Monday, October 28, 2013

The Most Impressively Disastrous Job Interview in the History of Job Interviews

There are few things I hate more than job interviews. They require me to pretend to be a much more put-together version of myself. I have to dress like some sort of repressed suit, walk in highly uncomfortable shoes and make sure I tone down the eye liner. All while allegedly being myself. Recently I found myself thinking I might get a second part-time job. So on the day of the interview I arrived looking like this:
As you can see I clearly knew what I was doing. I had covered all angles.They would never know about the state of my desk or the fact that it takes me twenty minutes to find my keys each morning. The interview got off to a decent start. She asked questions and I answered in coherent sentences and even tossed in some charming anecdotes. 
And then my brain went into over-drive. I began to think I was over doing it. I needed to seem more three dimensional. I should inject some self-depreciation.
Needless to say I caught her off-guard with my change of direction. 
And once I started listing my flaws...I couldn't stop. There was a ten minute tangent on my completely inappropriate sense of humour, which she did not find remotely amusing. In the end she suggested she show me the way out. As we got up from our seats she took a moment to survey my attire. 
At that point I was paranoid and so I went an extraordinary shade of pink and suspected she was indirectly calling me a whore. 
I began considering that my mother had been right all these years, that...
There was only one thing for it. To shake hands and get the hell out of there. 
I turned on my heel and marched out of there with all the dignity I could muster. I took a sharp right and waltzed across the car park.
I took a deep breath as I rounded the corner. Finally out of view of the huge glass doors at reception. I took stock of my surroundings. I'd walked into a corner of the car park where there was only an oil-tank and a bike leaning against a wall. There was also no way to get out without doubling back past the big glass doors. 
After taking a minute to consider how stupid I would look confidently striding back across the car park I decided to do the only logical thing: scale the wall the bike was leaning against, jump into the field on the other side and leg it to freedom. 
 Once I was in the field I found it a little more difficult than I'd imagined to traverse the mucky terrain. 
It was during this ridiculous game of stuck in the mud that I happened to glance back at the building and realise I was in full view of the reception area. 
I did the only thing I could to at that point. I soldiered on. 
I eventually found my way home and could think of nothing better to do than call someone and have them reassure me that it wasn't that bad. I hadn't just completely blown it. 
I opened my black folder to get my phone out. 
I spent the next hour looking for secret pockets in my folder before I came to the realisation that.... 
So once again, I used my logical disposition to decide what to do next. I thought it would be best to call and pretend I was someone else to see if a phone had been handed in at reception. 
I did not however anticipate their questions. 
I began to panic a little. 
And the receptionist became more suspicious.
Even though I knew I sounded ridiculous I continued to speak in my very unconvincing English accent. 
Then I gave up, it was clear she thought I was some sort of raving lunatic. So I gave a very long winded explanation of how I wasn't crazy. I further explained why I was speaking in an English accent, how I didn't want anyone to think I was an idiot and I never usually would do anything like this but I'd been in earlier for an interview and I had either left my phone in the meeting room or lost it while scaling a wall and trudging across the field while escaping from the interview. The receptionist eventually interrupted my warbled confession....
I think it's safe to say they won't be hiring me anytime soon. 

Monday, October 21, 2013

The Beginning and End of my Musical Career

As a child I was convinced I was destined for greatness. Watching music videos on Sunday mornings I was positive that I could be the next big thing. I sang everywhere, I made up ditties and I played the saucepans with gusto. Then one day in school we had a music class. I was only about eight at the time. I was incredibly excited about the whole thing, my talent would be spotted. Fame was only a few notes away.

I waited patiently for our teacher to hand out the instruments. But all she gave us were some wooden sticks and so we began a basic rhythm exercise where we had to clap the sticks together in time. 
I soon became bored and decided to treat the class to my musical genius.
Needless to say my teacher did not appreciate my impromptu solo. 
She relegated me to the back of the class where I was given a triangle and strict instructions to ding it twice at the end. I waited sullenly for my moment. 
The minutes ticked by and as a rather hyper-active child I lost control of my will to simply ding the triangle twice. I broke into my second solo of the class.
It was all too much for the music teacher and I was sent to sit in a corner with a book. But I was not deterred. I glowered from behind the covers knowing that someday, someone would appreciate my musical abilities. 

Monday, October 14, 2013

The Day we Formed our First Girl Band

 When we were small our parents used to bring us to visit my cousins at our granny's farm. Once or twice a year there would be a big gathering where all the first cousins got together and were forced to play. We didn't mind. It was a huge farm and there was tons to do. I remember one day in particular when we had gotten a bit bored of the usual games of tag and hide and seek. We decided instead that we were going to form a girl band. We started to assign roles.
It soon became clear that all of us wanted to be the lead singer except my little sister.
So we got her to decide which one of us was the best singer.
She couldn't decide so we all became the lead singer. We decided to move onto the next important step in becoming a legitimate girl band. The dance routine. We all knew our starting position without hesitation.
Then the singing started. We whipped out hairbrushes and belted out random lyrics to songs without tunes. We were dancing around and screaming at the top of our lungs in the chicken shed fully convinced we were the next big thing.
It wasn't till all the chickens had fled in fear that we stopped our performance.
We began squabbling over who had been the most out of tune. By the time our parents arrived the band had broken up, we'd all sworn never to sing together again and were sulking.
Later that evening my dad decided to share a bit of news he's heard on the radio with us.
He was of course making fun of us. But at the time we were so convinced of our own brilliance that we spent years thinking we'd have been famous if only the band had stayed together. 

Monday, October 7, 2013

My Brother's First Words

My mother had three girls before she had a boy. So when my brother came along we all thought he was going to be some sort of magical creature. We watched him with intent waiting to see what this new kind of baby would bring to the table. At first he was sort of cute.
He did silly things and made us all giggle. 
But as time moved along it became clear he was a little special. At the age of two-and-a-half the only words anyone had ever heard him speak were "baa, baa" while pointing at whatever he wanted.
We were beginning to get bored. Even his most ridiculous floor-dance routines failed to make us smile. 
We began to reconsider this whole having a little brother thing.
My mother became irate. She watched my brother intently and tried to get him to speak. It wasn't long before she was calling everyone she knew and looking for any advice she could find. God help her if her son was going to be a little bit of a dimwit.
Soon we started to ignore even his cutest "baa, baa's". We didn't even notice anymore when he emptied his cup of milk over his head (one of his more subtle attempts at grabbing our attention).
Then it happened. We were having a perfectly ordinary family dinner. My brother had poured milk over his head and the rest of this were making enough noise that the neighbours, who lived a good half mile away, could probably hear everything.
From the baby chair there was a thump and the sound, clear and loud, of my brothers voice. 
We were shocked into silence for the first time in the history of our family dinners. My mother, about five minutes later, was the first to react.
She started bouncing up and down with excitement. Her son was not a dimwit. She treated us all to a long list of possible professions he might pursue now that he was a child-prodigy. She gabbed on the phone to everyone about how: "Well, I mean he just waited until he could form perfect sentences, he's just not going to waste his time doing anything by half-measures." We, on the other hand, were a little disappointed. There had been a certain comfort in thinking he was stupid and there was certainly no comfort in the fact that he was now being considered some sort of child genius. 

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