My second interview has been rescheduled for next Tuesday. I've been given a list of the people with whom I'll be meeting; the president amongst them. And the dog/pony from the first interview, with the clarifying note that "he needs another good sniff to judge [my] character." Whaddaya know... another excuse to eat bacon. I love this company.
I do not consider it a superlative sign when my second interview is "postponed" at 6:00 PM the night before I'm supposed to have it. The explanation offered was reasonable, and you'll all be pleased to know that I resisted screaming, crying, or mentioning that the only way to make it up to me now is to hire me. On the bright side, now I don't have to shave my legs tomorrow. See how I always grasp that silver lining? Yeah.
Salient points from this afternoon's exercise, in no particular order: I did not fall down in my super-fantastic boots. The person who interviewed me was not wearing shoes. The job is even better than I thought. The salary is even better than I'd hoped. The phrase "You bring to the table many skills that none of the other applicants have" was said three times. The benefits are not to be believed. At the end of the interview, I was asked to please be ready to come back next week and meet the rest of the team. At the end of the interview, a small shaggy pony, or perhaps a large friendly dog...
Or, a sampling of the reasons I am really not equipped to go on job interviews. 1) Is it better to: A) Go au naturale, rather than risk being obviously scented, or B) Wear a little perfume, so that when I get nervous and sweat I still smell good? 2) Is it preferable to: A) Wear my new boots, which are oh-so-chic and killer hot, but I am also fairly likely to trip in, or B) Wear my less chic, less new, but less-likely-to-stumble standby pumps? 3) Will my resumes printed on blue paper cause them to: A) Remember me, both because it's nice stock and matches my shirt, or B) Laugh behind my back...
I may be cresting that cusp sooner than I'd anticipated. Remember this? I was astounded when I didn't receive an interview in response to my job query. I just received a very lovely email letting me know that they'd put out the job listing because they were so busy, but because they were so busy, they'd not been able to look at the applicants until now. And my letter was "intriguing," and am I still available? Let's not sugarcoat this: I'll still have ample opportunity to fall on my face. It's not time to count chickens (or as Chickadee says, "count Chickadees! HAHAHAHA!"). But it's a step....
Dear Large Faceless Temp Agency: As you will see from my attached resume, I once had a real job and made real money. This was long ago. My IQ has been dropping exponentially since my decision to stay home and parent my children full-time, which is a real shame. However, I hope to relearn how to tie my own shoes, someday. In the meantime, there are bills to pay and small people to clothe and I would like to start working for money again. My hysterectomy scar has, unfortunately, ruled out stripping as a viable option. Likewise, I have the stink of motherhood on me and will never again work as...
A company posts a job opening that says, "We challenge you to separate yourself from the pack – make it impossible for us not to consider you for this position!" They're probably figuring people will extol their industry virtues and share their humanitarian interests. Do you suppose they knew that I would write in to say that most people figure my brain fell out while I stayed home with my kids, but it's not true? That only half my brain has atrophied, but the other half is stronger than ever? That my salary requirements are "enough to attain the lifestyle to which I'd like to become...
Good news! I survived. I did half an hour on the elliptical trainer, then collapsed onto the floor weeping stretched out for a while. While my hindquarters are still markedly jiggly, I'm feeling the burn, baby. Unfortunately, Mary only placed second in the Minnesota-wide mathematics competition, and Laura's bundt cake fell apart. It was touch and go there, for a bit. In the end it was okay, though; the town welcomed Mary back with open arms and some dude in a tophat declaring in a thick Scandinavian accent, "Tank you, Mary Ingalls, for putting Walnut Grove on da map!", and Pa said the cake...
For a while there, I had my funk on. I mean for real. For the last couple of days, I have been honing The Wallow into a delicate art form, reaching sublime heights of self-pity and hopelessness. I have consumed naught but Halloween candy and coffee, slept more hours than I care to admit, ignored my phone, discarded my mail, and sported the Sloppy Ponytail Of What The Hell Does It All Matter Anyway. I was down deep, and wanting nothing more than to burrow deeper still. If this were fiction, now I would tell you about how the perfect job offer fell out of the sky, or my friends gathered around...