This story was published Feb 5, 1960. It was rereleased as part of the 100th anniversary edition of the Torch.
“Bob, I’d like to interview you for the Torch,” I said to myself. I was quite shocked, because this was the first time anyone had ever wanted to interview me.
I thought I would start out by asking myself some of the more common questions used in interviews.
“I suppose you are active in school activities, Bob. What sports do you go out for?”
“None,” was my rather brief answer. I frowned at myself and tried another question.
“What clubs do you belong to?” “None.”
I could tell from this answer that I’d better try a different type of question. “Tell me, Bob,” I asked myself politely, “do you have a hobby?”
“Yes, I do,” was my answer. Now I was getting somewhere. “I enjoy music.” “
Oh, you enjoy music. Any kind of music in particular or all kinds?” I asked myself.
“Any kind in particular,” I answered. I couldn’t make much sense out of the answer, but I wrote it down anyway.
“Bob, do you worry about grades?” I asked, hoping maybe I would get a profound answer from this question,
“Only during the school year,” was my reply.
Now I was really fed up. “This is the worst interview I ever had!” I told myself disgustedly. “Why would anyone ever want to interview you?”
“No one ever has!” I said with a tear in my eye. I wasn’t crying; my thumb was caught in the typewriter keys.
I was thoroughly exasperated. I decided to ask myself one more question and then be done with the whole sordid affair. It was a common question that everyone always asks in an interview: “What is your pet peeve?”
“Writing interviews!”
That did it. I now realized why I would sit, lonely and rejected, waiting, hoping, praying to be interviewed, to no avail. I was enveloped in a gray sadness. A cloud of despair blocked out the sunlight. Thoroughly defeated, I suddenly heard someone’s voice break into my consciousness. “Bob, are you talking to yourself again?”
Published February 1960. Digitized 2026.
