3 Words

“Describe yourself in three words,” the bold font read on the front page of my application. As I sat in the cool, steel fold up chair within the Dane County Police Academy, the dreary, gray walls vaguely resembling a prison cell, I silently snorted at the cliché question.

That was one of the mindless questions my first employer asked, me at the young age of fifteen, found myself sweating frantically as the manager stared at me awaiting my answer. I don’t recall what I had answered, probably something along the lines of responsible, caring, driven….who knows, I basically pulled the answer from thin air.
Teachers were always accustomed to using this question on the first day of school when we all awkwardly looked around at the new faces in the classroom. They used it as a way to getting to know each other and ease the tension, which how does three measly words serve to know someone? As each child went and muttered their three words with a hot face and eyes down, I feverishly repeating my three words in my head so I didn’t stumble on them when all eyes were on me.

With the smirk smile on my face, I began to ponder what three words describe me. They have transformed from my grade school days and my adolescent self. Should I lie and use words the employer would like or be true and describe myself? Two men moved from their chairs to the hiring Sargent and I fidgeted in my chair as I started to feel the dampness underneath my arms. The agitation grew and my mind began deleting the words I had stored. With my face hot, I looked down at my jostling foot and began to admire my shoes…

I love my style. Quirky professional is my word for it. My sister says some days I look like a rainbow barfed on me and I take that as a compliment. My eye has always been drawn to bright colors such as purple, red, blue, highlighter yellow, and lime green. Admiring bright colors makes me happy so when I where these perky colors, it adds a little happiness to my outfit.

Quirky. First word down.

I shuffled in my seat again, trying to conjure two more words. A metallic clatter rang in my ears as I saw my car keys hit the hard floors. As I picked them up, I stared at the picture keychain of my son, and a smile played across my lips…

My son is my world. People say the love for your child is unexplainable and it’s true. I can come home on a horrible day and when I am greeted by his one dimpled smile, I forget all my worries. He gave me purpose and guidance and bluntly, I need him more than he needs me. My compassion for him can never be formed to write on paper because they are not words to describe it.

Compassionate. One to go.

A lady, who looked to be twice my age, approached with the Sargent with her application in hand with her Doc Martin boots clubbing the floor as she walked, creating an echo in the eerie silent room. She did not look dressed for the interview, more or less for farm work, wearing denim and a brown polo to accompany her brown work boot. I took a glance at my own attire: black slacks, dark purple sweater, and black flats, edged with dark blue denim...

I was brought up to dress to impress. I came to this interview to impress. I wanted this job more than I needed it. I had learned in psychology that people get a sense of who you are in the first five seconds of seeing you. These judgments are made off of clothes, posture, and facial features. This job would be a new beginning for me if I received it and If I that meant I had to dress in an itchy sweater and exaggeratedly smile for an extensive time, then I would. My mindset can be put to anything and you bet I would put all my time and effort into it. What can I say, I’m an exceedingly driven gal.

Driven. Done.