Sitting in the hot seat while donning a nervous smile and my best suit (which, coincidentally, also doubles as my only suit), I was beginning to wonder whether interviewing for my dream job was the biggest waste of time since "Waterworld."I was tenser than a driving school instructor. My knuckles, whiter than an Adolph Rupp starting lineup, gripped the armrests tight enough to rip them off the chair. My necktie knot would've supported a jib sail; my dress shirt was starched stiffer than cardboard. My Adam's apple was audible.