It was pointed out to me last night at our meeting of the VWC, that my last post was a touch flimsy in content and unresolved in conclusion. 'Tis true, but then I was feeling flimsy and unresolved. I did, indeed, need a ponder.
I believe my reticence over the new job, especially after my plea last week, was down to shock and disorientation. Let me explain. I found a message on my mobile last Thursday evening wanting to know why I hadn't responded to an email asking me for interview on the 19th. I was requested to call back the lady concerned and let her know 'really quite urgently' if I was still interested in being considered for the post. I was baffled. To my knowledge I had received no such email. I duly checked my email account and the NHS job website, but could find neither an email nor even a job at the particular hospital mentioned in the phone call. Curiouser and curiouser. I eventually tracked down one particular job description bearing the name of the woman who had left the message on my mobile, but the job was located in St Albans, not Harpenden. At a loss, I resolved to call this lady in the morning to find out what the devil was going on.
On Friday morning I called and left a message explaining that I had received no email and therefore didn't really know which job she was referring to, but that if I had applied, then I was still interested in the position. I waited for her to call me back. I waited all day (except during Harry Potter, which I saw with Natasha as a birthday treat and was not being disturbed for any reason at all!). No response.
I started to wonder if I hadn't received an email because I hadn't actually been shortlisted for the position and the phonecall had been a mistake. She was avoiding ringing me back.
Saturday and Sunday, obviously I wasn't going to hear from anyone.
Monday morning arrived and I tried the lady's number again to see if I could get to the bottom of this mystery. Once again, the phone rang out and went through to voicemail. I left another message, pretty much on the same lines as the one I left on Friday and decided that this interview obviously wasn't supposed to be and this job, whatever it was, was not meant to be mine. As I was coming to the end of my message, resignation in my heart, rather than in a letter to the boss, which would have been preferable, I could hear a beeping on my phone. I looked and saw that the lady was calling me back.
'Aha!' I thought. 'Finally, I will get some answers.'
After a cursory apology for the errant email, the lady, let's finally call her Teresa, for that was her name, asked if I wanted to come for interview the following day. 9 o'clock was finally settled on. It transpired that the interview was being held in Harpenden, but the job was in St Albans. Things were starting to make sense.
I finished my shift, went home to discover that one of my cats, Edward Bear, he of the medically anomalous faulty heart valves, had lost all power in his back legs and was now unable to jump up onto the couch, or even climb the stairs properly, but could still walk normally, stretch up on his hind legs, wasn't in any pain and was eating as usual. I despaired of anything in my life ever being straightforward and run-of-the-mill. I reasoned that he had fallen down the stairs on Sunday evening, so maybe he was simply bruised and I'd keep an eye on him for 24 hrs. I ironed interview clothes for the following day, made and ate a quick dinner, then went back to work to do an evening shift, returning home just before 9 o'clock.
I was woken up at 6 o'clock by Edward Bear trying to jump up onto my bed, but only managing to grab on to the covers and look confused. This wasn't looking good. Once on the bed, he pranced around as if nothing was wrong, turned a couple of circles and then settled himself and went to sleep.
The interview went well. I was neither nervous nor prepared - even forgetting to take the paperwork necessary for almost any job these days - 6 documents to prove you are who you say you are. They'll be taking fingerprints, DNA swabs and a retinal ID before long just to stack shelves in Asda. I was only vaguely concerned by one thing: Teresa's first comment about the job was,
'I won't lie to you, parking is a serious problem. There aren't enough parking spaces and we don't know if the hospital management are going to do anything about it. They've been kicking around an idea of parking space sharing, but nothing's come of it as yet. And all the streets in St Albans are permit holder only. So, as I said, it's a problem.'
'Oh, goody,' I thought. 'Well, I might not get the job, in which case it may be a problem, but it won't be my problem. Maybe I won't apply for any more jobs based in St Albans Hospital.'
I went from interview to work, where I had differing reactions from those in the know about my whereabouts that morning. There was a sufficient amount of regret expressed at the possibility of my leaving for me to feel gratified. I returned home to await the phonecall that had been promised with the outcome of the eight interviews that had been conducted. I'm never sure if going first is a good or a bad thing. You either set the bar high enough that everyone else has to match up, or you've been lost in the crowd by the time they get to the eighth candidate. I'd also partly dismissed the job as a non-starter because of the parking problem, which was obviously so severe it warranted a mention before anything else was even discussed.
The phone rang as I dropped my handbag on the table. It was Liz, the other interviewer.
'I'm just ringing to let you know the good news ...'
I was genuinely shocked. I'd hardly had a moment to even consider this job, its implications, or its impacts. The only thing that I could think was,
'But where am I going to park? How am I supposed to get to work?'
Most problems are surmountable. Now I've had 36 hours to let it all sink in and start doing something constructive, I've found an advert for a parking space two streets away from the hospital. Someone is renting out their driveway for £14.50 a week. I'm going to contact them and find out if I can block book their driveway for the foreseeable future. And I also get a 20 minute or so walk every day, thereby dealing with my lack of exercise. Two birds felled with one stone.
Edward Bear continues to be a medical aberration. After a trip to the vet last night, they can find no reason for his leg problem, so I had to take him back in this morning for a day of x-rays and blood tests. Thank the Lord for Pet Plan. The bill is close to £600. My excess is £85. If he carries on this way, I'll need a second job just to pay his vet's bills.
And let's not even talk about his yearly jabs, his gingivitis, Gus's jabs, the car tax, my car service and MOT ...
oh and Joanna's back from South Africa on Monday (where did that month go?), so the food bill will rocket from next week.
Head down. Soldier on ...
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