Yeah, that's right. I had an interview today. Actually, I had TWO fucking interviews today. Now ask me if anything significant came out of either encounter! Go ahead . . . (in my best Smiths' chorus), 'ASK ME, ASK ME, ASK ME!!!"
A complete and total waste of my fucking time.
One position: An invoice clerk. Glamorous, I know. It is what it sounds like. I would have had the opportunity to sit on my ass for eight hours a day inputting information from a stack of invoices, preparing those invoices for a shipping floor, contacting customers when their orders arrive, and repeating as necessary. I could do this kind of job in my sleep. I probably could have done this kind of job as a toddler. So, I show up for the interview at 10 am, which is significant due to a couple of factors, one of which is the fact that my sleeping patterns have been so fucked up that my moon is the sun and my sun is the moon. Wait, I just realized how New Agey and bizarre that sounded, but you get the point, right? Moving on. I fall asleep at 9 in the morning sometimes, wake up at 2, stay up until 4am, and then just get lost in the whole ordeal.
I went to this interview sleep-deprived and wickedly out of sorts. Perhaps this is the usual result when one suffers from depression induced insomnia. Beats me.
The interview lasts five minutes. He asks me if I can type. Yes. Can you enter information into a database? Check! Feels promising, until I hear, "Well, I'm not going to bullshit you, Tiffany. I interviewed a girl about an hour before you got here, and I'm probably going to give her the job."
THEN WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING SITTING IN THIS FUCKING OFFICE WHEN I COULD BE SLEEPING?????
There is no way to describe the sensations that coursed through my body upon hearing this. Anger? Resignation? Frustration? I couldn't tell you. Part of me wanted to beg.
"FOR FUCK'S SAKE MAN!!!! I'll bet you my typing can make that other bitch grow hair on her tits! 11,500 ksph, 96WPM--ALL BY TOUCH!!! JUST GIVE ME A FUCKING JOB!!!"
I did not do this. Instead, I smiled my best large, fake smile and thanked him for meeting with me.
After writing this I'm not even sure I want to relive the experience of the second interview. It was a "College" of Traditional Chinese Medicine.
I might start considering prostitution. I mean, I saw Hookers On Point and I'm sure I can demand more than the $10.00 a BJ which was apparently the going rate on the program. Besides, we're in the throes of burgeoning recession. Surely that would permit a rate increase . . . right?
There is no silver lining.