In which I am made of grr and look quite fetching
Well, it turns out I needent worry, as the "sorry, it's not you" letter from Friday turned up this morning.
I'm trying to concentrate on the bright side. It seems that my guess that they were asking for a [blank] assistant rather than a [blank] to avoid having to up a pay grade was absolutely correct. It was clear that [potential employers] cared little for [potential department] the moment I walked in there and talked to [potential former employee]. Well it was there prima facie. Unloved and underfunded to a risible degree. I have worked in the field before and a funding level of £2 per ["customer"] is frankly appaling and impossible. Low funding - as I had understood it previously - was less than £12 per head and this was 6 years ago. I keep telling myself that they want somebody who might rock the boat less than [ not quite yet former employee] as they had failed to listen to him and he was reduced to [desperatwe acts] to be able to perform anything near adequate service. It is my sincere hope that when [inspectory body] turns up next they shall be bitten where it hurts. Sadly, it is clear that it is a long term situtation which means that they don't care about [inspectory body] biting them and possibly have tin legs to match their lead hearts. What makes me really angry is that they are not just screwing themselves over but their ["customers" or more properly wards for whom they are responsible] over too.
Can you tell that I am trying not to be [specific] even though it would give me great pleasure to be otherwise.
So I am trying to tell myself that this would be a shitty job that would make me deeply unhappy and perpetually angry (so not a good thing) and that I would end up boiling the [management team's] bunnies and god knows what else. The alternative of yesterday was reframing it as a challenge etc.
I am really tempted to get specific on their asses, but that could blow up in my face, and I really don't fancy the admittedly miniscule chance of facing the local/tabloid press. Imagine your own inflamatory headline here.
I am now feeling like a character in a Chuck Palahnuik book, even though there was theraputic skirt buying (three!) and a disk of my favourite movie (batteries not included).
Oh, and I got another turn down by email yesterday. Whoop-de-whoop.
Seems like co-volunteers don't have to worry about my irreplacability yet.
I'm trying to concentrate on the bright side. It seems that my guess that they were asking for a [blank] assistant rather than a [blank] to avoid having to up a pay grade was absolutely correct. It was clear that [potential employers] cared little for [potential department] the moment I walked in there and talked to [potential former employee]. Well it was there prima facie. Unloved and underfunded to a risible degree. I have worked in the field before and a funding level of £2 per ["customer"] is frankly appaling and impossible. Low funding - as I had understood it previously - was less than £12 per head and this was 6 years ago. I keep telling myself that they want somebody who might rock the boat less than [ not quite yet former employee] as they had failed to listen to him and he was reduced to [desperatwe acts] to be able to perform anything near adequate service. It is my sincere hope that when [inspectory body] turns up next they shall be bitten where it hurts. Sadly, it is clear that it is a long term situtation which means that they don't care about [inspectory body] biting them and possibly have tin legs to match their lead hearts. What makes me really angry is that they are not just screwing themselves over but their ["customers" or more properly wards for whom they are responsible] over too.
Can you tell that I am trying not to be [specific] even though it would give me great pleasure to be otherwise.
So I am trying to tell myself that this would be a shitty job that would make me deeply unhappy and perpetually angry (so not a good thing) and that I would end up boiling the [management team's] bunnies and god knows what else. The alternative of yesterday was reframing it as a challenge etc.
I am really tempted to get specific on their asses, but that could blow up in my face, and I really don't fancy the admittedly miniscule chance of facing the local/tabloid press. Imagine your own inflamatory headline here.
I am now feeling like a character in a Chuck Palahnuik book, even though there was theraputic skirt buying (three!) and a disk of my favourite movie (batteries not included).
Oh, and I got another turn down by email yesterday. Whoop-de-whoop.
Seems like co-volunteers don't have to worry about my irreplacability yet.