less skilled in the art of interviews. He did not bring his phone. A small coil of lint on his dark, pleated pants was slowly driving him insane, but he could not let the assistant at the desk see him fidget. Mark knew he was being watched. He wondered how long they would sweat him out to see how long he could maintain his composure. A small knot of anxiety tightened in his lower stomach as someone else walked out of the door they had disappeared into some torturous hours ago. In his periphery he could see them still adjusting their belt. Amateur.

“Mark?” the assistant called and he replied in a measured manner. “They’re ready for you,” they said and gestured him into the door. The next room was a locker room for one person. A squat stool occupied a square of floor beneath a tall metal locker. “Please, undress to your level of comfort and enter the next room.” Mark thanked the assistant and they shut the door behind them.

Mark pulled his blazer away and opened the locker. Inside the door was a mirror. He watched himself remove his shirt and he stepped out of his shoes. Every time he got a little excited he would take a deep breath. There was no hurry.

A lot of bigger companies had picked up this fad of “naked truth” interviews. Of course they were obligated to tell applicants that it wasn’t necessary. No one was telling them they had to take off their clothes. HR department heads were customarily present to ensure there was absolutely nothing sexual about it. But weren’t you awfully modest for this kind of position if you couldn’t be comfortable in your own skin? No judgment of course, your body is your business, but don’t you want our business to be your business? Hard to hide anything up your sleeves if you’re down to your birthday suit.

He had read a few dozen listicles on best practices. It hadn’t landed him any of the other three interviews he had so far, but he was getting more and more confident with each try. He had groomed very well this time around. He examined his precisely measured stomach hair. The spray tan had gone on incredibly smooth, if he would allow himself the vanity. It looked very natural. Mark dropped to the floor and did a few rapid pushups and then stood to examine his handiwork. To his dismay, he spotted the angry beginnings of a pimple on his ass, but knew picking would only make it worse.

Drawing a deep breath, he strode to the next door. He steadied his breath and put on a smile. He turned the handle and pulled the door toward him. The next room was small, but one whole wall was entirely made of windows. Four chairs were situated in a circle, the closest to him empty. The other chairs were filled with older people, clipboards and pens resting on their bare thighs. Mark's bare feet slapped against the tiled floor and he wondered if he should have shaved the little patches of hair on each toe.

Willing himself not to look at the thickets of hair all over his feet, Mark kept his eyes up and made his introductions, the others shaking his hand vigorously. He sat in the empty chair and wondered only briefly if they sanitized them between candidates. Was he sitting in the last person’s ass sweat?

The interview was fairly standard otherwise. They asked him “a little bit about himself” and they pretended to care. Every statement out of his mouth pertained to the job. He spoke in the future tense. As someone in that position, this is what he would do. He caught himself relaxing and his eyes roving over the bodies of the others. If he did get the job, he would live with the knowledge that the CEO had a trail of tattoo birds leading up their thigh. In a lull of conversation, while they were considering his resume, one of them scratched at their chest absentmindedly, leaving red streaks across their breast.

By the end of the interview, he didn’t have anything to ask of them. Except when he could expect to hear from them. Like any other panel of hiring personnel, they said they would arrive at a decision soon and Mark would know either way.

He left the room with what he hoped was a confident stride. He thanked them again for their time before entering the tiny locker room once more. Lingering close to the door, he couldn’t hear any further discussion about him. He heard a beep and one of the executives telling the assistant that Mark would be out soon. He took that as his cue to quit lingering about.

His clothes felt wrong as he put them on again. The nervous sweat from an hour before had dried in the pits of the shirt and his underwear smelled like crotch. Maybe if he got home quick enough he could prevent himself from having to get his suit drycleaned before the next interivew.

As he went to shut the locker door, Mark noticed a spot where his spray tan had run. The pimple on his buttock was inflamed and painful now. Staring into the mirror, he wondered if he was seeing what they saw. He simply did not feel like the same man who had worn these clothes into the building.

A few days later he found out he didn’t get the job. They would keep him in mind for any further positions, of course. And they applauded him for staying in shape and taking good care of himself, for what that was worth.