1. Know the Company. It is a must that you do research about the company you’re applying for before the interview. More likely than not, you will be asked a question about how much you know about their company. If you don’t have an answer, that makes a horrible first impression.
2. Listen. Do not over-share and do not talk endlessly when you answer a question. Be succinct in your answers, and really listen when they give you feedback or more information. When they’re talking, make eye-contact and really engage in the conversation. Nod your head, reply when appropriate, but don’t control the situation. You’re the one being interviewed, don’t try and run the show.
3. Spin the Positive. You will undoubtedly be asked a question about your biggest weakness or a negative experience you’ve had in a workplace. Although it may seem impossible, spin everything negative into a positive. For example, I said in a recent interview, “One of my biggest weaknesses is I’m shy at first and it’s hard for me to take charge, but after a few days I become much more comfortable and can be more open with my fellow students.” Never end an answer with something negative.
4. Be Passionate. It may seem weird to be passionate about flipping burgers or folding clothes, but find something about the job that you are interested in and really go for it. If you genuinely sound excited about the opportunity to explore this interest, they will be much more receiving of your application.
5. Be Prepared. Do not come to a job interview empty-handed. Always have a copy of your resume and your reference sheet. You never want to have to say no when they ask to see your resume. Always research some possible questions they might ask. The more information you take in before the interview, the less stressed you will be during the actual thing.
The dog is still breathing when Stiles clambers
out of the back of the SUV that hit it. The driver is in shock, and has been
apologizing profusely ever since it happened. And Stiles knows it’s not the
guy’s fault. The dog was going for the man who’d hurt Stiles in the alley, and
ran out in front of the SUV. Which makes this Stiles’s fault, doesn’t it?
The animal clinic isn’t open, but there’s a
light on inside and someone moving around, so Stiles bangs on the door. It’s
opened by a dark-haired boy who looks no older than him.
“My dog,” is all Stiles manages to get out
before he’s crying again.
The boy and the driver carry the dog inside on a
picnic blanket from the back of the driver’s SUV, and into the examination
room. Stiles curls his fingers through the dog’s ruff, and leans down close to
his ear to whisper to him again how sorry he is.
The driver slips toward the door, and Stiles
thinks about chasing after him for a second and demanding he pay the bill for
whatever this is going to cost, but what if the guy refuses? Then the dark-haired
boy will know Stiles has no money.
“It’s okay,” he whispers to the dog instead.
“You’ll be okay.”
The dark-haired boy checks for a heartbeat. “His
heart sounds good,” he says. He runs his hands though the dog’s fur. “I think
maybe his leg is broken, and some ribs?” His forehead wrinkles with a frown as
he carefully manipulates the dog’s hind leg. “Actually, maybe it’s not a break.
I should really call my boss in. I just work here after school.”
“Vet school?” Stiles asks, still sniffling.
“High school,” the boy answers. He wrinkles his
nose as he presses his knuckles gently against the dog’s ribcage. “I could have
sworn I felt a break a second ago. He really needs an x-ray.”
Stiles nods, despite the jolt of worry that goes
through him. He can’t afford that. He’s got three dollars and seventy cents in
the pocket of his jeans. He’s got nothing.
And, when the boy turns his worried gaze from the dog to Stiles, and rakes it
down his body, he knows he can tell.
It doesn’t matter how clean Stiles tries to keep
himself. It doesn’t matter if he washes his spare shirt under the faucet in the
diner bathroom every few days. He’s still filthy. He can’t remember the last
time he showered, or washed his hair. He can’t remember the last time he ate
something that wasn’t greasy or half-rotten. He knows he looks like shit. He
knows he probably stinks like shit too, and so does the dog.
The boy runs his fingers through the dog’s fur
again. “Is this a wolf hybrid?”
“I don’t…I don’t know.”
The boy casts him a worried look. “You’re not
supposed to own them in California.”
Stiles feels a sudden flash of panic. He moves
forward and nudges the boy out of the way. “We’ll go. We’ll just go.”
The dog blinks his eyes open and fixes his gaze
“Dude,” the boy says, sounding reproachful and
regretful all at once, “I’m not going to report you. Just, if anyone finds out,
he might get seized and put down.”
The dog rumbles out a growl.
“He’s fine,” Stiles says, his voice catching.
“He’s fine, right?”
“Um… I guess?” The boy looks puzzled. “He looked pretty bad
when you got him here though. I really should call my boss.”
“No!” Stiles tugs at the dog’s ruff. “Come on.
Come on, boy. Please get up. Come on.”
The dog rumbles again.
The boy puts a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. “Dude,
don’t freak out, okay? I won’t call my boss if you don’t want me to. I won’t…”
He chews his bottom lip for a moment. “You’re homeless, right?”
Stiles feels stripped bare, cold and naked. His
breath hitches, and he jerks his chin in a nod.
“Look,” the boy says, squaring his shoulders. “I’m
gonna give your dog some fluids, no charge, because I can really use the
practice, and my mom packed me some dinner that I haven’t eaten yet. You want
Stiles blinks at him for a moment. “What?”
“Homemade tamales,” the boy says, and wrinkles
his nose. “I’m Scott, by the way.”
“St-Stiles,” Stiles says, his heart thumping
I like the idea for the ice cream shoppe story! So if you, uh, ever feel like going back and revisiting it that would be kind of cool. I can just see post cw after the ex avengers come back these very serious little tots decked out in iron man gear (I'm gonna assume a clothing store was also opened and clearly all the iron man paraphernalia was the first to go) lecturing Steve and co on teamwork and respect and consequences etc
“Has anyone seen Stark?” Steve asks when the others gather in the gym for sparring practice.
“I haven’t seen him since we got back.” Scott offers with a shrug.Wanda nods, her expression clearly expressing disapproval.
“I saw him heading out of the building a few days ago.” Natasha offers, cleaning under her nails with a knife. Clint sighs.
“Just because he’s mad that we got pardoned? That’s stupid.” Clint grumbles arms crossed over his chest. “We need to work as a team, he needs to get over himself.” Sam sips on his water, but chooses not to get involved with that level of pent up rage. They aren’t paying him for therapy, and they generally ignore his advice anyways so why bother.
“We need to find him for sparring practice.” Steve declares. “Friday, where is Stark?” He demands.
“Sorry Rogers, that information is not available for you.” She informs him, and Steve groans. Friday has been remarkably unhelpful since they came back to the states and it was beginning to grate on Steve’s nerves.
“Is he in the lab?” Natasha asks idly. Steve looks up expectantly.
“I’m sorry Natashalie that information isn’t available to you either.” She replies, and Natasha glares at the roof. Clint pats her shoulder comfortingly.
“Well, instead of sparring let’s make this search and rescue, first person to find Tony wins.” Steve declares, Sam sighs, and pulls on his wings headed for the window. Natasha walks calmly towards the elevator Clint right behind her. Wanda goes to her room to change, as she’s still not that popular. Steve takes the stairs, Scott shrunk down and standing on his shoulder.
… The Break is Here…
“Boss, I’m afraid the Assvengers are looking for you.” Friday warns, and Tony groans.
“What’s wrong Dr. Stark?” Lacey asks, a regular at his ice cream parlor, as well as the burger, and clothing stores. She’s currently sporting Iron Man themed shoes, and an Iron Man themed shirt. Tony’s getting annoyed at the fact that the others Avengers products aren’t being taken anymore except Hulk and sometimes Thor. He might need to rename the Ice Cream flavors.
“As Friday put it, ‘The Assvengers are looking for me.’” Tony grumbles, passing her food over the counter. The room goes silent, and an angry look takes over her features.
“They aren’t welcome here.” She declares, turning to look at the room. “Finish eating and spread the news, divert all Avengers away from the stores. They can’t find Tony, or our places.” She decides, and the kids nod, eating quickly like they did when the free ‘stores’ first opened.
Natasha runs into a small group of kids, in Iron Man shirts first. She gets dirty looks from them, and chooses not to approach, using her phone to look for reports on Stark Sightings. There’s nothing in the news about him, and she wonders if he’s actually missing.
Steve is the first to be confronted, by an older girl in an Iron Man crop top.
“Mr. Rogers.” She greets coldly. “My name is Riri.” She says, and Steve beams holding out a hand to her, pushing down his annoyance at the loss of his title.
“Nice to meet you.” He says. She gives his hand a dirty look.
“Sadly I can’t say the same.” She huffs, and Steve drops his hand. “Go back to the tower. Stark won’t protect you out here.” She tells him. “Not from us, anyways.” She saunters off, and Sam jumps onto her arm as she shoulder bumps Steve hoping to get a ride to Tony’s location.
“What the fuck was that supposed to mean?” Steve mumbles, staring after her, she reaches up, and brushes Scott off her shoulder. He’s normal sized when he hits the ground.
“Asshole.” She hisses, continuing on her way.
Lacey’s group has grown from the fifteen or so who were in the shoppe when Friday called, to around fifty kids. The majority of them are wearing Iron Man gear, although a few grabbed Assvengers gear in order to mislead them.
They spot Sam Wilson flying overhead, and duck under awnings trying to make the concentration of Iron Man wear less obvious.
“Hey, nice shirt!” Clint says, holding out a hand to one of the kids in a purple arrow guy shirt. They all hold their breath waiting to see if Jack can stomach high fiving the asshole.
“Dude, you’re Hawkeye.” Jack says, slapping their hands together. Clint beams at him, and misses the way Jack rubs his hand against his leg.
“Hell yeah I am. I’m looking for a friend of mine, you have any idea where Stark is?” He asks, Jack glances around.
“Last I heard he was flying towards Ellis Island.”Jack offers, and Lacey tries to hide her laugh. Clint claps a hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“Thanks kid.” He says. “You’ve been a great help.” Clint runs off, and Jack stands there waving until he turns the corner.
“Ew, I need to go wash my hands, and this shirt.” Jack says, and the others laugh. Lacey dragging him back towards the Shoppe.
It goes on for hours, children, adults, and the media sending the team in random directions. Eventually it’s Sam who realizes all the people reporting on Stark’s location tend to head back towards the same street. He decides to gather the team rather than go by himself. This has gone on too long, it’s not really about winning anymore.
“Where’s Stark?” Steve asks, when they’re met by a line of kids at the entrance to an alley.
“None of your business.” Lacey says, glaring at him. “He’s a private citizen, he doesn’t have to tell you where he is at all times, and you have no right to know.” Steve looks affronted.
“I’m team leader.” He states, Lacey raises an eyebrow at him. “It is my job to get him for training.” She sneers.
“Listen you self-righteous asshole. You have no right to Tony. You have no right to bother him.” She tells him, stepping forward. Natasha drops back into a defensive position, and Tony appears behind the kids.
“If you hurt a single hair on any one of their heads I will kill you all.” Tony says, and Steve is about to scold him for threatening children when he realize’s Tony is looking at Natasha.
“Dr. Tony we had this!” Jack complains, pouting at him. Tony laughs, and lifts up the kid holding him on his hip.
“I know, but if anything happened to you guys because of me I’d never forgive myself.” Tony tells him, and Jack smiles hugging Tony tightly.
“What the fu-Hell is going on?” Clint asks, changing mid sentence when Steve elbows him. “Stark, did you really have to turn a bunch of children against us?” Tony pinches his nose.
“He didn’t turn us against you assholes, you did that yourself.” Riri says, glaring at Scott. “After all, Tony didn’t force you to ignore what the people of 117 countries wanted, nor did he force you to destroy an airport.” The group of kids around her ooh’s.
“Friday told me what you said!” Jack yells at Clint from Tony’s arms. “It’s wrong to make fun of someone’s injuries.” Tony pats his back softly. Jack told him weeks ago about his mom, injured during an Avengers battle.
“It’s okay kid.” Tony assures him, and Jack nods.
“I just hate him so much.” Jack grumbles. A lot of the kids nod in agreement.
“I hate all of them.” Lacey says, turning around to grab Tony’s sleeve and drag him back into the shoppe. The other kids gather around them, and Tony starts counting heads.
“I don’t think I have enough Ice Cream for this.” He mumbles, and the door shuts behind them, leaving a group of baffled assholes standing in the middle of the street.
Trying something a bit new, here. Also teasing Anders as usual :3
Anders sighed as he made himself as scarce as he could at the party - not an easy feat with a belly that strained the limits of his button-up shirt. The mutt hadn’t even bothered trying to button the rented suit jacket. Even sucking in his round gut as hard as he could, he didn’t want to push the limits of the jacket. Not that Anders wasn’t not (trying to) suck in his belly. His grey-furred face had been red for most of the evening as a result of friendly (but pretty consistent) teasing about how round and soft he was. “Shh…” Anders hushed his belly, running both his paws up and down it as it let out some hungry growls. He was determined to go through the whole evening without letting himself go and gain even more fat. “You and I both know that you’ll only get a little food tonight.” Besides, this was a pretty formal party and he was certain the food was going to be plenty of exotic, strange food that he couldn’t possibly wolf down. After fiddling with a shirt button that had come undone at some point earlier that evening, Anders heard some microphone feedback and glanced up to see his boss standing there. She started talking and Anders droned most of it out, the speech composed of congratulations on behalf of the company. But near the end, a few lines made Anders’ head whip up. “…And I’d like to thank the many businesses who helped cater this event - including Burger Barn for providing us with an all-you-can-eat burger table!” “Oh no…” Anders’ heart sank as the curtain around the dining area was pulled, a large, long table piled with delicious-looking burgers and condiments. His belly growled hungrily.
- six identical pairs of jeans
- four grey t-shirts that came in a pack at Target
- one pair of worn out Converse
- that shirt with the bullseye on the front
- tac suit and combat boots
- black jacket, no drawstrings in the hood, zipper sticks
- hanging bag that holds the suit he bought because Coulson told him every gentleman needs a suit - two nice button down shirts, also Coulson - custom screen printed shirt that just says ARROWS across the front
- three Polos, tags removed, wrinkled and obviously worn
Why three Polos? Why does Clint Barton own three Polo shirts?
Clint takes Natasha finally-off-probation Fury’s-really-paying-me-for-sitting-in-a-holding-cell Romanoff shopping. She needs something besides S.H.I.E.L.D. issue t-shirts and sweats. Clint takes her to a strip mall. Target, one of those discount outlet stores, a shoe place with BOGO deals. Natasha is offended. Shopping trip over, “I am not getting out of this car, Barton,” and “Is this a joke to you?” and “Doesn’t your nation’s capital have Sephora?”
Clint doesn’t know what the fuck a Sephora is or why it’s relevant so he gives her a “You know what, Red??” and turns the car around straight back to S.H.I.E.L.D. because there’s nothing wrong with Target.
Coulson asks why they’re back so soon.
“Because she’s insufferable.”
“He took me to Target.”
“I’m so sorry” sincerely from Coulson.
They try again the next day, minus Clint. It’s awkward at first, sure, but Coulson takes her to get a Prada jacket and matching boots and he finds a Sephora and doesn’t complain when she spends an hour playing with makeup. They have a nice lunch, real actual vegetables, nothing fried, no burgers, cloth napkins and a glass of wine each.
“I should get Barton something,” she says over dessert. A thanks-for-not-shooting-me gift.
“Oh?” is all Coulson says, all polite interest. He’s going to make her ask. He probably wants her to elaborate on why she feels like buying Clint a gift.
“Do you know what he likes?” she finally asks. Coulson considers for a minute, looking thoughtful.
“How about a nice Polo shirt?”
That’s easy enough. Natasha picks a deep purple one and has it wrapped in tissue paper and put in a box. No wrapping paper though. You don’t wrap thanks-for-not-shooting-me gifts, too formal.
Clint feels a little guilty by the time they get back. Natasha looks happy, way happier than after their shopping trip the day before. He feels even worse when she hands him the box, a present, and he really doesn’t deserve a present.
He opens it anyway and it’s a stupid collar shirt. He doesn’t even own a shirt with a collar, unless you count the two button downs he’s never worn.
He hitches up a grin and says “Thanks, Red!” in a believable tone and lifts the shirt out of the tissue paper. Natasha’s smile is for him now, and he knows he’ll wear the dumb shirt.
He does wear the dumb shirt, because he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. He tries to find something positive about it, but it isn’t even Hawkeye purple, it’s a few shades too dark. It has three little buttons near the top and he doesn’t know what to do with them, and the collar itches and touches his neck, and some of the other agents ask him what’s up with the shirt and some of them make a game out of playing a whip cracking noise on their phones when he walks past, on the days he wears it.
Coulson presses his lips together, trying to hide a smile, every time he sees Clint in the Polo and he knows Coulson pushed Nat into buying it. He gives Coulson sneers when he catches him grinning.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he lets it fall out of rotation in his wardrobe. He puts it in front of the button downs and behind all his other shirts, in order of fancy-ness should Nat ever be in his closet and ask about it, because he absolutely didn’t shove it back there unceremoniously to be rid of it.
Coulson, for his part, starts to feel bad about using Natasha for a prank, and as Clint’s birthday gets closer he pulls her aside and confesses, just in case another Polo was in Clint’s future.
“Don’t apologize!” Natasha says, eyes bright, bouncing on her toes. “This is WONDERFUL!”
And she’s gone, back down the corridor.
Clint gets another Polo for his birthday, light blue, to match his eyes Natasha says. He gives Coulson the finger while Nat’s back is turned.
This one puts her in mind of the purple one, and she asks about it, so now he has to wear two of the stupid collar shirts.
It’s Christmas a few weeks later and he doesn’t even want to open his gift from Natasha because it’s a shirt box. It doesn’t rattle, but it crinkles a little when he shakes it. It’s exactly the weight of another Polo shirt, but surely she doesn’t hate him that much–
It’s another Polo shirt. Bright red. At least the bloodstains won’t show up when he pounds Coulson’s face in.
No gifts for New Years, thank God. He wears the stupid purple collar shirt to the S.H.I.E.L.D. office party. Natasha grips the collar at midnight and pulls him down to kiss his cheek, and just for a moment or two he doesn’t hate the shirt so much.
The feeling doesn’t last. It’s business as usual after the holidays and he corners Coulson in his office, but not to punch him for the dumb prank.
He’s all “How do I tell her without hurting her feelings?” and “I hate my life I can’t wear these dumb collar shirts anymore. Can I be a nudist? Would she buy that?”
Clint sounds so distraught and genuinely concerned that Coulson puts his pen down and looks up from his file and tells him “Natasha knows you hate the shirts. She’s doing this on purpose.”
It takes a minute for it to register. Natasha’s just Natasha now, not Natalia or the Black Widow or even the same girl he tried to take shopping at a strip mall. Natasha Romanoff pranked him. Intentionally. On purpose. For fun.
Clint pulls his phone out of his pocket and presses it to his ear.
“Asshole!” he says when she picks up, but he’s smiling, a stupid grin that bleeds through into his tone.
“You’re dead, Romanoff!”