Getting Back in the Saddle

I was awake just before 8am. I tossed and turned a bit. The sun shone in through the glass. It was a day to meet my future. It was a day to switch on the “work light” and veer back into that mode, professional, business, say the right thing, project the right image. All that stuff, don’t be nervous, I know how to do it, here I go.

I head to the supermarket to get milk for my muesli… and a splash for my coffee. I’ve got to eat right, that much I know. I can’t go in hungry, that would never do. There can’t be any distractions – illuminate any potential problems before they become such

I stopped in to see my neighbour – one further than the yucca tree – Gordon on the way, to ask him how long it takes to drive to Bacchus Marsh.

You see, I have a job interview with my old temp agency at 2pm. Yes, I know, back to work. I organised it yesterday. Oh god, I have to iron a shirt… oh how I have not missed that. Anyway, I’ve been using an obscure system, which I find nobody out in the real world uses and my old temp agency specialises in another system, an updated version of the one I used to use, so I am trying to work out what is the best way to… um… er… I guess it is called retrain? It makes me sound like a hundred. Anyway, the lovey employment consultant – is that what they call themselves now a days, I can never keep up? – said she only had one roll that didn’t insist on prior expertise, however it is in Bacchus Marsh.

So, I thought, just to be a suck, a star, a kiss arse, I could go and do the country job, if it wasn’t too far way. As Gordon’s brother Keith lives in Bacchus Marsh, I figured he’d know how far it was.

About an hour, apparently, and an easy hour at that. Lovely. I’m going to say I’ll do it for the eight weeks.

“I’d do anything for 8 weeks,” said Gordon. “It’s doing something for 20 years that kills you.”

When I used to work for the entertainment company previously, I used to go and service their offices in Geelong and Morwell when those managers used to go on leave because I was the only “single” manager they had on the team. Of course, I wasn’t single for the entire time I worked for them, but they were the most homophobic company I ever worked for. An entertainment company, go figure?

However, I liked it.  It was cool working in the country especially when you knew it was only for a short time. It’s nice, it’s change, and it’s enjoyable. You kind of get to experience all the good things that a country town has to offer, when you know you don’t, actually, have to stay there.

And it will give me brownie points, I assume.

So, how is that? Going from nil to an hours drive into the country for work. My, how things change, hey? Ain’t life grand.

Then suddenly it was 1pm and I had to hustle to get ready and get myself out the door. I had ironed a nice pale blue shirt. I got dressed and was about to leave. One of the, slight, problems I have is that I sweat when I am nervous. I don’t find it a problem, except when I am in an interview situation, quite possibly in a pale blue shirt, quite possibly the worst colour to sweat in. It turns dark blue and is obvious. I don’t want to look like that, wet patch boy. So, at the very last minute I hurriedly ironed a white shirt. Sweating in a white shirt isn’t noticeable at all.

Then all the way in, I was nervous about sweating, rather than being nervous about the interview. Not such a bad thing.