Employment

I gently curse to myself. The bus I am on is overheating and I absolutely can not arrive sweaty to a job interview, that wouldn’t look particularly good. Well, it isn’t an interview per se. I already had one yesterday, this is more for me to get to see the office building and let them know if I’m still interested. I already know I’m going to say yes, with how long I’ve been desperately applying for job after job for months only to get countless “we’re sorry, but” back.

The route to the building includes a 15 minute walk, and I wonder if maybe some light exercise would do me good, with how sedentary I am in general. I pull my cream colored coat closer to my body and adjust my deep red scarf. The walk feels like it takes me forever as I obey every turn given to me by the devine Google Maps.

It’s late April, but a sudden dip in temperature has forced me to break out my most professional looking winter coat. I’m wearing my trusty black blazer underneath along with a frilly blouse. I want my look today to scream “I’m mature and made for working in an office,” and I think I’m pulling it off. 

When I finally step out of the elevator on the 5th floor, I ring the buzzer to be let in. I can immediately tell that my choice of clothing is appropriate; I greet everyone warmly, and they’re dressed in various blouses, dressy pants, skirts and even the occasional heel.

I feel like I fit in immediately, even if I’m about 15 years younger than the youngest person there. The woman in charge shows me around the different departments, and even lets me choose a desk before we’ve even made it official. She tells me that the day we had our video meeting, she wasn’t supposed to be working but felt so strongly that I would be the best fit for the job that she just had to come in and “meet” me.

What a compliment! I can’t be sure who else I was up against, of course, but I’m proud that my personality essentially sold me to her and the HR team. We talk details, She asks me if going from working 75 percent up to 100 percent during the vacation months would feel okay with me since they’ll be understaffed, and despite never having worked that much before in my life, I decide to say yes before I give myself the chance to start doubting. She’s pleased, and proceeds to ask me if I’d possibly be up for working red days after this initial contract has ended, if I were to start studying during the fall. I jump at this opportunity, too.

We spend another few minutes just chit chatting in her private office room, and then she says that she’ll email me the contract through the firm that handles my employment this afternoon. I start tomorrow morning at 9am sharp.

I can’t believe my luck. I wasn’t even unemployed for one whole day after my course in finance ended. This is unprecedented in this city, going from applying for a job to getting it over one weekend. 

I say my goodbyes to my not-so-future boss, to the rest of the team over at customer service, and then it’s over. I immediately call my roommate to share the amazing news. “Bitch, I got the job!” I yell into the receiver, and I get an enthusiastic holler back. Next up is to call my parents. They’re usually on speakerphone together when talking to me, so it doesn’t matter much which one of them I call. They, too, are over the moon, and when I let them know I’ll be starting tomorrow my dad does that chuckle thing that only he knows how to do (that I’ve partly inherited somehow). 

I give them the rundown on what my daily tasks will be, and we all agree that this position was practically made for me; clear structure in a welcoming environment without too much stress? Bingo! This is the job I could only dream of half a year prior. It’s what I put on my Workplace Wishlist, knowing realistically that no such job would pop up. But apparently I was wrong, and I am so grateful for that.

My steps are light on my way back to the bus stop. I’m officially employed! Well, when I’ve signed and sent in the documents, that is. Man, am I lucky.sterday, making sure I won’t have to spend precious minutes on it today. Now that I’ve seen what the other employees wear to work, I can accurately gauge what level of dressy I’ll need to be at to not stick out too much.

I’m satisfied with my choice, and start to dress myself. I then go take a piss, followed by brewing my morning cup(s) of coffee. I don’t have to be out the door until 8, so I have some time to wake myself up properly, just as I’ve planned. I grab today’s pack of Winston 100s, my lighter, and put on a lavender coat with a degree of fluff that doesn’t really go with the rest of what I’m wearing. But who cares? It’s not like the balcony’s going to care.

I grab my cup of fresh coffee in my free hand and make my way over to the balcony door. The thing about this particular damn door is that it’s got suction in order to keep the cold out during the winter months, which in turn makes it extremely loud to open. And I am acutely aware that my roomie is blissfully asleep in the very room I’m in, only obscured by the mustard curtains hanging from the ceiling. Fuck.

I put down what I’m holding, having learned the hard way that opening this very door (that requires a two-hand grip) with a drink in hand will result in disaster. I side step the items on the floor and do my best to impersonate a ghost, a spectre, something else very very quiet, and open the door. It makes the usual thwacking sound, but my roommate doesn’t seem to stir. Success number 1 of the day. 

I sit down in the wicker sofa, and fuck it’s cold out here before the sun has had time to warm anything up. I pull my knees up to my chest in a feeble attempt to get warm, and I light my cigarette. It’s always a gamble, smoking for the first time any given day. Sometimes nothing happens, sometimes I get the nicotine high from hell that makes me dizzy and nauseous. But alas, I still keep on smoking.