Why don’t you tell me? You’re the fortune-teller looking for a new assistant.
Planet Earth. Next!
Probably NSFW-browsing on five-years-newer versions of these computers.
Putting the finishing touches on a scathing satirical novel about this place.
That depends—will Venus be in retrograde?
Being a gladiator. Wearing a white hat. Fixing things. What’s that? Scandal? No, never watched it. Why?
Hoarding company pens. I didn’t put this in my cover letter, but pens are actually my passion.
I want to be the guy in whatever industry this is.
Is this another deposition? God, I’m getting sick of those.
Still taking credit for other people’s work, but in far subtler ways.
Raising your children, for today marks the start of my diabolical plan, conceived with the help of your spouse, to poison you—slowly, oh so slowly—until in exactly 1,825 days you will finally succumb to the toxic, daily-administered microdoses, at which point (after a suitable mourning period, of course), I will wed your grieving spouse and give your family the life they deserve.
Presenting an expert-verified Bigfoot specimen to the adoring world.
Off the grid, but still telecommuting.
With a resume that’s changed genres from fiction to creative nonfiction.
Of what Fate has in store for me five years from now or tomorrow, I know not, O Lady of my Soul, flower of beauty, and Princess of HR. But fortified by your esteemed virtue, mounted on my trusty rolling chair and accompanied by my faithful intern, I shall protect you from the perils lurking in this perfidious office complex.
Five years? By then I’ll be, like, old. Ew.
I see myself looking into a mirror in a corner office, then looking at the reflection from a facing mirror, then getting lost in the multitude of reflections of me standing in the corner office looking at myself in the mirror and having my mind blown. The corner office is the key thing here.
As a famous philosopher said, you can’t step in the same river twice. So why do anything, ever, really?
Campaigning for President Trump’s glorious reelection bid!
On parental leave. I’m very fertile.
If majoring in history taught me one thing, it was that implementing five-year plans is always a good idea.
I want to run everything within reach, but have not yet found an appropriate way of phrasing it that doesn't make me sound like Hitler marching his way across Europe.
"By then, Phase 2 will be complete, and it will be too late for anyone to stop it."
Comedian quipped: God willing, laid up in bed with a work-related injury.
How am I only just seeing this? You even got my title right: "Lady of my Soul, flower of beauty, and Princess of HR."
I had that job once. The constant garlands and cookie tributes got to be a bit tedious after a while, but someone had to do it.
"I'm very fertile" is a glorious go-to phrase and should be employed in many situations.
Actually, I've been thinking it over and have come to the conclusion that Princess of HR is what I'm aspiring to. Right now I'm the new kid. Definitely more Countess of Benefits Administration and Lady-in-Waiting of HR.
Right? With a slow eyebrow raise and knowing nod, preferably.
Anyone asking those questions doesn't actually deserve such witty responses but I'll keep them in mind in the event I decide not to walk out of the interview.
Something with the rapture or zombie apocalypse?
Had to suffer through a motivational speaker asking that in school. So tempting to reply "In a coffin, I've got terminal cancer" with the added bonus that I could've then run out of the room wailing "I just can't deal with this right now" instead of sitting through the next 90 minutes of aggressively cheerful pop psych. But I was a coward. >:(
I dunno, sitting right here slightly chubbier and wrinklier, mourning my lost youth?