I spent all last week preparing a cracker CV with which to impress potential employers, and the first job I apply for doesn’t want CV’s, as it has its own application system online…
I managed to connect my wibbly wobbly mobile Internet early this morning, and then clicked on the job description. The page slowly unfolded before my eyes – a veritable online assault course of an application form complete with clicky hoops for my Internet dongle to jump over. I narrowed my eyes at the dongle; it saucily winked its blue connection light at me. Healthy enough at the moment, it seemed to say, but you just wait until you want to submit that form ho-ho!
I told it sternly that I’d had enough of its shenanigans over the weekend (it took me simply hours to watch the whole series of Moondial on youtube) and set to with the application form. My word. I have never applied for a job that seemingly wanted me to sweat blood through my finger tips and pass out over the keyboard in order to get within sniffing distance of an interview. When I started that form, I thought the job sounded interesting and it was worth a punt. When I ended that form, I thought if they don’t call me back tomorrow first thing straight away with interview date / job offer then I shall demand their heads on a pike. Seven hours that form took me – that was a day’s work just even applying! It’s not like I’ve asked to be Prime Minister, or a brain surgeon. I’d understand if it took seven hours then, and possibly a multi-choice quiz. And of course the dongle loved me trying to press submit – oh the fun we had!
I’m sitting here at the moment with all my windows open, which is very strange for me, but I’m desperate for some fresh air. This is because the whole house smells of bad fish. Sigh. It really has been one of those days.
My mum said to me there was some smoked salmon fillets in the fridge if I wanted some for lunch. This is the same mum that once made me green bread sandwiches to take to school – the day blindly trusting youth went in the bin along with the sandwiches. So, ever wary, I went downstairs at lunchtime and poked at the salmon fillets – use by October 9th, said the label. Not a chance, I thought, but it was then I made my first mistake. I put them back in the fridge.
Later, mum was home and clattering around in the kitchen. I, upstairs with the door to my domain firmly shut, didn’t notice anything odd until I felt a slight rumble of tummy and decided to go downstairs to see if there was anything worth rumbling about in the kitchen. One step outside and the smell almost bowled me over. Mum, oblivious, had decided there was nothing wrong with fish smelling fishy and thought she’d cook the little blighters anyway. Cue teenage like explanations of why you shouldn’t cook old fish (‘Yuck! Urgh! Oh My God I’m going to die!’) as I whipped them out of the oven, into a bin-bag and away down the garden.
So now I am back, door once again closed, internet connection all perky from its daily bit of fun, and am off smoked salmon fillets for life. Apart from that, all is well. I might try and watch Moondial again…