(no subject)
A while ago I went to a job interview. Well, that was the plan. In reality I was bundled into a car, driven half an hour to the middle of suburbia and told to follow some guy around while he went door to door, selling home phone plans to soggy eyed housewives. It was awful. This was a Saturday, so we were dragging people away from the only time off they had all week to force feed them a pitch, a great deal, guaranteed.
I felt dirty, like a cockroach scurrying through someones pantry or the ants that settle on my dirty laundry. I didn't need to know what pyjamas the girl in no.97 wears. I don't want to talk to the Dad of no.10, and hear a child crying in the background. I'm busy. Not interested. This isn't the right time. It was the worst kind of intrucive.
Did I mention that it was raining? My hair became a big frizzy afro when it wasn't dripping wet. And my shoes (my beautiful job interview shoes that screamed sophisticated yet spunky) would squelch onto the grass as the spiked heal pierced the ground, meaning I'd have to free myself everytime I wanted to take another agonising step. And they were agonising. These shoes were designed to look pretty peaking out the bottom of some office desk, not for cross country trekking though manicured lawns and garden beds.
I just wanted to go home. And thats the worst thing, that I actually sorta was. See, the suburbia I'd been driven to was mine. My suburb. I knew those houses, I'd seen these people walking their dogs and washing their cars. I could have said "screw you, and your funky monkey", walked round the corner and been home in five minutes. I was miserable, there was no way in hell I was going to take the job, so why didn't I?
Well, here is the point of my story. This says all you'll ever need to know about me. I didn't stay out of a feeling of sticktoitness. I didn't stick around because once I start something I see it through, no matter how crappy. I don't have moral fibre.
I stayed because I was asked to by some guy in a suit. Because it would have taken a small amount of backbone to say "Thank you so much for this opportunity, but you can stick this job up your ass". For the same reason I was the teacher's pet at school - because I just can't do the wrong thing. The unexpected thing. Rebel. Its not within me to forget my homework. I am, and I shake with disgust as I write this, a good girl.
So, miserable and tired and with wet underwear, I was driven back to the office where another guy in a suit offered me a job that I wouldn't take ever. Then I went back home. Again.
I hate it. I hate being nice.
I felt dirty, like a cockroach scurrying through someones pantry or the ants that settle on my dirty laundry. I didn't need to know what pyjamas the girl in no.97 wears. I don't want to talk to the Dad of no.10, and hear a child crying in the background. I'm busy. Not interested. This isn't the right time. It was the worst kind of intrucive.
Did I mention that it was raining? My hair became a big frizzy afro when it wasn't dripping wet. And my shoes (my beautiful job interview shoes that screamed sophisticated yet spunky) would squelch onto the grass as the spiked heal pierced the ground, meaning I'd have to free myself everytime I wanted to take another agonising step. And they were agonising. These shoes were designed to look pretty peaking out the bottom of some office desk, not for cross country trekking though manicured lawns and garden beds.
I just wanted to go home. And thats the worst thing, that I actually sorta was. See, the suburbia I'd been driven to was mine. My suburb. I knew those houses, I'd seen these people walking their dogs and washing their cars. I could have said "screw you, and your funky monkey", walked round the corner and been home in five minutes. I was miserable, there was no way in hell I was going to take the job, so why didn't I?
Well, here is the point of my story. This says all you'll ever need to know about me. I didn't stay out of a feeling of sticktoitness. I didn't stick around because once I start something I see it through, no matter how crappy. I don't have moral fibre.
I stayed because I was asked to by some guy in a suit. Because it would have taken a small amount of backbone to say "Thank you so much for this opportunity, but you can stick this job up your ass". For the same reason I was the teacher's pet at school - because I just can't do the wrong thing. The unexpected thing. Rebel. Its not within me to forget my homework. I am, and I shake with disgust as I write this, a good girl.
So, miserable and tired and with wet underwear, I was driven back to the office where another guy in a suit offered me a job that I wouldn't take ever. Then I went back home. Again.
I hate it. I hate being nice.