The blazer was obviously a mistake then. So was not painting my nails the night before, because I kept rubbing their jagged edges against the creases of my corduroy trousers in a ridiculous attempt to file them.
A yell broke through my nervous mutterings. Someone wearing a faded Captain America t-shirt had just won a pretty intense foosball match.
Before they whipped out the beer, I moved away.
The office was all white. Floor-to-ceiling windows to my right sported a glamorous view of the city — one we were endeavoring to build. Every action we took was measured by how it would leave a dent in the Universe.
The interview was a formality. Our phone conversation had gone well, and I was asked to come down for a chat. They were sure that we’d work out.
Which made it more difficult, as the weight of the decision rested with me.
The CEO had a couple of years on me, went to the right college, collected enough industry experience, and raised a decent round of seed funding.
Most importantly, he was sitting in the interviewer's chair.