One Time . . .

In the early 90s when I lived in Toronto I was desperate to find work. There didn't seem to be many jobs at that time, seems like the economy was in a recession or something, but maybe not. And maybe I wasn't out of work all that long, maybe it just seemed really long in that early 20's everything takes so long kinda way. My lack of employment was causing a strain in my relationship though, so it was a big fat hairy deal. My hon couldn't take care of himself, let alone me, and though I didn't realize it at the time he counted on me to take care of him. God help him! Anyway, finding a job became my full-time job. I applied for everything I was remotely qualified. I registered and tested with every temp agency. I trekked all over the damn place for interviews from Markham to Scarborough out to Oakville and Burlington. If I could get there, no matter how long it took, I went. I was interviewing at three and four places a day, blindly groping around for anything. I suppose it only lasted a couple of months at the most before I got something good, because I remember I had EI from my job at the radio station in NB and by the time I got that all transferred and straightened out so I might actually receive a cheque I was employed full-time, so the good ole Ontario government didn't have to give me any money, which I'm sure pleased them immensely because they weren't too keen on people coming from the East Coast to collect UI.

Anyway, I remember this one interview I went to was way the hell north in . . . I wanna say Newmarket, but surely to God I did not take public transportation all the way to Newmarket! That's crazy. Must've been Markham. It took 3 buses and the subway to get as close as I could and then I had to walk for about 20 minutes from the bus stop way the hell into an industrial park type area to get to their building. It was probably a 2 and a half hour journey one way, which I would have had to do everyday twice if I'd got the job. But really there wasn't much chance of that.

This was an actual editorial position for some non-profit Jewish organization doing their newsletter and other publications. All the jobs I was interviewing for were administrative so I was pretty excited to get into a door in my field. I was ready to convert if they'd have me! I think they were willing to hire a lapsed protestant, but only if she had a general understanding of all things Jewish, which I didn't. And there went my one and only chance of meeting a nice Jewish boy and settling down for good :-(

So the interview was going really well and I was loving the people I'd be working with, the job I'd be doing. It was one of those rare times when I felt completely at ease immediately. The woman was upfront with me that I'd be a hard sell to her board because I didn't know the first thing about being Jewish, but she seemed like she really liked me and might go to bat for me if nobody better showed up. The interview ended I stood up, shook her hand, smiled and said good bye. Turned to leave and promptly fell in a heap on the floor. Damn weak ankles! She shrieked and came running from around her desk. I was so embarrassed, sitting there on the floor, putting on a brave smile and assuring her I was ok, just went over on my ankle, happens all the time (and it did then, sprained my ankle once a year it seemed). It was a really bad sprain that day. One of the worst I'd had in years. It instantly started to swell and turn purple as I made a hasty retreat from the nice lady's office, assuring her I would be okay, and yes I'd see a doctor.

Then I had to walk 20 minutes to the bus stop, in two and a half inched pumps, with a sprained ankle. And it was rush hour, so there were no seats on the bus. I had to stand most of the way home. For two and a half hours, in two and a half inched pumps, with a sprained ankle.

I've been on dozens and dozens of job interviews, but whenever I'm reminded of them, this is the one that always springs to mind. Seriously, how friggin Bridget Jones am I?

Mood: up in the air
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: just me, typing
Hair: uncertain of itself