Job interview today. Oh sanity. Dressing extra-conservative to try and off-set my brightly coloured hair. They want a receptionist. It sounds simple, plugging people back and forth between phones, pushing people into voice mail systems, riding the tiny thunder of a dispatch system. It pays reasonably, but I’m still considering turning them down if they accept me. I like being in offices, hiding behind exorbitant desks is occasionally comforting, but I feel I need a quantum leap out of the threshing field of crappy low-level barely-paying employment I got caught in after my divorce. Small faced places, populated by disquieting smiling minimum wage children. Everyone twenty-something and toiling away in a place with no chances to change or climb higher. Retail, restaurants, coffeeshops without end, amen.
Pilot finds snakes on a plane!
I’m trying to decide if I’ve regained enough confidence to refuse the shelter of an easy job on the assurance that there’s something better, if I’m going to be venturesome and throw my faith instead with my applications to more interesting companies, more ethical employers, more complicated tasks. I’m fairly certain I have enough past experience pulling survival requirements from the air that I shouldn’t be too concerned to say “no.” I might be scraping, but I’m persevering. The language of desperation isn’t whispering softly in my ear, it’s stuck sitting with paranoid magazines in the waiting room, reading anecdotal articles on chaos fractal butterflies until next month and wishing it had thought to bring a book.