The first part went fine. It was your standard "Hello, welcome to Company X, thank you for applying, please step this way for HR processing and body cavity search" that we've all been through a billion times. Still, I was in good spirits, because my qualification for this job was so unassailable that it might as well have said "Applicant must be named Erin Palette" on the spec sheet.
Then I meet the Department Head, whose first words were "I've already picked out someone for this position. She has her second interview this week. I'm only here as a favor to HR Guy."
Well, then. At least I know my time is being wasted, so that's always a bonus.
Needless to say, this rather put me off my game, and unfortunately this was precisely when I needed said "A-game"; if I could have rallied and knocked socks off in a 5-mile radius, I know that job would have been mine. Then I could have had the unparalleled delight of wresting a prize from a defeated enemy whilst crouching over her freshly-defiled corpse in a crude re-enactment of any Counter-Strike match.
Instead, I was merely adequate.
There are, however, two silver linings to this. One, my hopes aren't up. I know I didn't get this job. So instead of waiting with bated breath for phone call or email, I can put this fiasco behind me and pretend it never happened.
And if any of you bastards mention it I will hunt you down and eat your spleens.
Second, it gives me blogfodder. Which means that not only do I have something to write about tonight, but also a vaguely dirty-sounding word I can drop in place of the F-bomb whenever I'm in polite company.
Scene: A gentleman's club in Britain, c. 19th century.
Albemarle: I say, Chauncy, we seem to be out of sherry this evening!
Chauncy: Drat and blogfodder! The port, then, if you please?
So that was my day. How was yours?
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