So, yeah, it's 2:30 and I'm texting Min... They're not going to call, they've given it to someone else! Argh!!! etc. Then it's 3 in the afternoon. Then 4, then 4:30, and then 5 o' clock comes and goes. As does 6. I felt pretty disappointed by it all... it felt like I'd answered pretty much everything well, had been reasonably articulate and thoughtful in my replies, and that I'd generally came across very well. It had seemed like a conversation right from the start, as opposed to an interview. Of course, I didn't leave the room feeling that I had it in the bag or anything, but I felt good about the whole experience, and that's the first time I've ever felt like that immediately after an interview. So I'd wandered around London all day holding my phone in my hand but nothing happened. I sent a message to a colleague saying that I didn't get the job. It felt terrible. Then I'm sitting on the tube with Min in the evening and I see that there's a voicemail on my phone. I'd been pretty feeling dejected at this point... and suddenly I'm alive again... so I dial the number and wait... and I can't hear it properly... so I try to concentrate a bit harder, try to block out the noise around me. My heart is beating like crazy. They've called me!
And then I hear it...
My dad. It was my bloody dad on the message. Heh. His timing is impeccable. Hearing my dad's voice at this moment in time was pretty much the last thing I wanted. I felt a hundred times worse. Not only was the job gone but now I had to start thinking about how to go about telling people that I didn't get it. Always the worst part. I always plan on keeping applications secret to avoid this particular unpleasant pitfall. I'd managed to keep this one under wraps until the last day at work before we broke up for half-term and then I couldn't keep it secret any longer and I had to let a few people know. I don't know why that is... if anything it just piles on the pressure and makes you look like a complete lemon when you fail miserably.
I thought there was still an outside chance that they'd yet to make a decision and might call the successful person on Thursday. I wanted to believe it anyway, but when it got to lunchtime I kind of gave up on this theory. And that's when I started thinking about writing a blog. It's something I tend to want to do at what feel like important little milestones in my life. Not necessarily blogs, but some form of documentation. When I failed my first driving test I recorded an 11-minute discordant take of me working out my frustrations on my guitar with the amp turned incredibly loud. Don't get me wrong though, I wasn't trying to capture how I was feeling using the medium of fretboard wankery like some kind of Eric Clapton numpty... I despise that kind of heinous crap. Nope, I just wanted to hit it and scrape it until the strings snapped and the room shook. It felt great. I mean, it sounds shit... but it definitely felt great.
But anyway, the point of this entry is that, within the space of 10 minutes, I'd gone from wanting to document this absolute all-consuming frustration that I was feeling to suddenly wanting to write one saying how absolutely surprised and elated I am to have received the phonecall offering me the job. Because that's what happened. Oh, and I accepted it. Heh.