Second Hand Shopper

You know how some things just feel doomed from the start? Relationships that never blossom, friendships that never bloom, freelance leads that never – well, lead anywhere really? My first interview today felt very much like that.

I’m writing this from an internet cafe in Oxford – having three hours to kill between today’s two 2nd interviews seemed an adequate opportunity to write one of my now few and far between posts. My readership has dropped off to virtually nothing thanks to my absence of late, and I’m feeling pretty pent up with weeks’ worth of words fighting to get out of my frustrated fingertips… So for those of you still loitering – you wonderful sticky sticklers you – I thought I’d write an account of my day.

My first interview today was for a company I’ve interviewed with before. (As in, before this job – what with this being a 2nd interview I guess you knew already that I’d interviewed with them before now!) The first time I interviewed with them it was all a bit of a shambles. I showed up, only to be told that the guy who I’d been directed to ask for wasn’t on site. In fact, they had clean forgotten I was coming at all, but another likely lad was drafted to stand in for him. I handed over my written test, answered his questions, stumbled over one or two but righted myself after some gentle nudges, and left having asked him to let me know as soon as possible the outcome as I had another offer on the table. After a week of prodding he finally answered one of my emails with an email he MEANT to send to his boss. It let me know in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t getting the job – which was fine, though I’d rather have been told in a more formal manner…

The second time I came into contact with this company they invited me to interview for a role I hadn’t applied for. A role that was nowhere near where I lived. I asked if it might be possible to relocate the role to the Oxford offices and was told no. I pondered going for interview just in case I fell madly in love with the role and the office atmosphere, and was told that I should not attend the interview unless I was entirely certain I would take the job if offered. I turned that offer down.

The role for which I interviewed today is for a sector I know very little about. When my contact at the agency suggested I apply, I was concerned that my understanding of the content would be worse than lacking. She assured me I could pick up the knowledge I needed on the job, and that the fact that I know nothing about construction really didn’t matter. Organising the interview, however proved something of a challenge, as they wanted to see me at less than 24 hours notice and I couldn’t leave Waterstones in the lurch. After some to-ing anf fro-ing we fixed this little issue and a date was scheduled.

At my first interview I did ok, answered the questions sufficiently, but didn’t shine like I know I can. I wasn’t expecting good news, so imagine my surprise when I got a callback! For tomorrow.

Circumstances conspiring as they do, I couldn’t make tomorrow’s interview. I had begun to feel that fate/God/my subconscious/whatever you believe rules our sorry little lives was determined to keep me from working for this company. But a quick phone call enabled me to attend interview today instead (which actually saved me on another day’s train fare!) and I began to wonder that whatever obstacle fate/God/my subconscious/WYBROSLL put up, some other force knocked down… so I did my research, dragged myself out of my warm bed and into my cold interview suit at 6am this morning and left for the station.

This is where fate/God/etc… really began to kick off. Clearly disgusted that none of his/her previous attempts at sabotage had taken, he decided that gale-force winds would be the best weather in which a brisk walk would be appropriate. My hair and skirt flew all over the place as I attempted to make my way down the hill without flashing. Seeing my determined step, he/she decided to take another tack and, presumably choosing to flaunt one of my known weaknesses, decided a wardrobe malfunction was in order.

And so my garter took that exact moment to snap. And not in the good way.

(By garter, incidentally, I mean the built-in ring of rubbery elastic that holds a hold-up up. The modern-day garter of (my) choice!)

Picture me, if you will, clutching at my beret with one hand, holding my skirt down with the other – and now, combining holding my skirt down with holding my stocking up. I must have been a hilarious sight for passers-by!

I made it to the station on time, got my train, and was lucky enough to be well on my way to the offices 35 mins before the interview start time, which gave me sufficient time to stop off at a passing Boots pharmacy and buy some replacement tights. Which, I would have marked up in favour of my interview if not for the fact that the buses which come every 5 mins all day every day chose the next 30 mins NOT to come, forcing me to walk the remaining distance and to arrive, windswept and panting for breath, bang on the minute of my scheduled start time.

And now I’m worried because, while I yet again feel that the interview could have gone better, I am now aware of just how badly I judge these things. And I’m afraid that if I do get this job it’ll trigger the apocalypse or something – since someone up there so clearly wants to steer me well clear of it!