Calculated Risks ?
I was invited back for a third interview at 2:30pm on Friday 18th of November. Clearly they either loved the bananas and my interview went well or they just want to see how far I will go for a job. Foolish really, I have no shame. I clearly did not put that across enough.Incidently, in one of the first teaching interviews I went for over 3 years ago, in the lesson I had to deliver I played the students a video about feral children, specifically a dog girl, and in front of the deputy head and an assistant head I then got on my knees and pretended to be a dog. This was high risk lesson. I got the job.
Maybe it is true, there is a fine line between genius and madness, I somehow doubt this applies to me. But I could well be the teaching version of Van Gough or Sylvia Plath. Disturbing to me (in knowledge of their fate) and no doubt hilarious to children (in lieu of knowledge).
I have found more specific articles probing the old concept of mad genius in two of the most (un)reputable and equally shameless daily publications the mass media has to offer the Great British public The Mail and The Telegraph.
So anyway as it turned out on the same day I would have to go and sign on again - Friday 18th of November, point B at 10:25 am.
The Third Visit
My mother gives me a lift this time to the dole office. She can not quite believe that her prodigy is signing on. I think she understands why I am in this position. But then she says it "Get a man, any old willock and just shut up for once and then you would not have to work. Why did I have to have a child who is so frigging empowered? Just marry a willock*, okay?". Clearly she does not understand. Perhaps maybe she has ignored how my life has panned out the last 6 years or so.I know I wish I had.
So this time upon arrival I try to walk up the stairs with confidence. After all I know where I am going this time. Clearly I look suspicious. I am stopped no less than three times on the way up 12 stairs. I have to show my little booklet to all and sundry in order to gain access to precious point B at 10:25am.
I decide to look around and do some people judgement watching once I have assumed my position; in the middle of the dole office with minimal objects blocking my views of my surroundings and the people which lay within them. I should stop watching Attenborough documentaries during the reign of unemployment - they are clearly impacting on my ability to interact with other homo-sapiens. Especially those whom I have judged to have underdeveloped brain matter.
The waiting begins.
10 minutes pass.
A name is called. It is not mine.
The same name is called. It is still not mine. It seems they have lost someone in the system. I think the lady at point Bs head may implode. At this point I notice the lady at point B is not the husky voiced sexual predator from before. I sigh with dissapointment. She has been replaced with a real miserable excuse of a woman. I am so dissapointed by this still I can not be bothered to give you the details of her face.
A different name is called.
10 more minutes pass.
I suddenly realise why people have been looking at me strangely. I am dressed up and I have make up on. Yet I am clearly unemployed as I am in the dole office. They don't understand. They don't understand I have an interview after this. Or maybe they have decided that I am the only person in the room worth sleeping with, as to be fair, looking around and noticing the absence of husky I may well be the primiary object of desire as all other options look dried up or soft.
Total number of people I want to perform a sexual act on = none. Total number of people who I suspect want to perform a sexual act on me = the whole fucking dole office. Fear of rape = high.
Thankfully my name is called before my mind wanders any further.
She asks me if my circumstances have changed. I want to tell her yes, I have become beyond demoralised, but somehow, I work out she quite simply DOES.NOT.GIVE.A.FUCK. She hands me a stubby pen. I whip out my own like Harry Potter attempting to stupify a baddie. I will stupify her stubby pen. I explain to miserableexucseofawoman that I have a third job interview. She does not congratulate me. I then explain to her that I have received a grand total of NO MONEY. She makes a phone call. Tells me to go downstairs use the phone and press button B and ask them about my HBT.
Long story short = I still have not received one payment. I have spent I do not know how much of my families money ringing 0845 numbers to find out when this will be processed. They always promise to ring back in 3 hours. They never do. I have been told that I may receive my money by Friday. The interview was okay, I am still waiting to hear back from them. I am still applying for other jobs.
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