FML: an interview
So there I was...a tipsy parental unit to the left of me, an unclean, French-toast uniformed line of boy-creatures to the right of me, a one Mr. Jamin G. Queue (he would have none of the new, first-name-basis poppycock) teaching Cotillion around me and a bet lost to another writer from The Flail at the forefront of my thoughts, reminding me that I had no choice but to stay here and make the best of what was looking to be the interview from hell. As a “graduate” of the program,...