Where am I?
I woke up. I sat up straight and looked around. I felt like someone was hitting me on the head with a hammer. I was hungover. At first, I didn't know where the hell I was, but after a quick assessment, I came to the conclusion that I was in a hotel room somewhere. And judging by the fact that my clothes were still on, I hadn't hired a prostitute. Thank God. My wife woulda killed me.
I still couldn't remember what happened. I tried to recollect my memories.
I remembered G telling me that I had an interview for the Arsenal job. I remembered that I got on the flight. Then I had a lot of drinks. The next memory came to me. I went for the interview.
...Oh god. I probably blew my best shot at a high-profile managerial job and made a complete fool of myself at the same time. I heard a knock on the door, followed by the sound of it opening.
Giuseppe emerged from the other room.
"Heeeeeeeyyy Fabio! I see you're finally awake!" said G.
"Could you not talk that loud?" I said, clutching my head.
"So, do you want the news?"
"What news?" I asked. "And what the hell did I do?"
"What did you do? You aced the interview with Arsenal! You've got the job!" said Giuseppe, jumping around with joy, probably cause of his agent fee.
"Huh?"
"You blew their minds in the interview. Don't you remember?"
"Not quite. I was drunk."
"Whatever, you've got the job though. They said they were very impressed by your ideology and they were looking for someone fresh, which you are. They only gave you a one year contract though, but it pays 84,000 pounds a week."
I was speechless. "Maybe I should get drunk more often." I thought.
"They want to meet you again tomorrow to discuss budgets, targets and all that rubbish. Anyway, I'm off. I've got other clients back in Italy to take care of. Ciao, and good luck!" he said as he left in a rush.
I didn't know whether to feel happy, sad, scared or excited.
Well, at least I've got a day off.
