The postman appeared this morning and brought with him a letter for me telling me I had been give an interview for a job I had applied for. I was kind of gob smacked as I didn't think I'd get one. So I'm there feeling a bit pleased with myself when I notice the date for the interview. Tomorrow. Fucking tomorrow! In the morning as well!
There was I thinking I'd have time to prepare myself. Time to think of answers to the "Can you tell us of a situation when...?" questions they will no doubt ask. Time to re-look at the job description. Time to find the right outfit to wear. No such luxury it seems. So it's sort it all out now to be ready for tomorrow morning.
I've started already by jumping in the car and heading for the nearest retail park to find something appropriate to wear. I saved time by missing out the whole process of raking through my wardrobe only to decide I had nothing suitable in it! Of course it was a bit fatal heading to the shops because I did not need that bright green top, nor the pink stripey one, or indeed the 2 hairbands I bought and yes I will confess I didn't need the navy blue ballet shoes (didn't you just know there would be shoes in there somewhere?) either but what the hell! I did though get a nice formal top and trousers for the interview so it was all good in the end!
I'll sit and look through the application pack later on and get my head sorted. Obviously I'll need to work this around becoming a Swedish sympathiser between 8pm and 10pm tonight!
I'm both looking forward to it and nervous at the same time. It's been ages since I had a job interview usually I can blag my way through them because in general I have stayed in the same field of work, this one though is for a role in a totally different field. This one is for a position in a field I've always fancied working in but never did anything about....until now obviously! It would be a big change to what I'm used to. It would mean shift work and a uniform as opposed to part time mornings and office wear. It would mean working with new born babies instead of grumbling adults. It would mean taking orders from consultants instead of sexually repressed middle aged women with no man and no kids. It would mean leaving my confort zone.
Sounds like a plan.