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Jun. 17th, 2005 08:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hathycolOn a completely unrelated side note to anything in this post, I've just been the most athletic that I've ever been. Doctor Who teaser trailers are running on the BBC at noon and 8pm as well as between programs, and I've been very good about avoiding the TV and BBC1. I watched Top Of The Pops out of boredom and then a trailer came out.
"NONONONONONONO!"
I vaulted the coffee table (no word of a lie) and turned the TV off and breathed in relief. I didn't see any of it other than Chris's face and my yodel managed to blank out any sound. Thank god.
So, what have I been up to today other than Fandom Athletics?
Well, I got up very very early. Then Mum told me to go back to bed, Dad was giving me a lift. I wouldn't say no to this, so I slept and has some mighty freaky dreams about being Ten's assistant against some mutant zombie spiders. All three of these equal bad problems for the Doctor, especially as I was, in my dream, tucking in a bacon bagel. Peculiar.
I woke up and staggered to work, bearing my lucky trousers on a hanger and with straightened hair. First things first, I went to find a manager.
"Joyce, I have a job interview. Can I go home early?"
"Eh?"
"I won't take a lunch break."
"Oh, that's fine then."
Five and a half hours later, I survived on a Snack chocolately thing from the vending machines behind the till (technically for customers, but... well...) and a botle of Oasis. I was serving my last customer who took fucking HOURS at which point I legged it upstairs and changed into aforementioned lucky trouser suit (I say trouser suit. It's a pair of beige trousers with a suede beige blazer that goes by accident and a black blouse) and posh shoes that I haven't worn for over a year. Piercings were removed and in the case of the tongue, replaced with see-through retainers. Hair was pulled back in a half-pony which to the untrained eye may have looked messy but is, in fact, High Fashion. Mascara was applied.
I came out feeling like Superman. She went in to the toilet cubicle, looking like a scruffy shop worker! She came out looking like... career girl!
I just about made it to th interview at all. As you all may or may not know, I didn't have a damned clue where I was going. I knw it was in Formby, but that was about it. My mother has never sped so much, although she also did not know where we were going. We got to where we knew we were going before slowing down, and I gave in and phoned her.
"Hello! I have an interview this afternoon but I'm not sure where it is. Or where I am. Um. I'm by an asparagus farm."
"Okay then, Kerry - " Kerry? "just keep on going..."
I found the place in the end. It is the armpit of nowhere and down a very, very finding track. We found a signpost half way down this track, which told me I was in the right area. Then I found a signpost saying 'Seaview.'
"MUM! That way!"
On the signpost was the names of the different sections of this place - my bit was only one part of a larger Trust. Aha. That would explain why it wasn't in Yellow Pages.
We also passed the convent of the place. Oh yes. This place, it turns out, it run by nuns.
So, oodlings of panic but I get to the bit I'm meant to be in with no more mishap. Mum gives the place a Look - the look given by any professional sizing up the competition. "I give you ten minutes before you run out screaming. I'll stay in the car park."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
So, in I walk. We may have mentioned I knew nothing about the place. Here, however, is where I priase my upbringing. My mother is a merry, caring soul who has cared for almost every socially-awkward thing on the planet - madness, old people, learning disabilities, the lot. Dad is a psychiatric nurse. I have grown up with, basically, uber-liberal parents. In between the usual rigamarole of "racism bad! sexism bad!" I was also brought up with the strict reminder that I may not use the word 'nutter' when referring to a mental illness or 'retard' in any context.
This place is for adults with severe learning disabilities, as I discovered within maybe ten seconds in there. I may have just swung this job interview by my lack of reaction alone.
Yes, despite being late, probably too young and inexperienced for this job, I think I actually may have got it. I was professional. I quoted Girl Guide experience and the interviewer's eyes lit up. I ranmbled a bit. She looked enthusiastic and started talking about pay rates. My eyes lit up. £5.23 an hour? I'd scrub toilets with my toothbrush for that sort of money.
I then got showed around, told what it was I would need to do (not too horrendous - it's all cleaning) and then heard the awful awful news that I would be the only housekeeper. Panicked, before being assured it was only for 20 hours a week and the staff fill in all the rest. Breathed again.
Now I need to send off my stuff to them, but... I more or less have this job, approval by night management pending. She even said "When can you start?" which is apparently a good thing. Admittingly, they are absolutely desperate for a housekeeper. Hence the fact they're happy enough to take little me, with no experience. ("Although I do have experience in the voluntary sector...") I won't complain, though, if I do get this job.
So, things are on the up, despite the fact I may well have just acquired a job being the housekeeper of a centre for adults with extreme care needs run by nuns. Oh yes, the nuns. There will be nuns. Apparently they wander in every so often. I can deal with that. I can deal with nuns, I'm bloody Catholic. No, I am not fazed by learning disabilities. There is no intitial shock for me. They're people. It holds no horror for me. Particularly when there is money involved. I have scruples, but I'm too skint to uphold them.
And that has been my day. In conclusion - job interview went well, work did not. Speaking of, eight hour shift tomorrow.
I haven't done a single word of revision today. At all. I am, however, taking some in for my lunch break. How depressing is that?
(Oh, and the icon has spoken. I may choose a housemate every week just to see if the icon works.)
~Hathy_Col~
"NONONONONONONO!"
I vaulted the coffee table (no word of a lie) and turned the TV off and breathed in relief. I didn't see any of it other than Chris's face and my yodel managed to blank out any sound. Thank god.
So, what have I been up to today other than Fandom Athletics?
Well, I got up very very early. Then Mum told me to go back to bed, Dad was giving me a lift. I wouldn't say no to this, so I slept and has some mighty freaky dreams about being Ten's assistant against some mutant zombie spiders. All three of these equal bad problems for the Doctor, especially as I was, in my dream, tucking in a bacon bagel. Peculiar.
I woke up and staggered to work, bearing my lucky trousers on a hanger and with straightened hair. First things first, I went to find a manager.
"Joyce, I have a job interview. Can I go home early?"
"Eh?"
"I won't take a lunch break."
"Oh, that's fine then."
Five and a half hours later, I survived on a Snack chocolately thing from the vending machines behind the till (technically for customers, but... well...) and a botle of Oasis. I was serving my last customer who took fucking HOURS at which point I legged it upstairs and changed into aforementioned lucky trouser suit (I say trouser suit. It's a pair of beige trousers with a suede beige blazer that goes by accident and a black blouse) and posh shoes that I haven't worn for over a year. Piercings were removed and in the case of the tongue, replaced with see-through retainers. Hair was pulled back in a half-pony which to the untrained eye may have looked messy but is, in fact, High Fashion. Mascara was applied.
I came out feeling like Superman. She went in to the toilet cubicle, looking like a scruffy shop worker! She came out looking like... career girl!
I just about made it to th interview at all. As you all may or may not know, I didn't have a damned clue where I was going. I knw it was in Formby, but that was about it. My mother has never sped so much, although she also did not know where we were going. We got to where we knew we were going before slowing down, and I gave in and phoned her.
"Hello! I have an interview this afternoon but I'm not sure where it is. Or where I am. Um. I'm by an asparagus farm."
"Okay then, Kerry - " Kerry? "just keep on going..."
I found the place in the end. It is the armpit of nowhere and down a very, very finding track. We found a signpost half way down this track, which told me I was in the right area. Then I found a signpost saying 'Seaview.'
"MUM! That way!"
On the signpost was the names of the different sections of this place - my bit was only one part of a larger Trust. Aha. That would explain why it wasn't in Yellow Pages.
We also passed the convent of the place. Oh yes. This place, it turns out, it run by nuns.
So, oodlings of panic but I get to the bit I'm meant to be in with no more mishap. Mum gives the place a Look - the look given by any professional sizing up the competition. "I give you ten minutes before you run out screaming. I'll stay in the car park."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
So, in I walk. We may have mentioned I knew nothing about the place. Here, however, is where I priase my upbringing. My mother is a merry, caring soul who has cared for almost every socially-awkward thing on the planet - madness, old people, learning disabilities, the lot. Dad is a psychiatric nurse. I have grown up with, basically, uber-liberal parents. In between the usual rigamarole of "racism bad! sexism bad!" I was also brought up with the strict reminder that I may not use the word 'nutter' when referring to a mental illness or 'retard' in any context.
This place is for adults with severe learning disabilities, as I discovered within maybe ten seconds in there. I may have just swung this job interview by my lack of reaction alone.
Yes, despite being late, probably too young and inexperienced for this job, I think I actually may have got it. I was professional. I quoted Girl Guide experience and the interviewer's eyes lit up. I ranmbled a bit. She looked enthusiastic and started talking about pay rates. My eyes lit up. £5.23 an hour? I'd scrub toilets with my toothbrush for that sort of money.
I then got showed around, told what it was I would need to do (not too horrendous - it's all cleaning) and then heard the awful awful news that I would be the only housekeeper. Panicked, before being assured it was only for 20 hours a week and the staff fill in all the rest. Breathed again.
Now I need to send off my stuff to them, but... I more or less have this job, approval by night management pending. She even said "When can you start?" which is apparently a good thing. Admittingly, they are absolutely desperate for a housekeeper. Hence the fact they're happy enough to take little me, with no experience. ("Although I do have experience in the voluntary sector...") I won't complain, though, if I do get this job.
So, things are on the up, despite the fact I may well have just acquired a job being the housekeeper of a centre for adults with extreme care needs run by nuns. Oh yes, the nuns. There will be nuns. Apparently they wander in every so often. I can deal with that. I can deal with nuns, I'm bloody Catholic. No, I am not fazed by learning disabilities. There is no intitial shock for me. They're people. It holds no horror for me. Particularly when there is money involved. I have scruples, but I'm too skint to uphold them.
And that has been my day. In conclusion - job interview went well, work did not. Speaking of, eight hour shift tomorrow.
I haven't done a single word of revision today. At all. I am, however, taking some in for my lunch break. How depressing is that?
(Oh, and the icon has spoken. I may choose a housemate every week just to see if the icon works.)
~Hathy_Col~
no subject
Date: 2005-06-17 11:25 pm (UTC)or so we can hope.
xx
no subject
Date: 2005-06-18 09:38 am (UTC)*has Doctor Who end-of-series panic* HOW WILL I SURVIVE?!?!
no subject
Date: 2005-06-18 07:30 pm (UTC)