Bad stuff happens in threes...
Well, they say that bad things happen in threes. I'm waiting on number 3...
Friday morning, Paul was told that the temp job he was in didn't want him back after the Edinburgh holiday. We put that out of our heads and had a brilliant weekend.
I got into work this morning, and my boss was really nice. She asked me how I enjoyed my weekend, if I had enough work to do, etc. Then just before lunchtime, she called me into the meeting room and told me that they weren't happy with the level of work I was putting in, I was taking too long on my breaks, I was late too often (by late they meant 2 or 3 minutes) and that they were "terminating my my employment in accordance with my contract". This basically meant that they were serving me my weeks notice, they didn't have to give me a reason, and that I wasn't expected to work out the week, in fact if I wanted to leave there and then it was fine - just be as discreet as possible. I did ask if they could possibly extend it until the end of next month, but apparently the decision had been made on Friday (when I was away) and they were waiting until I got back. I'll be paid up until the end of the month, but I no longer have a job.
The way I see it is we have 3 options. 1, we could give up now and go home to the same humdrum life we had before. Paul could go back to Centra, I can get a job in IBB or in Conduit (perish the thought), and we can pretty much go back to normal. 2, we can give ourselves a deadline to get jobs/apartment etc, and if we haven't achieved it by whatever date, we go home, and follow option 1. 3, we can continue on here for christ only knows how long, struggling to get jobs, struggling to make ends meet, and struggling to get ourselves set up. I have no idea how long this would take.
Frankly, right now, I just want to go home. It feels like we've achieved nothing by moving. We thought it was going to be so much easier here, we'd get jobs and a place to live in no time, everything was so much cheaper etc. We really didn't do enough research before we moved. We didn't know about council tax, we didn't know about all the extras that were added onto bills, we didn't know that getting a place to live would be so difficult (seriously, it's like applying for a mortgage the amount of paperwork that has to be done) we had no idea that there was so much paperwork in getting my car re-registered (which I still haven't done). There was just so much that we never took into consideration - and now it's coming back to bite us in the ass.
Aside from all the financial shit we have to deal with, there's the emotional side to consider too. Manchester is a lonely city. No matter how many people you know, you never really -know- any of them. They're not as friendly (they're not horrible either, just not as friendly), they're not as chatty, and they always seem to be hiding something. They're not as open as I'd like. I miss my parents, I miss my old job, I miss my friends more than I could ever express, and it's killing me. I miss Dublin. I miss the sea breeze that I so readily took for granted (then I moved to Manchester which is at least 60 miles from the nearest beach, so when it's hot, it's melty hot), I miss the thick Dublin accents that I mocked so mercilessly, I miss the tiny winding roads through the suburbs, I miss knowing exactly how much I was paying for everything when I used my credit card, I miss my little flat in Ballsbridge, I miss Tesco in Merrion (don't ask, it's a long story) I miss Dublin Taxi Drivers, I miss the liffey, I miss knowing exactly where everything and everywhere was, I miss having the choice of driving or (God forbid) taking the Luas into work, I miss Georges Street Arcade, I miss UCD, I miss Gloria Jeans, I miss Stephens Green shopping centre, I miss Dublin slang, I miss seeing road signs in two languages, I miss the coast roads, I miss Bulmers cider, and a million other things that I can't begin to think of.
I just don't know what to do...
Friday morning, Paul was told that the temp job he was in didn't want him back after the Edinburgh holiday. We put that out of our heads and had a brilliant weekend.
I got into work this morning, and my boss was really nice. She asked me how I enjoyed my weekend, if I had enough work to do, etc. Then just before lunchtime, she called me into the meeting room and told me that they weren't happy with the level of work I was putting in, I was taking too long on my breaks, I was late too often (by late they meant 2 or 3 minutes) and that they were "terminating my my employment in accordance with my contract". This basically meant that they were serving me my weeks notice, they didn't have to give me a reason, and that I wasn't expected to work out the week, in fact if I wanted to leave there and then it was fine - just be as discreet as possible. I did ask if they could possibly extend it until the end of next month, but apparently the decision had been made on Friday (when I was away) and they were waiting until I got back. I'll be paid up until the end of the month, but I no longer have a job.
The way I see it is we have 3 options. 1, we could give up now and go home to the same humdrum life we had before. Paul could go back to Centra, I can get a job in IBB or in Conduit (perish the thought), and we can pretty much go back to normal. 2, we can give ourselves a deadline to get jobs/apartment etc, and if we haven't achieved it by whatever date, we go home, and follow option 1. 3, we can continue on here for christ only knows how long, struggling to get jobs, struggling to make ends meet, and struggling to get ourselves set up. I have no idea how long this would take.
Frankly, right now, I just want to go home. It feels like we've achieved nothing by moving. We thought it was going to be so much easier here, we'd get jobs and a place to live in no time, everything was so much cheaper etc. We really didn't do enough research before we moved. We didn't know about council tax, we didn't know about all the extras that were added onto bills, we didn't know that getting a place to live would be so difficult (seriously, it's like applying for a mortgage the amount of paperwork that has to be done) we had no idea that there was so much paperwork in getting my car re-registered (which I still haven't done). There was just so much that we never took into consideration - and now it's coming back to bite us in the ass.
Aside from all the financial shit we have to deal with, there's the emotional side to consider too. Manchester is a lonely city. No matter how many people you know, you never really -know- any of them. They're not as friendly (they're not horrible either, just not as friendly), they're not as chatty, and they always seem to be hiding something. They're not as open as I'd like. I miss my parents, I miss my old job, I miss my friends more than I could ever express, and it's killing me. I miss Dublin. I miss the sea breeze that I so readily took for granted (then I moved to Manchester which is at least 60 miles from the nearest beach, so when it's hot, it's melty hot), I miss the thick Dublin accents that I mocked so mercilessly, I miss the tiny winding roads through the suburbs, I miss knowing exactly how much I was paying for everything when I used my credit card, I miss my little flat in Ballsbridge, I miss Tesco in Merrion (don't ask, it's a long story) I miss Dublin Taxi Drivers, I miss the liffey, I miss knowing exactly where everything and everywhere was, I miss having the choice of driving or (God forbid) taking the Luas into work, I miss Georges Street Arcade, I miss UCD, I miss Gloria Jeans, I miss Stephens Green shopping centre, I miss Dublin slang, I miss seeing road signs in two languages, I miss the coast roads, I miss Bulmers cider, and a million other things that I can't begin to think of.
I just don't know what to do...