Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Extra Chili Sauce

We are approaching the point in the story where our intrepid heroine gets the feared job in a kebab shop. Not really. I'm just sick with a cold and it is easy to feel sorry for yourself when your movement is restricted to bed to couch and you are huddled around space heaters wrapped in a flannel robe, wearing the same clothes for the last two days. Have a huge three-hour 2nd interview assessment torture enema on Thursday. I want the job, so wish me luck that they like the shape of my colon because they will be looking up it. First hour is a group exercise. Second hour is an interview. Third hour is a role play. Fourth hour they will be harvesting my eggs and I will need to write some snappy copy so they can advertise my DNA on the Internet. (That's a joke mom.) So we shall see. Keeping my fingers crossed. My first recruiter has proved herself to again be beyond useless. Her sins thus far? Sending me to two interviews where the job was much to senior for my current skill set. Sending me to an interview on the wrong day. Not confirming with me that an interview was scheduled. (On the day of the interview I remembered an e-mail saying that she was going to try and set something up and asked about it and. . . guess what. . . it was scheduled. Best part was it was one of the jobs I am too Junior for.) She never gives me the addresses of where I am going. I go to the company Web site and pull it from there where other recruiters I have dealt with have given it to me. Her e-mails are notoriously unprofessional and she keeps asking me for my mobile even though I have given it to her a million times. My recent annoyance comes because she sent me an e-mail the end of last week again asking for my "new moby". I don't have a new moby. It is the same flippen MOBY that she has had for two flippen months. When I speak to her, it is as if she has forgotten everything about what we have been working on. ” Nicola! How you doin' darling? You alright? Right, right. So we are back on the case, yeah? We are going to find you a nice job, yeah? How much were you looking for then?" In my first meeting with her, I had told her the pay scale that I had hoped to get. I hope that she has some neurological disease or does too much coke so that her brain is fried. I hate to think that she is naturally this disorganized. In positive news, S raised hell with our evil estate agents and the boiler people will be coming tomorrow so hopefully soon it will we warm inside.


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