I had never seen a funnier waiting room in my life. The expression on the walls, the look on the door combined to drive me into shrieks of laughter. I was rolling on the floor, my sides aching, tears streaming from my eyes when the secretary called my name, announcing my turn for the job interview. I straightened myself as best I could and brushed the floor dust off my suit, still chuckling at the color of the carpet and stilling guffaws at the lamps on the hilarious stands at the ends of the outrageous couch, as I gathered my papers’ together and wiped my eyes with my tie. By the time I opened the door to the inner office, overcoming a new surge of laughter at sight of the ludicrous doorknob, I had gained sufficient control of myself to present a reasonably staid appearance suitable to the position for which I was applying, that of bank manager. The board of interviewers, however, was seated around such a sidesplitting table that I lost control at once and doubled over roaring, dropping my briefcase onto a carpet even funnier than the one I’d just left, and going into absolute convulsions at each boffo question the comical crew asked me. It was too much, I nearly crack up even now, just thinking about it. Anyway, I howled all the way through the interview—you should have seen their ties! I simply couldn’t contain myself! At the end of it, they had the secretary help me out of there, I was absolutely jelly by then, and later I was informed that I’d gotten the job. Of course, you can see I don’t laugh at all anymore. Now that I actually manage money, it isn’t the least bit funny.