Hmm.. Blue or red perhaps, I thought as I held up two ties against my collar in front of the mirror. I settled on one which was a fairly conservative mix of both against a white shirt and a navy 3 piece suit. I had done my prep and was relaxed and ready to go. I was now in a pragmatic frame of mind regarding interviews. Experience had taught me not to get ahead of myself.
Things were different a month earlier. Then I had had three interviews in one week and I’d submitted an application for a job which was the permanent version of a role I did as a contractor two years earlier. The job was mine surely. I knew a lot of the people there and I knew the processes and everything that it involved. It must just be a shoe-in mustn’t it? I was feeling optimistic that one of the interviews was bound to come through and go my way. So much so in fact that I had decided to buy some new shirts and was making plans for when I started one of the roles. I’m cringing even as I type at the naivety of it. One by one the phone calls came in. “I’m sorry, but they thought you lacked experience of x and y”, “They liked you but they really want someone who’s a certified practitioner of blah”, “They thought you lacked knowledge of certain particular stuff”. I couldn’t believe it, as I walked in the rain and ended the third call. I was almost home and would check my emails and boil a kettle. I consoled myself that at least I still had the shoe-in role which would be just a matter of getting through the interview. This would be quite straight forward, I thought seeing as I’d already done the job.
I made a cup of tea and logged into my email. A response came in regarding my application just as I was scrolling through the latest updates from job sites. “Thank you for your recent application. Unfortunately on this occasion blah blah...”. The possibility of not even being called for an interview hadn’t entered my mind. I was devastated and furious and slightly numb at the unfairness of it. I paced the lounge and berated myself for being so stupidly over optimistic and complacent. I started to feel sorry for myself, before literally slapping myself across the face and going for a run. However low I felt, I was not going to cry – I had done that on red letter day.
Red letter day was a month or so before and came in the form of a tax demand. At that time I was nervous of hearing the clatter of the letter box in case it was someone demanding money. I opened the envelope to discover the letter with ‘DEMAND’ in red and 10 days to pay it. I couldn’t. I didn’t have the money. I was frightened and panicked and couldn’t think straight. In my mind I would lose my house and be declared bankrupt. I visited a friend to talk and ended up blubbing on her shoulder.
Going back to the interview though, I was feeling relaxed as I headed out of the tube station and walked towards the shiny new offices ahead of me. The recruitment agent phoned me just before I entered the building to make sure everything was ok and that I knew where the place was – apparently someone had got lost the day before. I reassured her that I was fine and she told me she’d phone the moment she had feedback. I finished the call and went in.
An hour later I was sitting on a tube train on my way home. I was reasonably content with how I performed. I didn’t think there was anything I could or would have answered differently or any alternative questions I would have asked. It felt as if it could have gone either way and I didn’t have a clue as to which way that was. If I didn’t get it then I would take it on the chin and move on. One thing this whole period had given me is a thicker skin. Tomorrow would be another day.
I stood on the platform waiting for a tube connection as my phone rang. A train pulled into the station as I answered. People got on board and the train pulled out again, leaving me alone on the platform as I ended the call. I took a deep breath and looked at my phone and sobbed.
They loved me and wanted me to start on Monday.
Saturday 13 November 2010
Monday 8 November 2010
The Flatmate Part 2
I knew that there was a chance that she might move out. She had told me that she had holiday to take in November and wouldn’t want to pay a month’s rent when she’d only be here for two weeks of the month. However, I thought, or hoped at least that she’d change her mind after she’d moved in and it was plain that we were getting on quite well. I had let my optimism run away with me though which is why it felt like a shock when she told me she was moving out.
I spoke to a friend recently who told me that the moment one of her employees decides to resign, that she hates them almost immediately. They may have been a great employee, but the employer now just feels a sense of disloyalty and rightly or wrongly hears the message that “I would rather work for someone else”. The employer is also faced with the embuggerance of having to find a new employee and so in their mind they are faced with a double negative of hassle and rejection.
In my case, the hassle element was also spiked with a ladle full of fear – an irrational fear that I wouldn’t find another flatmate as good as her. That I would be faced with an army of no shows and po-faced spinsters dragging their miserable fingers along work surfaces for inspection. I must have inadvertently conveyed all of this in my look, as the flatmate spent the rest of the evening in her room. Well, almost the rest of the evening.
She popped her head around the door about 20 or so minutes later. “It’s not you, you know, you’ve been great.” Oh my god, not that old chestnut! If I hadn’t felt rejected before, then I certainly felt like I was now being dumped – and in my own house as well!
With the end of all relationships though, there is a time for reflection. I spoke to a friend of mine last week who broke up with her ex boyfriend last year. She had met him for lunch recently and couldn’t believe how different he seemed now that she was no longer going out with him. “He’s just so fucking annoying. I can’t believe I didn’t see it at the time” she said.
It got me thinking. Just over a week ago I had been walking through the City and noticed that Stephen Fry’s new autobiography, The Fry Chronicles, (which I am loving) was on discount at Waterstones. I bought it and put it on the coffee table when I got home as I checked my emails. The flatmate got back from work shortly afterwards and sat on the sofa.
Flatmate - Oh, have you bought yourself a book?
Me - Yeah, it’s Stephen Fry’s latest autobiography.
Flatmate – (munching on crisps) Who’s that? Some politician?
Me – it’s Stephen Fry, the comedian. You know.. Fry and Laurie? Blackadder? QI?
Flatmate – What are they?
Me – (thinking, What the fuck!!??)
Me – You seriously haven’t heard of Stephen Fry or any of those programmes?
Flatmate – No, they must be pretty old.
And with that she went to her room to finish her crisps, leaving me incredulous at the conversation we had just had. This wasn’t to be a one off though. A couple of days later we were watching the evening news as the story broke concerning Lady Ga Ga giving her ‘Prime Rib’ speech in protest at the US policy towards gays in the military. “Because I’m gay, I don’t get to enjoy the greatest cut of meat that my country has to offer.” She said.
Flatmate – Is Lady Ga Ga gay then?
Me – It would seem so.
Flatmate – Oh. Why did she decide to be gay?
Me – (rolls eyes) It’s a new LA thing. That’s why she wore a meat dress last week.
Flatmate – Really?
Me – Absolutely, Madonna came out last week too and she wore a meat trouser suit yesterday at a press conference – didn’t you see it?
Flatmate – No, I didn’t buy a paper yesterday.
Me – Oh well, I hear that Topshop are reproducing it and using Heston Blumenthal as a consultant in case you get bored wearing it.
Flatmate – Really?
Me – No.
When I first decided to get myself a flatmate and rent the spare room, it was done out of necessity. I decided that it was the wise thing to do, given the fact that I was out of work. With no job offer in sight I had to consider how I was going to pay the mortgage. I was concerned and anxious and even more so because the advert I placed, initially at least, did not yield the responses I had hoped for. So when the first person who showed interest said, “I’d like to take the room” I bit her hand off all the way down to her ankle. It’s been an interesting experience but ideally I want someone who has an outside chance of being a mate as well as a flatmate.
I re-advertised. This time however London’s student community being back at university has resulted in many more people looking for places to live and responses have been very good this time. I’d like to say that I now have a screening process of sorts. “Would I like to have a beer with this person?” is the new rule of thumb and having used it, I think I may now just have found the right person.
I spoke to a friend recently who told me that the moment one of her employees decides to resign, that she hates them almost immediately. They may have been a great employee, but the employer now just feels a sense of disloyalty and rightly or wrongly hears the message that “I would rather work for someone else”. The employer is also faced with the embuggerance of having to find a new employee and so in their mind they are faced with a double negative of hassle and rejection.
In my case, the hassle element was also spiked with a ladle full of fear – an irrational fear that I wouldn’t find another flatmate as good as her. That I would be faced with an army of no shows and po-faced spinsters dragging their miserable fingers along work surfaces for inspection. I must have inadvertently conveyed all of this in my look, as the flatmate spent the rest of the evening in her room. Well, almost the rest of the evening.
She popped her head around the door about 20 or so minutes later. “It’s not you, you know, you’ve been great.” Oh my god, not that old chestnut! If I hadn’t felt rejected before, then I certainly felt like I was now being dumped – and in my own house as well!
With the end of all relationships though, there is a time for reflection. I spoke to a friend of mine last week who broke up with her ex boyfriend last year. She had met him for lunch recently and couldn’t believe how different he seemed now that she was no longer going out with him. “He’s just so fucking annoying. I can’t believe I didn’t see it at the time” she said.
It got me thinking. Just over a week ago I had been walking through the City and noticed that Stephen Fry’s new autobiography, The Fry Chronicles, (which I am loving) was on discount at Waterstones. I bought it and put it on the coffee table when I got home as I checked my emails. The flatmate got back from work shortly afterwards and sat on the sofa.
Flatmate - Oh, have you bought yourself a book?
Me - Yeah, it’s Stephen Fry’s latest autobiography.
Flatmate – (munching on crisps) Who’s that? Some politician?
Me – it’s Stephen Fry, the comedian. You know.. Fry and Laurie? Blackadder? QI?
Flatmate – What are they?
Me – (thinking, What the fuck!!??)
Me – You seriously haven’t heard of Stephen Fry or any of those programmes?
Flatmate – No, they must be pretty old.
And with that she went to her room to finish her crisps, leaving me incredulous at the conversation we had just had. This wasn’t to be a one off though. A couple of days later we were watching the evening news as the story broke concerning Lady Ga Ga giving her ‘Prime Rib’ speech in protest at the US policy towards gays in the military. “Because I’m gay, I don’t get to enjoy the greatest cut of meat that my country has to offer.” She said.
Flatmate – Is Lady Ga Ga gay then?
Me – It would seem so.
Flatmate – Oh. Why did she decide to be gay?
Me – (rolls eyes) It’s a new LA thing. That’s why she wore a meat dress last week.
Flatmate – Really?
Me – Absolutely, Madonna came out last week too and she wore a meat trouser suit yesterday at a press conference – didn’t you see it?
Flatmate – No, I didn’t buy a paper yesterday.
Me – Oh well, I hear that Topshop are reproducing it and using Heston Blumenthal as a consultant in case you get bored wearing it.
Flatmate – Really?
Me – No.
When I first decided to get myself a flatmate and rent the spare room, it was done out of necessity. I decided that it was the wise thing to do, given the fact that I was out of work. With no job offer in sight I had to consider how I was going to pay the mortgage. I was concerned and anxious and even more so because the advert I placed, initially at least, did not yield the responses I had hoped for. So when the first person who showed interest said, “I’d like to take the room” I bit her hand off all the way down to her ankle. It’s been an interesting experience but ideally I want someone who has an outside chance of being a mate as well as a flatmate.
I re-advertised. This time however London’s student community being back at university has resulted in many more people looking for places to live and responses have been very good this time. I’d like to say that I now have a screening process of sorts. “Would I like to have a beer with this person?” is the new rule of thumb and having used it, I think I may now just have found the right person.
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