Rise of the Raccoon

A while back, I had what can only be described as a high-stakes psychological experiment disguised as a panel interview.

Six people.

SIX.

Why? I don’t know. Maybe they were trying to recreate the feeling of being interrogated by The Avengers. Maybe they all just wanted to see the life leave my eyes in real time.

It was me vs. a Zoom Brady Bunch grid of mid-level decision-makers.

Karen from HR smiled like she collects employee complaints in a crystal jar labeled “Not My Department.”

Chad, Director of Vibes (not a joke), had a backwards hat, a ring light, and the emotional depth of a LaCroix.

There was also Linda from Finance, who blinked once every leap year and looked like she’d rather be doing dental work with no anesthesia than hear me talk.

Anyway, we start the interview. I’m answering standard questions while praying my internet doesn’t collapse under the weight of this collective indifference.

And then it happens.

Karen leans in, adjusts her aura, and asks:

“If you were an animal… what would you be, and why?”

I stare into the camera.

Is this real?

Did I accidentally click into a summer camp application?

I scan the room. Everyone’s waiting.

Like this is the question that determines my destiny.

Like I might say “cat” and instantly get escorted to the CEO’s office.

Now listen—I’ve prepped for everything.

Behavioral questions? Got it.

STAR format? Done.

But this? This was a pop quiz from the Twilight Zone.

I consider saying eagle. Or wolf. Something noble. Something LinkedIn-approved.

But no.

Instead, I take a breath and I say:

“I’d be a raccoon.”

Silence.

Not just awkward silence. Existential silence.

You could hear the sound of 6 people rethinking every hiring decision they’ve ever made.

Karen narrows her eyes. “A… raccoon?”

I nod confidently, like this is common knowledge.

“Yes. Raccoons are resourceful.

Adaptable.

Thrive in chaos.

Operate best at night—like me fixing broken systems at 1am while everyone else is meditating.”

Chad snorts. “Okay, wow.”

Linda writes something on a clipboard. I’m guessing it’s either “Do not hire” or “Check dumpsters after he leaves.”

I try to salvage it:

“Also, they wash their food. So… attention to detail?”

Still silence.

I didn’t get the job.

I never heard back.

Not even a ghosted “Thanks for applying!” email. Just digital dust.

But I know in my heart of hearts…

somewhere in that company, there’s still a Slack message that reads:

“Anyone remember the raccoon guy? I kind of miss him.”

And that’s all I need.

Because in a world of corporate peacocks and buzzword zebras, I’ll proudly be the raccoon.

Digging through the chaos.

Solving problems no one wants to touch.

And showing up like, “Hey, I brought snacks and emotional damage. Let’s get to work.”