3 September 2009 – a disappointing interview, in French!

Like one of those nodding dogs

Like one of those nodding dogs

While not having a driving lesson today was a bonus, one less chance to maim myself and anyone else in the vicinity, the relief was short lived because I had an interview instead. You win some you lose some then. The interview was with the marketing company Max told me about last week and I still had no idea what it was they were marketing, despite an extensive Google search. This didn’t really bode well because any company that doesn’t come up in a Google search is likely to be a fly by night outfit. Then again that could just be my opinion.

My mood was fairly confident, not so much about whether the job would be any good, I was pretty sure it wouldn’t, but about myself. It’s not often I feel confident about myself but when I put on my best interview clothes I actually felt I looked quite good, in a plumpish sort of way. That maybe the pound I lost this week and the fact I’m now back to eleven eleven, my lightest since the the end of the Atkins in June. My next pound will take me into a new low. Not actually an all time low because I was slimmer when I was younger but the lowest I’ve been for years and years. It’s only a pound and it can’t really make all that much difference to my clothes but it does to how I feel about them.

The interview was in Ocean Village and Commando drove me over there and dropped me off. Problem number one was finding the place. All I had was the address and the number of the building. I was expecting an office, as you would with a marketing company, what I actually found, eventually, was a small door with a minuscule sign between a restaurant and a flower shop. Lucky I am habitually early for everything or I’d have been late with all the walking up and down scratching my head.

The office was on the first floor and a young woman in a very short skirt and impossibly high shoes took me to a kind of waiting room. The furniture was sparse but shiny, a minimalist funky furnishing showpiece, and there was a giant TV screen in the corner playing MTV. It didn’t really bode well in my eyes. An ultra modern office with a receptionist who was not only still in her teens but also stick thin and drop dead gorgeous in a plastic kind of way, where would I fit in? Did I even want to?

After a while she led me into a smaller office, still very shiny and avant garde, where a young man (mid twenties at a guess) greeted me by shaking my hand. This was the MD and he was French. I took a seat in the embarrassingly squeaky leather chair and he picked up a copy of my CV. He asked me a little about my Marketing experience with Dream Factory and then, in French, commented on the fact that I speak French. I’m pretty sure he was trying to catch me out but I replied, in French, that yes I did speak a little. We had a short conversation in his native tongue, nothing too taxing, I asked him where he came from, did he live in England. Turned out he was actually Moroccan which gave us some common ground as I’ve spent quite a bit of time in Morocco.

Eventually we reverted to English, much to my relief, my French is really not that good, and he explained about the company. Turned out they are basically those people who stand around in shopping centres trying to sell you things like Sky TV or mobile phone contracts. This is not marketing in my opinion, it’s sales, and wild horses wouldn’t have dragged me into a shopping centre with a clip board to accost shoppers. Even so, I tried not to show my distaste and to be polite I listed to him and nodded a lot. I may have looked like one of those dogs that used to sit on the parcel shelves of cars.

Eventually I escaped and set off on the long walk over the New Bridge towards home. There isn’t enough money on the planet to make me take a job like that. I’d rather starve. As I was walking past the shops at the bottom of Peartree Avenue who should I bump into but my Mother In Law. She lives nearby but I was pretty surprised to see her because she rarely walks anywhere these days. She’s become a bit of a recluse since she broke her wrist a few years ago and hardly even leaves the house. We stopped and chatted for a bit but I could see she was itching to scurry back to the safety of her own home so I didn’t keep her too long.

All in all a disappointing day. I’d had high hopes for that job. Still at least I burned off a few calories with the walk home, I was exhausted when I got in.

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