Page 8 of Gamechanger

With my eyes closed, I could see it: "Milo Moretti, Head of Green Initiatives and Community Outreach." Of course, the nameplate on my desk would be recycled wood. I could put a small plant next to my computer. It would be an aloe, snake plant, or something else that cleaned the air. That touch of nature would continuously remind me of why I was there.

In the daydream, I strode purposefully through the behind-the-scenes corridors, nodding to players and staff alike. I'd be the guy everyone came to with their ideas, good and bad. After making that decision, I'd take the lead on turning a vague concept into a fully-fledged community program.

I saw myself presenting my latest eco-friendly merchandise line to my superiors, watching their eyes light up as Iunveiled jerseys made from ocean plastic and biodegradable foam fingers. "Brilliant, Moretti!" they'd exclaim. "You've done it again!"

And then, there was Finn. He'd pop his head into my office, lighting up the room with that megawatt smile. "Hey, Moose," he'd say, "got a minute?" And I always would, for him.

A soft clearing of the throat brought me back to the present. The receptionist looked at me expectantly and spoke softly. "Mr. Moretti? Ms. Rivera will see you now."

I stood, smoothing my tie, and took a long, deep breath. It was my opportunity to turn that daydream into reality. As I followed the receptionist down a hallway, I felt a spark of excitement and hoped it wasn't just static electricity. I was ready to give it my all.

After all, according to those Chinese philosophers, every great journey began with a single step. In my case, it might be a stumble. But hey, I was ready for that, too.

My pulse raced as the assistant stopped near a door.What was that statistic about compost and team building again? Oh, right, a well-composted team grows 30% faster than—no, wait, that's not right.

The interview room was smaller than I expected. It was intimate, with only two chairs, a small table, and a ficus tree in one corner that had seen better days. A woman with sharp eyes and a sharper blazer sat in one of the chairs, her smile professional but warm.

"Milo Moretti," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Samantha Rivera, Assistant General Manager. Please, have a seat."

I shook her hand, praying mine wasn't as clammy as it felt. "Thank you for having me, Ms. Rivera. I'm excited to be here."

"So, Mr. Moretti, let's dive right in," she began. "Tell me why you think you'd be a good fit for our sports marketing team."

Fortunately, my voice shook only slightly as I began. "I believe in building strong foundations as a key to future success. Incomposting, for example, it's important to have an ideal balance of green and brown material when creating nutrient-rich soil. Hockey is similar in the need for a perfect balance of offensive strategy and defensive brawn when you're putting together a winning team."

I paused as Ms. Rivera raised her eyebrow. She clicked her pen, and I stared at it, poised mid-air over a blank notepad. Despite a slight twinge in my gut, I was already on a roll with my compost analogy, and I bulldozed forward.

"Let me explain; in a compost pile, the green material is like your star forwards on the team—full of nitrogen that breaks down quickly to give you a quick burst of energy. They score goals and make big plays. Still, you can't depend solely on a pile of green stuff, or you'll end up with a stinky, slimy mess."

Ms. Rivera's other eyebrow rose. I was on a roll, gesturing enthusiastically as I completed my argument.

"Your brown materials, the defensemen and goalie, stop the smelly process. They're carbon-rich and break down slowly, providing rich structure to the team… uh, I mean pile. No, I was talking about players. Yes, that's it. They prevent goals instead of scoring them."

Leaning forward, I completed my statement. "So, just like a hockey team needing a good coach to balance the players, a compost pile needs someone skilled at maintaining the right ratio. Too much green, and we have all flash and no substance. Too much brown, and it's all a dud. But… and this is the key—if you get it right, it's the perfect environment for success."

I finished with a flourish provided by my right hand and felt rather pleased with myself. The silence that greeted my presentation was deafening.

I watched Ms. Rivera blink once and then twice. She hadn't written anything down. Perhaps I'd lost her in the finer details ofmy argument. Her mouth twitched, and I gripped the arm of my chair.

"Mr. Moretti," her voice was careful and controlled, "that is undoubtedly the most… unique opening to an interview I've ever experienced."

My face flushed. "Too much?"

"Oh, no," she replied, and I watched her face quiver as she fought off a smile. "Please, continue. I'm fascinated to hear how you might relate power plays to worm bins."

Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and I realized she wasn't mocking me. She was genuinely intrigued by my off-the-wall approach.

"What I mean is," I continued, scrambling to recover, "marketing is about finding that perfect balance too. You want to appeal to die-hard fans while also attracting new ones. It's like... like threading a needle!"

I'd found a better analogy, and in my enthusiasm, I reached for my briefcase to pull out my portfolio. The clasp, apparently as excited as I was, decided to give up the ghost at that precise moment. What happened next felt like it happened in slow motion.

The briefcase yawned open like a fabric-hungry monster, expelling its contents across Ms. Rivera's immaculate desk. A cascade of knitting needles clattered onto the polished wood, sounding like miniature wind chimes. Balls of yarn in every color of the rainbow made a break for freedom, rolling across the desk and plopping onto the floor.

A skein of Lumberjacks-red yarn unspooled as it rolled into a corner. Another ball, a vivid purple, made a valiant escape attempt, rolling straight toward Ms. Rivera.

Without missing a beat, she caught it just before it could leap off the edge of her desk. She held it up, examining the soft wool with a mix of surprise and curiosity.

"Merino?" Her tone was impressively calm, given the chaos that had just erupted in her office.

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