Battle Wounds

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I have been publicly interviewed and I don’t know what this means.   I don’t know if my life is going to be turned inside out and upside down and improved and frustrated or not.  We have a week and a half to sit and contemplate.

After driving a way that was tolerable to me, but is coming from a different direction than I would go in the future, I was not wigged out, which I half-expected of myself.   Nerves, of course, but not of the leaping out of my skin sort.

There were four women in the room.  They had the look of hardworking admin people: slightly beady-eyed, slightly exhausted, not mad at anyone, just irritated that they were forced to start shifting energies when they may not be precisely ready to do that.  Nothing I said felt like the wrong answer, but nothing felt like I had won them over.  One noted my resume had her alma mater on it to herself with a little cheer  – something I knew from my terse LinkedIn research – but didn’t ask me about it.  Another knew about the town I spent so much time in growing up and that felt like a click.  They nodded and smiled a bit, laughed a bit, but were otherwise really straight-forward and straitlaced the rest of the forty-five minutes.  I definitely felt like I was having to cut my way through the underbrush here, there wasn’t any sort of trail made by a colleague or friend who had suggested me.  There wasn’t this sense of the power of nepotism laying down a bead of KY on this as I’ve been able to have in the past.  They didn’t dislike me, but I was a stranger asking for a significant chunk of change to supposedly make their lives easier and to not fuck up the status quo they enjoy – they couldn’t get this wrong.  There were others to interview after me.

They were, in essence, professionals.

They weren’t people who could empathize, I didn’t feel, with working in an office where people still used floppy disks.   With being the only person who knew what the internet was.  They mentioned the lack of micromanagement.  If I were to get this job, I have to fall into line fast.  I have to click with them before they have to click with me in.

But I felt that I did the absolute best I could do.   Shirt tucked in, red lipstick, soul gem necklace, a demeanor that tried to reach for what they were asking for without betraying the fact that I’m quieter, less invasive, gentle.

Then, they showed me around the busy, windowless office space I would share with these other people.  The half-eaten cake from some Dead Like Me style office party, white boards, quotes framed on the bright blue walls and I was done.  I drove home a longer, more comfortable way and it was fine.  I felt emboldened, I suppose, by having done this.

It was odd after my boss, despite straits being no less dire than before, wanting to offer us a fancy high tea outing in town as a thanks.  Because we’re all working so hard.  It was hard and awkward to proceed with calling about reservations, knowing I might not be there, more than that, we might be an utter shambles at that point, and I don’t know how I feel about any of it.

Yet, they easily could pick someone else, and my ass would be out there in the wind as little Miss Jobseeker.  Not that it isn’t completely acceptable, completely understandable.  It’s just that slight quality of mutiny that goes against my grain.  Has to be done, can’t not be done, money doesn’t just appear no matter the number of candles lit.  Someone, somewhere had to plant that seed, water that sapling, defend that tree before the magic dollars could be harvested.

It’s been a real time, today.  It was also N7 Day.  I have Chinese to eat and I don’t know what else to say.

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