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Print Story: What happened before my Interview

I remember leaving school, taking the bus home really eager to interview my subject. I’m definitely not the textbook savvy type, so when I heard ‘field work’ I got a little excited. It’s not often I look forward to doing homework. That day in class I went onto Facebook and typed in my status ‘I’m in need of an interviewee for a class assignment!’ Not five minutes later, there were about ten people willing to do the interview. I chose the first one, the name of the person is not to be disclosed.

After I chose the interviewee, we exchanged words in their inbox, speaking of an interview date and time. It happened to be later that day at about seven to seven thirty. The bus ride home was a nervous one. Even though I was excited, I was hoping I could do this assignment properly. Looking out the window, I had high hopes. As the bus arrived at the terminal, I double checked my bag for my Bloggie, a pen and some paper. I had about three hours before I had to be at my subjects house. Hopping on the number one bus, I took some deep breaths.

In no time I arrived at my street, the day was sunny with little clouds. Snow was soft on the ground rolling over every incline. I trudged through it with my sneakers, hardly winter gear but I was never one for snow boots. What felt about three seconds, was actually five minutes and I made it in through my side door. I climbed the stairs to my room and tossed my bag down, pulled out a pen and some paper and furiously started writing ideas for questions. There were approximately thirty five questions. Realizing that there were way to many, I was proud. It’s better to have way to many than not enough, and I still had two hours left before I had to bus to the interviewees house.

The eraser scrubbed the paper and my eyes followed each rough stroke. Which questions should go? How would I make this story flow? Tick, tick, tick.. Time went by and I was indecisive. Finally, I grew impatient and didn’t think about it. I scrubbed off fifteen questions. My eyes darted to the clock, the ticking was starting to make me tremble with anxiety. I swallowed my heart, I had thirty minutes. I was going to be late. I ripped my bag from the floor and threw it on my bed. I frantically accumulated my things–paper, pen and bloggie, yanked open a pocket on my bag and threw them in. While I was rushing around, I called my subject multiple times, no answer. Frustrating built, and I booked it out the door. At seven thirty, I made it to the terminal. I felt ill.. of course, my confidence is stripped from me once again.

The bus arrived at eight. I jumped on while, in my head a war was waging. This happens every time. Something has to go wrong by my own hand. Thoughts raced in my head, and what felt like an hour later, I arrived on my subjects street. The snow was an obstacle I was not in the mood to battle. My anger forced my to run, and run hard. Each foot stomped through the snow spraying it in every direction. My fists pounded the air in front of me.. I couldn’t hit it hard enough. Ten minutes of battling the relentless Canadian winter and I burst out of the snow onto a cement porch.

I prayed my interviewee was still home and wanted to be interviewed. The last thing I needed was to be turned away. Knocking, I was told to come in. Opening the door I felt a wave of relief wash over my shoulders, blowing the anger from my chest. Everything was going to be okay.


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