There comes a time in everyone's life when they feel the need to go find a job. Yeah, work sucks after a little while, but the desperate need for money keeps pulling you back to the Old Grind. It's like a bad addiction; you don't do it because you want to, you do it because you have to.
Those hippies who live in communes and provide everything themselves without the need for Capitalistic Chains are starting to appeal to me.
My driving need for money overcame my desire to fulfil my 'career plans'(some day I'm gonna write books and raise babies), so I started looking for a job.
Signed on at the local employment agencies, let friends know I was on the market, and browsed the weekend edition of The West Australian.
Hmmm.... scant pickings for someone of my talents. The Y2K lockdown in October hasn't been kind to computer geeks like me.
A month later, I'm down to applying for secretarial positions. Not that I don't mind, it's just that the pay isn't as good as geek jobs, and I have to answer someone else's phone.
I had an interview last week. Now, I've had interviews for so long, they're just another To Do in my diary.
But not this one. For some reason, I was super-stressed about this interview. I don't know why. Perhaps I really want this job.
I talked with the HR person over the phone. She gave me the address and told me it was on the 'upper floor'. (Note: In Australia, the 'upper floor' means the upper ground floor, as opposed to the lower ground floor on a split-level entry to a building. First floor is one floor up from ground floor. Upper floor does not mean the eighth floor in an eight-story building.)
I step out of the elevator onto the eighth floor. It was deserted, but for one office, and that wasn't the office my interview was at. Still, they may have a clue.
I went inside, as asked them if they knew where SoAndSo office was. They didn't know. "Why do you ask?" they wondered.
At that point, I broke into tears. "Job interview," I sobbed.
They took pity on me. "Here, sit down. Have a tissue. Want a cup of coffee?" I accepted the tissue and turned down the coffee, though I did take glass of water.
Of course I turned down the coffee. The last thing I needed was to be buzzed with caffeine if I ever did find my job interview.
I gave them my story of how I was interviewing for a position in an insurance company. They thought they'd look it up in the phone book. It wasn't there. I didn't have a phone number, having been contacted through email.
Finally one bright lass remembered that a new insurance company had moved in downstairs, on the upper ground floor. She went to check.
Ten minutes, three tissues and four glasses of water later, she returned with the good news that it was indeed the company I was looking for, and they were willing to wait until I got myself together.
So I made it to my interview, albeit a few minutes late.
I shouldn't have had so many cups of water before I went in. Halfway through the interview, I had to go. But all I could do was cross my legs tightly and hope it didn't start coming out of my eyes. (<blink> <blink> "Why, sure, I can type eighty wpm!")
For the most part, the interview went well... I hope.
We'll see in a few days. Either they'll call me back for further interviews, or they'll send me a nice little note on company letterhead, saying how they were glad to meet me, but unfortunately, I wasn't what they were looking for at the time and good luck in further job searches.
I'll add it to my extensive collection.
Lilith DemHarels is an American bunny living in Perth, Western Australia. In between a job, her novels and everything else going on in her life, she likes to take a brief moment to remember she is a member of Generation X.