How tired am I? well imagine three stressful job interviews, hiking pretty much 10km around the city (and it was raining on and off), six hours on the train, and not getting home until nine pm. And after all that yesterday, I still managed to rock up to the office on time at 8:30 this morning.
Ugh. I hope it was worth it.
I had a feeling, though, that yesterday was going to be trouble. I wore my rose quartz earrings for good luck, but the first hint came when I arrived at Broadmeadow station to discover the train packed with seniors travelling to the Show...and Cityrail in its infinite wisdom ran a four car train. Needless to say it was a very unpleasant journey, people standing from Wyong, and we arrived late. So off I run to find my first appointment.
The interviews were all pretty much the same, just far more intimidating than anything you'd run into in Newcastle (enormous office lobbies, directories, people in the lifts staring at me for looking a bit scruffy, receptionists acting like I was about to launch a chemical attack rather than trying to announce I was there to see a manager). I answered inane questions, did three sets of more-or-less identical assessments and tried not to scream with boredom. I have a few problems with interviews; a frequent remark I get is that I don't look very relaxed. This causes me to worry about looking relaxed, which makes me even more self-concious, until I end up sitting facing the interviewer looking like I'm planning to take out a hit on them.
In between the interviews, though...that's the real problem. See, I find being in the CBD of Sydney an overwhelming experience as it is, never mind the added pressure of business meetings. The solid walls of people heading down the street, either sweeping you along in their direction, or forcing you the other way...the noise...couple this with having to stand at a counter to eat lunch because you're in a hurry, racing from place to place worried about being lost (why can't they put numbers on office buildings?) and/or late, nowhere even to sit quickly and have a cigarette, knowing you're not going to bump into a friendly face on the street, because there aren't any...Well, I've described this to a few people and they all say, "Do you really want to move to Sydney?"
The answer, I know now is "No, I don't. I want to say here. I'm happy here. I know how things work."
But I don't have a choice. I just can't find the kind of work I want in Newcastle. So I have to move. (Better get that Prozac script filled).
As you can probably guess, I didn't get any shopping done. I did manage to get to Krispy Kreme, after my last interview. I bought a dozen, then headed for home. I'll just say this: Have you ever tried to get a box of donuts on the train from Wynyard to Central at 5:30pm without them getting crushed?
Finally though I made it back, with donuts for company (HINT: don't eat a lemon-filled donut in any public place, unless you have a napkin or wet-wipe. They make a MESS), although the Newcastle train was endlessly delayed all the way home.
Home...this is home...let me stay here...
Ugh. I hope it was worth it.
I had a feeling, though, that yesterday was going to be trouble. I wore my rose quartz earrings for good luck, but the first hint came when I arrived at Broadmeadow station to discover the train packed with seniors travelling to the Show...and Cityrail in its infinite wisdom ran a four car train. Needless to say it was a very unpleasant journey, people standing from Wyong, and we arrived late. So off I run to find my first appointment.
The interviews were all pretty much the same, just far more intimidating than anything you'd run into in Newcastle (enormous office lobbies, directories, people in the lifts staring at me for looking a bit scruffy, receptionists acting like I was about to launch a chemical attack rather than trying to announce I was there to see a manager). I answered inane questions, did three sets of more-or-less identical assessments and tried not to scream with boredom. I have a few problems with interviews; a frequent remark I get is that I don't look very relaxed. This causes me to worry about looking relaxed, which makes me even more self-concious, until I end up sitting facing the interviewer looking like I'm planning to take out a hit on them.
In between the interviews, though...that's the real problem. See, I find being in the CBD of Sydney an overwhelming experience as it is, never mind the added pressure of business meetings. The solid walls of people heading down the street, either sweeping you along in their direction, or forcing you the other way...the noise...couple this with having to stand at a counter to eat lunch because you're in a hurry, racing from place to place worried about being lost (why can't they put numbers on office buildings?) and/or late, nowhere even to sit quickly and have a cigarette, knowing you're not going to bump into a friendly face on the street, because there aren't any...Well, I've described this to a few people and they all say, "Do you really want to move to Sydney?"
The answer, I know now is "No, I don't. I want to say here. I'm happy here. I know how things work."
But I don't have a choice. I just can't find the kind of work I want in Newcastle. So I have to move. (Better get that Prozac script filled).
As you can probably guess, I didn't get any shopping done. I did manage to get to Krispy Kreme, after my last interview. I bought a dozen, then headed for home. I'll just say this: Have you ever tried to get a box of donuts on the train from Wynyard to Central at 5:30pm without them getting crushed?
Finally though I made it back, with donuts for company (HINT: don't eat a lemon-filled donut in any public place, unless you have a napkin or wet-wipe. They make a MESS), although the Newcastle train was endlessly delayed all the way home.
Home...this is home...let me stay here...
