The Powers that Be

I lack poise.

There I was in an important interview, and just as it started I must have brushed my chin where I had cut myself shaving that morning. A few seconds later one of the interviewers asked, "Do you know you're bleeding?" "Here," said another, "take a tissue."

But it was one of those cuts that don't stop easily, and every time I dabbed there was more blood, so I tried keeping the tissue against my face. Meanwhile the questions came steadily. Was I familiar with the decision in Hurd? What guidance did I think it gave us? I looked at the tissue from time to time to see how my face was coming along. Bleeding more heavily, by the look of it.

Was I familiar with the Hewitt case? By this time the tissue was full and I had to do something. I transferred it to my left hand and took a fresh tissue with my right hand. They were looking at me blankly, and I felt the interview was getting away. I didn't want to keep holding the full tissue - that felt awkward - but I didn't want to put it into my suit pocket. Did I have any experience with the operation of stock option plans in Central America, they wondered. I made a decision and plopped the bloody tissue up onto the table.

They looked at it as if it was part of my answer, and I knew I'd made a mistake. I picked it up quickly but they kept their eyes on it. As I began to talk about Central America I found myself tapping my hand for emphasis, and all at once I noticed there was blood everywhere I had touched the table. Their eyes were opened really wide now, and they had all gone silent. I checked the new tissue. It too was filling up, and now I had blood in both hands. I began to draw my hands back, as if to show that I wasn't really that sort of person. But then I asked myself, "Where are you going with those tissues? You can't put them in your pocket - you've already committed not to do that." To make it as clear as possible I thrust both hands forward, away from myself.

The interviewers leaned back quickly as if I had threatened them. One even pushed her chair away from the table a little. I retrieved my hands but the interviewers stayed where they were. I wanted to reassure them. I smiled and began to lilt my hands forward and back, forward and back in little arcs, as if to say, "See? They're perfectly harmless." I think I might even have shrugged and chirped out a little titter. But it was no use. What good was someone who not only bled but who allowed his bleeding to set the tone?

I thought, years later, that I had become much more sure of myself, but in fact it was mostly a matter of luck that I hadn't been caught sufficiently off guard. Then one day our office manager brought me a spray bottle and said pleasantly, "I have something for you." I found out afterward it was a surface disinfectant called Viraguard, but he was swaying the bottle slightly as he spoke and I thought I read "Viagra." I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to seem provincial, but nothing appropriately cosmopolitan occurred to me at once. I tried to think, but I felt worried.

I wondered, first, if Viagra might have more uses than I was aware of. Perhaps it had a more general energizing effect, something like testosterone, and the firm was giving older employees a chance to sample it. But then, if that effect was so well known, I would surely have heard of it. I don't follow these things, of course, but that would be big news that I couldn't miss. The manager looked at me smiling and waited for me to say something. I felt I could trust him, and I found myself disposed to treat the gift as a thoughtful gesture. But if it was a kindness, that implied he thought I needed Viagra, and that was nothing short of an outrage.

I still hadn't said anything, but my face must have shown the rapidly changing lines of my thought, and the manager was beginning to look nervous. I thought to myself that he had only delivered the bottle, that it probably wasn't his idea and that I had no call to make him feel uneasy. The main thing here was to be calm and civilized, and to usher the matter smoothly through. I gave out what I hoped was a reassuring smile, and glanced at the bottle again.

I had always assumed that Viagra was a question of pills and of waiting while the effect came on gradually - but here was Viagra in a spray applicator! I now felt keenly interested. I took the bottle right away while I kept eye contact with the manager and began to thank him and to nod him as quickly as possible out of my office. I could hardly wait. I wouldn't wait. I'd spray a little onto my ear to see what would happen...