Waiting Part II

Today, my life felt like a sitcom. I got up this morning with weirder than normal hormones, which meant one heavy period, there went the sexy interview undies. I gathered together loads of paper and popped them into my briefcase. I changed my shoes twice before I'd even ironed my blouse.The croissant I'd intended to have for breakfast waved goodbye to me and wished me luck along with my boy. I made it out the house on time; stood and waited for the bus for 10 minutes. The bus wasn't late, I was early for it. When I got to their office I was told that my interview was 11 o'clock, not the 10 o'clock the agency wrote in their e-mail along with the rest of the interview gubbins.

I smiled pleasantly and said I'd have coffee and return. Which I did. Did some more interview prep, drank my frothy coffee (too light on the chocolate dusting). Visited the loo, feminine disaster and no friendly dispensers. I hoofed it over the Spa shop over the road made my purchases and minced along to the railway station, the closest public loo available. At this point my shoes were killing me, hold the image of minced in your mind, I'll come back to it at the end.

I get back and am ushered in. They then ask for a copy of the letter that was e-mailed to them by the agency. Which wasn't in my pile of papers in my briefcase. I then had to talk my boy through the process of forwarding it on, which he did, bless him, my saviour. The rest of the interview went reasonably well, they were amused by me being a trainspotter and were interested in my project. The second part was a close examination of my letter and a couple of scenarios. I didn't think the this part went so well. I've never done front-line customer service and answering on my gut instincts perhaps wasn't what they wanted to hear. We'll see. I find out tomorrow.

I was supposed to meet boy in town for some last minute stationary shopping, but I could barely walk. I made it on to the bus and then the few yards to the flat, I was that close to just crawling my feet hurt so much. When I got in and took my shoes off - yuck! Remember I mentioned 'minced'? I might have a shoe fetish, but my feet certainly aren't up for the punishment. I knew there was a reason I'd never be a ballet dancer.