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Camila se miró las manos mientras esperaba.
Estaban frías y un poco sudadas. Había llegado diez minutos antes, como siempre le enseñó su mamá, “Ser puntual es una forma de respeto”, le decía desde chiquita.
Unos minutos después escuchó su nombre y respiró.
Cuando entró a la oficina, un tipo de unos cincuenta años, con corbata apretada y una sonrisa de esas que no te miran a los ojos, le señaló la silla.
Bueno… Camila, ¿veinte años verdad?, dijo mientras revisaba su currículum sin mirarla a la cara. Muy joven, ¿qué experiencia puedes tener tú para este cargo?
Ella iba a empezar a hablar, tenía preparado un discurso corto, claro, directo, de esos que convencen de inmediato, pero él la interrumpió.
Mira, esta empresa necesita gente con carácter, no muchachitas que vienen a jugar a la oficinita, ¿entiendes?
Camila lo miró fijamente mientras sentía que algo le apretaba el pecho, no era rabia exactamente, era una mezcla entre decepción y hartazgo.
Con todo respeto, le dijo, sin subir la voz, no vine aquí a que me hagan sentir menos por ser joven, vine porque tengo talento y ganas, y sí, no tengo veinte años de experiencia, pero tampoco tengo veinte años repitiendo errores.
Él se acomodó en la silla, sorprendido.
Además, agregó Camila, usted me habla como si estuviera cazando a alguien. Como si estuviera esperando a que meta la pata para tener razón.
Lo miró fijo, sin parpadear.
Pero le aviso algo: no soy una presa.
Hubo silencio y él la miró por primera vez de verdad.
Puede que no consiga el puesto, dijo Camila, levantándose, pero lo que no voy a hacer es quedarme callada y permitir que usted me humille.
Y, sin más, salió de la oficina, caminando derechita y sin mirar atrás.
Y aunque el trabajo aún no era suyo, tenía la certeza de que había aprobado la primera entrevista y había ganado el respeto de quien no lo merecía.
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🇬🇧 English Version
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Camila looked at her hands while she waited.
They were cold and a little sweaty. She had arrived ten minutes early, as her mother had always taught her. "Being punctual is a form of respect," she had told her since she was little.
A few minutes later, she heard her name called and breathed.
When she entered the office, a man in his fifties, with a tight tie and a smile that doesn't meet your eyes, pointed to her chair.
Well... Camila, twenty years old, right? he said while reviewing her resume without looking at her face. Very young. What experience do you have for this position?
She was about to start speaking; she had prepared a short, clear, direct speech, one of those that convinces immediately, but he interrupted her.
Look, this company needs people with character, not little girls who come to the office to play, do you understand?
Camila stared at him, feeling something tightening in her chest. It wasn't exactly anger, it was a mix of disappointment and weariness.
With all due respect, she said, without raising her voice, I didn't come here to be made to feel less than for being young. I came because I have talent and desire, and yes, I don't have twenty years of experience, but I also don't have twenty years of repeating mistakes.
He settled back in his chair, surprised.
Besides, Camila added, you talk to me as if I were hunting someone. As if you were waiting for me to make a mistake so you could be right.
She stared at him, without blinking.
But I warn you of something: I am not prey.
There was silence, and he truly looked at her for the first time.
I may not get the job, Camila said, standing up, but what I'm not going to do is stay silent and allow you to humiliate me.
And without further ado, she left the office, walking straight ahead without looking back.
And although the job wasn't hers yet, she was certain she'd passed the first interview and earned the respect of someone who didn't deserve it.
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