I applied for a job at a bank this morning. I had a garden resume. Times New Roman, fancy paper, delivered by singing telegram. Normal stuff.

The woman who was interviewing me looked my essay over – well, skimmed it really. Not sure if she could read my writing. My gel pen was running out, so most of it was written in this kind of white dusty scratch. A CV might've been better. So, she asked me if I had any special skills. In retrospect, I think she might've meant knowing maths or counting, maybe a different language. Apparently Latin wasn't a particularly useful class, aside from learning to properly tie a toga.

I thought for a minute and came up with a few things. I could name every Johnny Depp film since 1970 in chronological order. I iron my own shirts. I've seen every episode of Glee at least six times. I could fit a whole egg up my left nostril. I was really getting into my flow when she cut me off.

"I'll stop you there," she said. "Considering this is a bank, I don't think we are looking for those types of 'skills'."

I was knocked for six, I'll tell you that. But I got back on my feet quickly enough. Figuratively, that is. You don't suddenly stand up in the middle of an interview, I mean, that's just bloody rude.

"Okay," I said, "so, this being a bank, I don't expect to be able to get some chips at that roll-up plastic window over there."

"No," she said, "but I can give you a lollipop."

"I'm not five," I said indignantly. I thought for a moment. "Do you have cherry?"

She shoved a bowl over the table. "Here, why don't you take a look?"

"Wow, that's a lot of flavours." I ran my hands through the bowl, trying to resist the urge to just ram one down my throat like a toothbrush. I'd be drowning my sorrows with sugar. Suffocating them beneath a comforting blanket of calories. The thought was kind of appealing.

"I'll take the cherry for now, thanks," I said, spinning it between my fingers. I wondered about putting it in my mouth and pretending to smoke it, but I guessed she would think that was immature.

I gave her my most charming smile. Her face was impassive. "I'll just take a lime for the ride home," I said awkwardly, and selected another. Her eyes were boring into me. "It's a long ride," I added, squirming under her scrutiny. "Better take two…actually, I'll just…few more…"

"They're for the children, really," she finally said, putting a hand on the bowl. "Let me just take this back."

I pulled it away. Yeah, cheeky, I know, but I was under pressure. "Give me a minute. Oh, look! A mystery flavour!"

We grappled with the bowl for a moment.

"Is that chocolate?" I asked.

"Cola," she replied acidly. "Please let go of the bowl, or I shall be forced to ring for security."

"But you said I could have one."

"Yes, I said one."

"You're a harsh woman," I said reprovingly.

"Please let go of the bowl."

After that, it all went pear-shaped, really.

So I'm on the kerb waiting with my bowl of lollies, got about seven in my mouth…they're pretty time-consuming as a food, it'd take days to get through the bowl otherwise…and I'm thinking, you know, when I was a little girl growing up, I wanted to be a princess…well, okay, I wanted to be a unicorn, but some things were explained to me and so I settled for princess. Anyway, I couldn't help but think I had realized my childhood dream in that moment, being escorted out of the bank with a bowl of sweets. Who else but a princess would be preceded by the sounds of sirens, escorted to a marvellous carriage by guards, and given her own room with a toilet in at arms' length so as not to sully her robes? I mean, who'd have thought it?

I should probably head on back to that bank in a moment, I said to myself, getting to my feet. After all, I never heard if I'd got the job.