In keeping with my recent trend of narrowly-averted bad luck, here’s another one.
I’m sitting in the office of the guy who’s interviewing me for a job, and the late-afternoon sun is hitting the slats of the shiny aluminum mini-blinds. The lines begin to vibrate, and I realize the reflected light is beginning to trigger a migraine. Everything starts to melt together, including the man’s face.
I’m beginning to wonder how I’m going to get through the rest of the interview when the visuals suddenly stop.
Hooray.
