Thanks to Daylight Savings, I have now turned into the Puffy-Eyed Sleepless Monster.
This transformation generally occurs by the light of the full moon...or within several days of an assignment deadline or exam.
The temper of the Puffy-Eyed Sleepless Monster knows no bounds. It will snap at anything that comes within fifteen feet. It will stalk to the pantry and ransack what meagre vittles it finds. It hisses and snarls darkly over sheets of looseleaf and heavy textbooks, and will be likely to attack if the words 'liquidiated damages' or 'natural law' are uttered within earshot.
The Puffy-Eyed Sleepless Monster has a menacing appearance that is often frightening to young children. The most common form sports hideous cotton Big W pyjamas with an unkempt, unbrushed mane of hair, and is characterised by large, dark shadows that hang under the beast's puffy eyes. It has sharp, unmanicured nails and a high-pitched, klaxon-like wailing voice (which rises in pitch and frequency depending on the proximity of exams).
If you are confronted by this fearsome beast, it is better to back away slowly, avoiding eye contact. The Puffy-Eyed Sleepless Monster loathes bright sunshine and equally bright, happy people (however, if you smile winningly at the beast it may be stirred into a furious rage and rip your throat out.)
If you are cornered by the Monster, it may be less likely to attack if offered a strong pot of coffee (with a big dash of milk. And one heaped teaspoon of sugar.) Generally, it is simply best to avoid the beast in its natural habitat. It prefers to reside in self-imposed exile in a private room, where its terrible wailing cry cannot be heard.
If in doubt, simply offer the Puffy-Eyed Sleepless Monster a hug.
After all, there is a human being underneath.
Somewhere.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
The Joys of Group Interviews
Group interviews are stupid.
Stupid, but extremely amusing.
I toddled off to a group interview today for a position as a music teacher. Upon entering the waiting room and meeting some of the other candidates, I quickly realised something.
Everyone was VASTLY more qualifed than I was.
As in, half of them were actually students doing a dedicated music degree- actually devoting their life to music- or they'd taught music in the past. I felt like an imposter.
I believe that there are two types of tertiary music students. The first type tend to be creative, laidback souls who generally happen to be the most lovely people you'll ever meet. The second type tend to be poncy little elitists who you want to smack over the head with a music stand. Thankfully, there are relatively few of the latter, but when you meet them you want to...well, hit them over the head with a music stand.
Left to their own devices, these people will grow up to become those irritable old patrons who sit behind you at MSO concerts, muttering about obscure technical points and giving you death glares if you think to even whisper.
Unfortunately, there happened to be one of these poncy people in this interview group. Because it was a group interview, and group interviews happen to be ridiculous affairs with equally ridiculous team-building activities, we had to write down five things we would wish for if a genie appeared to us.
(Considering that the entire interview consisted of these ostensibly random and pointless exercises, I'm assuming that the selectors apply their uber-awesome 1337 psychoanalytic skills to examine our answers.)
Anyhow, we had to read them out, and this is what poncy-boy started out with. In an equally poncy manner:
1. "First, I would wish for every child in the world to have the same opportunities I have had."
2. "I would also eradicate world hunger."
3. "I would wish for my girlfriend to feel the kind of happiness that I feel from being around her."
(Everyone else: "Awwww....")
4. "To be the best musician and pianist and composer in the world."
I forget what his fifth answer was, but I think it was something to do with world peace.
Because I am an evil and selfish person, world peace only made it to #3 on my list. The rest were purely self-indulgent. I figured that with endless money I could probably work on eradicating world hunger anyway. My list ran as follows:
1. Yamaha Grand Concert Piano. (They can even make 'Heart and Soul' sound good.)
2. A bank account that never dries up
3. World peace
4. Good health
5. An albino pet koala (or possibly a penguin)
As you can imagine, everyone simply stared at me like I was mad when I read out the fifth request. But as Neesh will attest to, I've wanted a baby albino koala since Year 11, when I saw a picture of one in my Biology textbook.
I'm also rather fond of penguins.
Anyway...
...group interviews are also amusing because everyone chats to everyone else, but really, everyone's just trying to prove to the observers that "Yes, I can work in a team! Look, I'm communicating! Seeeeeee?!"
Also, one of the girls on my table simply walked out and didn't come back after the first exercise. She was meant to be helping us in the group exercise, but she simply said, "Excuse me for a moment," grabbed her bag and then never came back.
I seem to have that effect on people :P
Anyhow, it was an interesting break from my long hours of not-doing-anything-when-i-should-be-studying.
So, SO screwed for these exams.
Blaaaaargh.
I need a nap, a Frosty Fruit and an albino koala.
Stupid, but extremely amusing.
I toddled off to a group interview today for a position as a music teacher. Upon entering the waiting room and meeting some of the other candidates, I quickly realised something.
Everyone was VASTLY more qualifed than I was.
As in, half of them were actually students doing a dedicated music degree- actually devoting their life to music- or they'd taught music in the past. I felt like an imposter.
I believe that there are two types of tertiary music students. The first type tend to be creative, laidback souls who generally happen to be the most lovely people you'll ever meet. The second type tend to be poncy little elitists who you want to smack over the head with a music stand. Thankfully, there are relatively few of the latter, but when you meet them you want to...well, hit them over the head with a music stand.
Left to their own devices, these people will grow up to become those irritable old patrons who sit behind you at MSO concerts, muttering about obscure technical points and giving you death glares if you think to even whisper.
Unfortunately, there happened to be one of these poncy people in this interview group. Because it was a group interview, and group interviews happen to be ridiculous affairs with equally ridiculous team-building activities, we had to write down five things we would wish for if a genie appeared to us.
(Considering that the entire interview consisted of these ostensibly random and pointless exercises, I'm assuming that the selectors apply their uber-awesome 1337 psychoanalytic skills to examine our answers.)
Anyhow, we had to read them out, and this is what poncy-boy started out with. In an equally poncy manner:
1. "First, I would wish for every child in the world to have the same opportunities I have had."
2. "I would also eradicate world hunger."
3. "I would wish for my girlfriend to feel the kind of happiness that I feel from being around her."
(Everyone else: "Awwww....")
4. "To be the best musician and pianist and composer in the world."
I forget what his fifth answer was, but I think it was something to do with world peace.
Because I am an evil and selfish person, world peace only made it to #3 on my list. The rest were purely self-indulgent. I figured that with endless money I could probably work on eradicating world hunger anyway. My list ran as follows:
1. Yamaha Grand Concert Piano. (They can even make 'Heart and Soul' sound good.)
2. A bank account that never dries up
3. World peace
4. Good health
5. An albino pet koala (or possibly a penguin)
As you can imagine, everyone simply stared at me like I was mad when I read out the fifth request. But as Neesh will attest to, I've wanted a baby albino koala since Year 11, when I saw a picture of one in my Biology textbook.
I'm also rather fond of penguins.
Anyway...
...group interviews are also amusing because everyone chats to everyone else, but really, everyone's just trying to prove to the observers that "Yes, I can work in a team! Look, I'm communicating! Seeeeeee?!"
Also, one of the girls on my table simply walked out and didn't come back after the first exercise. She was meant to be helping us in the group exercise, but she simply said, "Excuse me for a moment," grabbed her bag and then never came back.
I seem to have that effect on people :P
Anyhow, it was an interesting break from my long hours of not-doing-anything-when-i-should-be-studying.
So, SO screwed for these exams.
Blaaaaargh.
I need a nap, a Frosty Fruit and an albino koala.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Stuck on You
Imagine:
You're in a clothing shop. You see a pretty dress.
You pull it off the rack.
You lock yourself inside a dressing room to try it on.
You slip it over your head.
You try to pull it off.
And it gets STUCK.
Ten points to anyone who can guess what happened to me in David Jones today...
OK. So I wander in on my lunch break looking to browse, and I see this cute little dress rimmed in baby blue. Normally, I'm a Size 8 or sometimes a Size 10. Personally, I believe that if we went by the sizings that were in vogue seven years ago, I should be a Size 10. Except this whole stupid 'vanity sizing' concept means that sizes have all gone down...so that women are meant to think, "Oooh yay, I'm a Size 8, I feel better about myself so I'll buy this!"
It doesn't work. Dressing room mirrors are cruel.
Anyhow...I somehow managed to pull this dress over my head, except I had this funny sensation in my left arm.
It felt like I'd dislocated my shoulder. But I ignored the pain.
I then realised that this Size 8 dress would, in normal circumstances, qualify as a SIZE SIX. IT WAS NOT A NORMAL SIZE EIGHT. It's a simple test: I can breathe in Size 8 clothes. The same cannot be said for Size Six items.
So I tried to get it off.
Except it was stuck. Stuck fast. Stuck stuck stuck.
Stuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Okay...okay...don't panic.
Tug.
Tug.
AAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH.
Breathe. Breathe.
It would not budge. I decided that the best way to get it off would be to try slipping an arm and shoulder through..then the rest would follow. However, this was easier said than done.
I sincerely hope that nobody outside was watching, as they would have seen a pair of hapless arms flailing about in terror above the changing room door.
As luck would have it, my shoulder and arm got nicely stuck. There was not one millimetre of room. I could see the circulation being cut off to my left arm- it was swelling up nicely like an angry scarlet Bratwurst- and I was beginning to feel a sense of overwhelming panic.
There was actually a point where I considered just getting a staff member to cut me out and I'd pay for the dress- it was $70- but the horror and indignity of this was just too much to bear. So I struggled in pained silence. My shoulder hurt, my arm hurt, and my fingers were beginning to go numb.
This is it, I thought. I'm going to be stuck in this dressing room until closing time and I'll miss the rest of my shift...
That thought alone made me fight even more vigorously. The Changing Room Gods must have been looking out for me today...perhaps they thought that I had struggled enough...and so somehow, miraculously, I managed to to drag it off.
I could have cried from joy.
Except my shoulder HURT.
I dumped the dress back on the counter, grabbed a bite to eat and ran back to work. Except I was still extremely stressed from my ordeal- I shudder to think about what would have happened had I not been able to extricate myself from that prison of patterned fabric- and it's quite difficult to greet people with a smile when your neck and shoulder are still an aching reminder of this.
Colleague: Hey, are you OK?
Me: What? Yes. Fine! Why?!
Colleague: You look...kind of angry.
Me: I'M NOT ANGRY.
Colleague: Oh good...cos I thought you were mad at me or something.
Me: What?! No, of course I'm not mad at you (at this point I was thinking extremely uncharitable thoughts towards THAT dress)
So...'fess up.
Have you ever gotten stuck?!
You're in a clothing shop. You see a pretty dress.
You pull it off the rack.
You lock yourself inside a dressing room to try it on.
You slip it over your head.
You try to pull it off.
And it gets STUCK.
Ten points to anyone who can guess what happened to me in David Jones today...
OK. So I wander in on my lunch break looking to browse, and I see this cute little dress rimmed in baby blue. Normally, I'm a Size 8 or sometimes a Size 10. Personally, I believe that if we went by the sizings that were in vogue seven years ago, I should be a Size 10. Except this whole stupid 'vanity sizing' concept means that sizes have all gone down...so that women are meant to think, "Oooh yay, I'm a Size 8, I feel better about myself so I'll buy this!"
It doesn't work. Dressing room mirrors are cruel.
Anyhow...I somehow managed to pull this dress over my head, except I had this funny sensation in my left arm.
It felt like I'd dislocated my shoulder. But I ignored the pain.
I then realised that this Size 8 dress would, in normal circumstances, qualify as a SIZE SIX. IT WAS NOT A NORMAL SIZE EIGHT. It's a simple test: I can breathe in Size 8 clothes. The same cannot be said for Size Six items.
So I tried to get it off.
Except it was stuck. Stuck fast. Stuck stuck stuck.
Stuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Okay...okay...don't panic.
Tug.
Tug.
AAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH.
Breathe. Breathe.
It would not budge. I decided that the best way to get it off would be to try slipping an arm and shoulder through..then the rest would follow. However, this was easier said than done.
I sincerely hope that nobody outside was watching, as they would have seen a pair of hapless arms flailing about in terror above the changing room door.
As luck would have it, my shoulder and arm got nicely stuck. There was not one millimetre of room. I could see the circulation being cut off to my left arm- it was swelling up nicely like an angry scarlet Bratwurst- and I was beginning to feel a sense of overwhelming panic.
There was actually a point where I considered just getting a staff member to cut me out and I'd pay for the dress- it was $70- but the horror and indignity of this was just too much to bear. So I struggled in pained silence. My shoulder hurt, my arm hurt, and my fingers were beginning to go numb.
This is it, I thought. I'm going to be stuck in this dressing room until closing time and I'll miss the rest of my shift...
That thought alone made me fight even more vigorously. The Changing Room Gods must have been looking out for me today...perhaps they thought that I had struggled enough...and so somehow, miraculously, I managed to to drag it off.
I could have cried from joy.
Except my shoulder HURT.
I dumped the dress back on the counter, grabbed a bite to eat and ran back to work. Except I was still extremely stressed from my ordeal- I shudder to think about what would have happened had I not been able to extricate myself from that prison of patterned fabric- and it's quite difficult to greet people with a smile when your neck and shoulder are still an aching reminder of this.
Colleague: Hey, are you OK?
Me: What? Yes. Fine! Why?!
Colleague: You look...kind of angry.
Me: I'M NOT ANGRY.
Colleague: Oh good...cos I thought you were mad at me or something.
Me: What?! No, of course I'm not mad at you (at this point I was thinking extremely uncharitable thoughts towards THAT dress)
So...'fess up.
Have you ever gotten stuck?!
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Now I'm Trapped in the Closet...
From ninemsn.com.au:
"According to tabloid reports, Top Gun star Tom Cruise is planning to build a $10 million bunker underneath his Colorado mansion as a precaution against an alleged intergalactic ruler called Xenu who, Cruise believes, will attack Earth."
...?
?
?!
It's time that someone sat him down and calmly explained to him that his role in War of the Worlds wasn't actually real.
On a completely unrelated note, I'm stuck in the middle of an appalling 'Fault Analysis' for my Grammar course. I'm knee deep in dangling modifiers, split infinitives and subjunctive verb clauses- but I still require five more errors to analyse.
So tell me- should that comma stuck between 'who' and 'Cruise' be placed after 'Xenu' instead? It looks rather clumsy in its current position and it's giving me a headache...
"According to tabloid reports, Top Gun star Tom Cruise is planning to build a $10 million bunker underneath his Colorado mansion as a precaution against an alleged intergalactic ruler called Xenu who, Cruise believes, will attack Earth."
...?
?
?!
It's time that someone sat him down and calmly explained to him that his role in War of the Worlds wasn't actually real.
On a completely unrelated note, I'm stuck in the middle of an appalling 'Fault Analysis' for my Grammar course. I'm knee deep in dangling modifiers, split infinitives and subjunctive verb clauses- but I still require five more errors to analyse.
So tell me- should that comma stuck between 'who' and 'Cruise' be placed after 'Xenu' instead? It looks rather clumsy in its current position and it's giving me a headache...
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Meltdown in 3, 2, 1...
I was waiting in the Post Office queue today when I saw this little toy called the 'Stress-O-Meter'. All you had to do was put two fingers on the little metal pads and it would tell you how stressed out you were. Supposedly.
I was actually feeling fairly calm, but when I put my fingers on it, it gave a little beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
And the light flickered to "MELTDOWN'.
Stupid little piece of plastic.
Then I remembered that I had a 1,500 word essay due in less than seven days. Which I have not started. And that not listening to thirteen weeks worth of law kinda sucks when it comes to the exam. And despite thirteen weeks of Grammar instruction I still don't know what a split infinitive is. And that maybe, just maybe, I was leaving this all a little too late and I would have to repeat another terrible horrendous semester of pure legal theory- a truly painful unit that is even better than Valium as a sedative.
I know this because I stopped staying awake after Week Three.
(That was also the class in which I lost the contact lens from my right eye- it slipped out while I was yawning. )
DOES THIS NOT TELL YOU SOMETHING?!
On the other hand, I got called back for a group interview- for the teaching position described here (if you've read that post you'll know that it's a bloody miracle I got called back at all.) The bad news is that it requires you to be free on a LOT of days for observation and training if you get past the group stage...not to mention the audition, but I doubt it'll get that far. And I have an EXAM on the observation training day.
I wonder if there's a level above 'Meltdown'?
I was actually feeling fairly calm, but when I put my fingers on it, it gave a little beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
And the light flickered to "MELTDOWN'.
Stupid little piece of plastic.
Then I remembered that I had a 1,500 word essay due in less than seven days. Which I have not started. And that not listening to thirteen weeks worth of law kinda sucks when it comes to the exam. And despite thirteen weeks of Grammar instruction I still don't know what a split infinitive is. And that maybe, just maybe, I was leaving this all a little too late and I would have to repeat another terrible horrendous semester of pure legal theory- a truly painful unit that is even better than Valium as a sedative.
I know this because I stopped staying awake after Week Three.
(That was also the class in which I lost the contact lens from my right eye- it slipped out while I was yawning. )
DOES THIS NOT TELL YOU SOMETHING?!
On the other hand, I got called back for a group interview- for the teaching position described here (if you've read that post you'll know that it's a bloody miracle I got called back at all.) The bad news is that it requires you to be free on a LOT of days for observation and training if you get past the group stage...not to mention the audition, but I doubt it'll get that far. And I have an EXAM on the observation training day.
I wonder if there's a level above 'Meltdown'?
Thursday, October 11, 2007
School Reunion
I'm going to my school reunion tomorrow night.
Except it's not really MY school reunion...I only went to that school for one year when I was fourteen, and 80% of the people in my year level were just plain jerks.
So why am I going?
Curiosity, mostly. This is going to be irredeemably awkward. However, I'm braving it with my lovely friend Sarah (who managed to put up with me for that one year of schooling) and we've made a pact to escape the reunion and find a good ice-cream parlour if it gets too boring. I'm sorta hoping that it does turn out to be dull, as I could really use some kind of hazelnut chocolate gelati in my life right now.
Also, I get to blog about it later on, and you can all enjoy the vicarious schadenfreude associated with such traumatic school events :P
Except it's not really MY school reunion...I only went to that school for one year when I was fourteen, and 80% of the people in my year level were just plain jerks.
So why am I going?
Curiosity, mostly. This is going to be irredeemably awkward. However, I'm braving it with my lovely friend Sarah (who managed to put up with me for that one year of schooling) and we've made a pact to escape the reunion and find a good ice-cream parlour if it gets too boring. I'm sorta hoping that it does turn out to be dull, as I could really use some kind of hazelnut chocolate gelati in my life right now.
Also, I get to blog about it later on, and you can all enjoy the vicarious schadenfreude associated with such traumatic school events :P
Monday, October 8, 2007
And so it continues...
Mother (after I arrived home one hour later than expected): Where have you been?
Me: I-
Mother (looking searchingly into my face): Ooh, maybe you have a secret boyfriend? Hmm? That's why you're late?
(Gives me hopeful...read 'hopeful' as 'desperate'...stare)
Me: Mum...we had another hour lecture on feminism in the law. That's why I was late.
Mother: Oh.
I get the funny feeling that my mother is getting a little bit desperate. Just a little bit...
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Worst. Job. Interview. Ever.
Life is a joke.
Seriously.
If you can't take a look at yourself every once in a while and just laugh at your own stupidity, it can get rather dull. As Pablo Neruda once observed, "Laughter is the language of the soul," and a sense of humour is like the little pin that can keep our own inflated pride in check.
There are so many hilarious moments in life that we need to appreciate- the pure slapstick when someone trips over or whacks into something, the communal groan upon the reception of terrible joke, the shriek of laughter that accompanies an outrageous comment or an unexpected confession. The random giggling in the dark at sleepovers, or the hysterical bouts of laughter where you think your heart's going to jump out of your chest because you can't stop shaking.
You see, I applied for this job today. I'm not going to say what it was for obvious reasons, but it was to do with teaching, and I really, really wanted this position. I fixed up the cover letter and the CV last night, and this afternoon I sent off an e-mail to the company fifteen minutes before I was going to leave.
What I wasn't expecting was for the aforementioned company to ring me about eight minutes after I'd sent the e-mail.
Seriously, who does that?!
At the time of the call, I was getting changed in my room. When the phone rang, I snatched it off my crumpled bedspread and answered it.
Ah. A phone interview!
The phone line on her end was bad. Exceptionally bad. It sounded like that garbled radio transmission sampled in Transformers, except instead of telling me her encrypted plans to destroy the Earth, she was asking me about my teaching experience.
"Uh...."
(I don't have teaching experience.)
"Well...I've done some tutoring..." (This was a grand total of three times before they realised that I wasn't teaching their child anything useful, I was just cynically and bitterly ranting on about the idiocy of teenage love for two hours and blaming dear old Friar Lawrence for everything that went wrong in Romeo and Juliet)
"...and I've taken a few classes at my old school..." (Grand total of ONE. And it was such a debacle that they never asked me to do it again. Not my fault if none of the kids READ THE DAMN BOOK BEFORE I TOOK THE CLASS.)
So I was trying desperately to hear this woman on this terrible scratchy phone line, and halfway through the interview I suddenly realised that I was talking to this lovely lady whilst I was had no clothes on.
I had to laugh. I was hopping up and down on one foot trying to find a clean shirt, conducting a civilised phone interview with a lovely lady on the other end. It was a very pleasant and polite conversation, and I was just thinking to myself, "If she could see me now.."
And during this realisation, my father started yelling up the stairs that I was going to be late.
And then he used the intercom (LOUDLY) while I was still trying to hear the interviewer on the phone.
I couldn't tell my dad that I was on the phone, and considering my state of undress I couldn't actually run down and provide a series of furious hand signals to show this. Furthermore, one hand was clamped over my mobile and I was still hopping up and down mentally shrieking "Where the fuck are my jeans?!". Whilst she was asking about availability, I was scrabbling under my bed for aforesaid jeans, and digging through a giant pile of clothes. Unfortunately, this carefully balanced pile happened to topple right off the chair.
"So why did you apply for this position?"
"Well...I love kids..."
(Damn, no socks...)
"...and I like teaching..."
(Where's that shirt?! Wheeeeeeeere?!!!!)
"YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE AGAIN!"
Aaaaaaarggghhhh....
It was rather disastrous interview. She actually gave me the 'let-down' speech before the formal notification next week- "We've got 80-100 applications...and we're only accepting about 6-8 teachers."
Yay.
It's a pity, because it was something I really wanted to do. But even though I was disappointed, I couldn't help but laugh at the whole thing afterwards.
It was just so ridiculous.
Looks like I'm stuck selling remote control cars over Christmas.
Seriously.
If you can't take a look at yourself every once in a while and just laugh at your own stupidity, it can get rather dull. As Pablo Neruda once observed, "Laughter is the language of the soul," and a sense of humour is like the little pin that can keep our own inflated pride in check.
There are so many hilarious moments in life that we need to appreciate- the pure slapstick when someone trips over or whacks into something, the communal groan upon the reception of terrible joke, the shriek of laughter that accompanies an outrageous comment or an unexpected confession. The random giggling in the dark at sleepovers, or the hysterical bouts of laughter where you think your heart's going to jump out of your chest because you can't stop shaking.
You see, I applied for this job today. I'm not going to say what it was for obvious reasons, but it was to do with teaching, and I really, really wanted this position. I fixed up the cover letter and the CV last night, and this afternoon I sent off an e-mail to the company fifteen minutes before I was going to leave.
What I wasn't expecting was for the aforementioned company to ring me about eight minutes after I'd sent the e-mail.
Seriously, who does that?!
At the time of the call, I was getting changed in my room. When the phone rang, I snatched it off my crumpled bedspread and answered it.
Ah. A phone interview!
The phone line on her end was bad. Exceptionally bad. It sounded like that garbled radio transmission sampled in Transformers, except instead of telling me her encrypted plans to destroy the Earth, she was asking me about my teaching experience.
"Uh...."
(I don't have teaching experience.)
"Well...I've done some tutoring..." (This was a grand total of three times before they realised that I wasn't teaching their child anything useful, I was just cynically and bitterly ranting on about the idiocy of teenage love for two hours and blaming dear old Friar Lawrence for everything that went wrong in Romeo and Juliet)
"...and I've taken a few classes at my old school..." (Grand total of ONE. And it was such a debacle that they never asked me to do it again. Not my fault if none of the kids READ THE DAMN BOOK BEFORE I TOOK THE CLASS.)
So I was trying desperately to hear this woman on this terrible scratchy phone line, and halfway through the interview I suddenly realised that I was talking to this lovely lady whilst I was had no clothes on.
I had to laugh. I was hopping up and down on one foot trying to find a clean shirt, conducting a civilised phone interview with a lovely lady on the other end. It was a very pleasant and polite conversation, and I was just thinking to myself, "If she could see me now.."
And during this realisation, my father started yelling up the stairs that I was going to be late.
And then he used the intercom (LOUDLY) while I was still trying to hear the interviewer on the phone.
I couldn't tell my dad that I was on the phone, and considering my state of undress I couldn't actually run down and provide a series of furious hand signals to show this. Furthermore, one hand was clamped over my mobile and I was still hopping up and down mentally shrieking "Where the fuck are my jeans?!". Whilst she was asking about availability, I was scrabbling under my bed for aforesaid jeans, and digging through a giant pile of clothes. Unfortunately, this carefully balanced pile happened to topple right off the chair.
"So why did you apply for this position?"
"Well...I love kids..."
(Damn, no socks...)
"...and I like teaching..."
(Where's that shirt?! Wheeeeeeeere?!!!!)
"YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE AGAIN!"
Aaaaaaarggghhhh....
It was rather disastrous interview. She actually gave me the 'let-down' speech before the formal notification next week- "We've got 80-100 applications...and we're only accepting about 6-8 teachers."
Yay.
It's a pity, because it was something I really wanted to do. But even though I was disappointed, I couldn't help but laugh at the whole thing afterwards.
It was just so ridiculous.
Looks like I'm stuck selling remote control cars over Christmas.
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