Subject Verb Object Repeat

Almost exactly a year ago to the day I was turned down for a job writing small filler articles for the university’s internal newsletter.  Today our first international newsletter was issued.  I wrote and researched the whole thing.

My name isn’t on it, no one but me who reads it will know it was me who wrote it [internal office politics see to that] but that doesn’t matter.

It’s practical, everyday writing about mundane subjects written for people who speak English as a second or third language, but that doesn’t matter.

By the time all the internal flaming hoops were jumped through and the vast layers of middle management signed off on it was almost two months late, but that doesn’t matter.

Seeing it all finished and graphic designed up gave me a glowing ball of pride in my tummy [it's the same place I get butterflies and floopy feelings, is there a anatomical name for that organ, I wonder?].  I’ve been trying not to sit in the office beaming and pointing it out to everyone: “hey! did you read the new newsletter, I wroteded it!” A task which is considerably harder than it sounds.

There’s a tiny little part of me which wanted to send the newsletter upstairs to the internal newsletter people with a post-it on it reading “neh neh neh-neh neh” but I won’t.  My ego has too firm a hold of my id’s reins.

Good Golly Miss Molly

Molly Ringwald.  Twenty -two seconds in.

I wasn’t dancing like that today in the filing room when I learned I got a new job in Glasvegas.  Honest*.

*Okay, maybe just a little bit.

Salty Jokes At The Ready

I had another job interview in Glasvegas; the job itself is really good for me at this stage and while the job is a perfect stepping stone career-wise the location is a little bit stabby.  Not too stabby, but stabbier than where I currently work.  Ideally I’d like to work somewhere completely stab-free, but nowhere can honestly claim that accolade, can it?  The Boyf also made it clear that it’s unlikely that I would get stabbed, it’s much more likely that I’d be chibbed [far more specific form of stabbing where the stabbing implement is a chisel].

Street violence aside, I’m not sure if the interview went okay or not.  On the plus side from eighty applicants I made it down to the final five or six [they weren't specific if the number of applicants they'd interviewed included me or not - and I was the last one of the day] and my would-be manager seemed to like me – we share a common distain for the bureaucracy of UKBA.  They said I’d hear this week by letter, how quaint.  Not email, not telephone, I’d even settle for a fax, but no, they shall write to me and sent it by carrier pigeon* [*Carrier pigeon not guaranteed, may be substituted for Postman Pat.].

I would like to get the job, sure I might have the odd flinching about getting stabbed and sure, there are a delightful number of daytime drunks in the vicinity but on the plus side, it’s gonna be weeks before I tire of making se[a]men jokes [Oh that's not apropos of nothing, the job is at a nautical college].  Seriously though, it is a good stepping stone to get some more relevant experience before moving onto a more salubrious area of town.

I’d ask y’all to keep your fingers crossed for me, but that would just be ridiculously inefficient, how can anyone get anything done with their fingers crossed?  No, uncross your fingers and go about your lives as you were contributing socially, creatively and economically to the world at large.  Jobs are not allocated based on wishing and/or luck, it’s how well I performed in the interview compared to the other candidates.