Are You Going to a Job Interview?

As you know, I commute a considerable distance to work (40 miles, one way). I always stop for gas in Trenton, Ohio--a very small, conservative, working class town--because they have the cheapest fuel around.

When I drive to work, I often think of how my journey begins and ends in two very affluent places (Oxford and Kettering Foundation), but most of the drive is a working class environment, with an economy stimulated by coal, steel, and manual labor. I don't always appreciate the beauty of Trenton and Middletown, especially when I get caught by one of their trains. Sometimes I'm even oblivious to the contrast in my commute, except when certain things happen to jar me out of my ignorance.

I am forced to wear a shirt and tie everyday to work. I've grown to tolerate it, but it's certainly not my preference. When I stop to get fuel, I occasionally notice some awkward stares from fellow gas station patrons, but I assume it's because I drive a yellow SUV. This probably isn't the case, I've decided. You see, when the gas station attendant waits on me, and if I'm feeling conversational, he/she often asks if I'm going to a job interview. The first few times it happened, I shrugged it off, but after the fifth or sixth time, I began to wonder why I kept getting that question. I have thought a lot about it, and I can only figure that I'm probably the only person they see in the morning wearing a shirt and tie. I decided to test my hypothesis, and follow up with a probing question the next time I was asked.

It finally happened this morning.

After I was asked--almost verbatim--if I was going to a job interview, I politely asked, "Why would you think that?," to which the woman responded, "Because you're all dressed up."

Fair enough, I guess. Considering this woman probably waits on 300 people in the morning, 5 or 6 days a week, and I'm probably the only one in a shirt and tie, I can't argue with her line of thinking. It just makes me more cognizant of who I am.