Baj*ngan. Anjing. Asu. Cangkemane.
"Alright... sir, Dirga. Do, please tell me... why are you so interested in this job position ?"
"I wish to demonstrate a strong alignment with this... company's vision. Creating a start in my career as one of your pioneers."
Lies. I just wanted to eat good food. My late-night shifts recounting these phrases would do me good. Surely ?
The interviewer cast a hardening glance towards him. Looking up and down, glancing at the man's quality. He muttered a disproving tone towards his papers.
"Of course, certainly.. then please tell me.. when have you last eaten, Mr. Dirga ?"
"Wha—... I'm fairly sure I have eaten this morning. Is.. there a problem in it... sir ?"
What is this guy on about ?
Isn't it illegal trying to know about these kinds of private stuff ?
This darn interviewer...
Who was his name again ?
A cough, and the atmosphere became numbed. This was the only time I could get a job. Focus, Dirga. You do NOT want to eat instant noodles again. Even if it's good.
"Alright... could you please briefly introduce yourself again, Mr. Dirga ?" The interviewer hardly hid his boredom. His relaxed tone and brief rumbles of the gliding pen began numbing him. In a sort of a lullabic way.
"My name is Dirga Prasetya. Born and lived in Jakarta for–"
The interviewer's raised hand put a stop to this interview. His calloused hand was a brief stark to his young look.
"I'm sorry but I think I have enough of what I really.. needed. You may go now, Dirga."
No titles anymore. As if mocking the man named Dirga, calling him a child. The cheap AC's wind rattled the room as it's due was near.
The man raised his limp body, and went to the exit hoping for one last interruption.
"Oh.. and just a reminder, Dirga. You can use your bag to muffle the rumbling in your stomach. Have a nice day, Mr. Prasetya."
Dirga grew a bright pink hue at the corners of both his cheeks. Gritting his teeth, he muttered a brief thank you towards the door. And bid the office farewell.
— 2 Months Later.
The harsh and gritty concrete gave an imprint of red shapes on his hands — creating a mosaic shape of red.
"Where the hell is my JACKET ?!!" Dirga stormed under the small bridge. His barefoot calloused flesh now numb from the constant walking in that state began to crumble.
The night was nearing and he needed somewhere. Anywhere to stay.
F*CK.