Well, I got the job.
The one that I forgot my bra for in the first interview. Remember that one?
Yeah that one.
After a second interview on Tuesday and much too-ing and fro-ing about salaries and whatnot for the next three days, I received a formal job offer on Friday afternoon.
It was a tad anti-climactic receiving the call actually. At the moment I’m thinking about all the crap that comes hand-in-hand with starting a new job:
1. Telling your current boss you’re only going to be working for him for the next three days and that you won’t be here to cover for him while he goes off to have his wedding ceremony in Bali at the end of January.
2. Starting my new job with a two-week vacation (…bad timing that one).
3. Having to wear make up and wear proper clothes (I’ve been going to work in whatever because there’s only my funky boss in the office anyway…)
4. Learning the ropes and discovering out who is a bitch to work for and finding out that the job looked better from the outside.
I especially hate no.4 and I’ve yet to do a job in which that wasn’t the case.
The other thing that is taking the shine off the excitement of actually getting a ‘real’ job is the fact that M is still looking for a job – and looking much harder than I had to. It would be nice if he had a new position as well to start the new year with, but after countless applications & interviews, he’s just not getting the opportunity he deserves.
I’m trying not to be too happy or too excited because I don’t want to wave it around in his face. If our positions were reversed I’m pretty sure that my partner getting a job while I was still looking would be like rubbing in salt; pouring lemon onto; and adding a layer of hydrogen peroxide to a wound that was painful enough on its own already.
He’s been nothing but positive about it though – congratulating me, telling me how proud he is of me and basking in the glow of self-gratification because he said I would get the job and he turned out to be correct…yet again.
I’ll be breaking the news to my current boss tomorrow. He probably won’t really give a shit, but I’ll still feel guilty all the same. Thinking back, I’ve left every single job I’ve ever done, so I’ve had plenty of practise at doing the “I’m resigning..” talk, but it doesn’t make it any more fun. This will be the lucky number 13th resignation talk.
I’m also considering taking the opportunity to ask my quirky boss if he has consummated his marriage yet.