Beam

I'm still jobseeking at the moment and, although it's a mundane exercise, I'm beginning to think that it's actually OK and also a little more preferable to having a job, since I get more time to fuck about on the internet. That's not the way I should be thinking, but at least I'm not afraid to admit it. Which is one thing, I suppose. This may change at any point, though (although that's unlikely if the current streak of 50 jobs with not one single damn interview is anything to go by), but it's going to remain a priority that I continue writing ILB as much as possible, no matter what happens with my job situation.

Anyway, so. Today I got a call from a recruitment agency in central London. They had got my CV from... somewhere, I'm not sure where exactly... and thought I might be suitable for a job, but since this is an anonymous blog, I'll refer to it as the Job Of Mystery. Needless to say, it wasn't "sex writer". It never is. Le sigh. But they asked me to come in anyway because, get this, they can't pass my CV on to the people at the Job Of Mystery without me registering on their books. Sounded a little like a ploy to me, but nevertheless, I went along anyway.

So in I went, to Oxford Circus. Ironically, that's where I need to go for the CCK Social tonight. But, just to make things difficult, I couldn't just go there and then straight on to the CCK Social. Well, technically I could, but I'd have been waiting about five hours in between. So my plan was - go there, register, come back, shower etc., and then go back out again. Easy(ish).
Followed the classically hilarious directions, which in fact amounted to "walk down Great Portland Street" but filled up half a page of my notebook, including which exit to use from the station and which shops to walk between - the lady on the phone was thorough - and felt extremely uncomfortable in a corporate environment (ice water, unnecessary sofa, glass walls and all) for a while until my lady finally turned up and we had a "chat".

At least, I think it was a chat. It can't have been an interview. I assume, perhaps blindly, that it's the mystery job of The Mystery Job to interview me. Plus, I was in casual clothing. Nevertheless, this was an opportunity to talk about me, and I've never been one to pass that up.

About halfway in, I realised I was flirting. Not particularly heavy-handedly, but I was flashing my nervous smile every now and again, and giving too much unnecessary detail - "ah, well, yes, as you can see, I was a teaching assistant, well, I was working part-time and looking for something more to do, because there wasn't a lot of satisfaction in what I was doing, well, actually, I'd just come out of university, and therefore I didn't have much of an idea, I mean, English degree, of course, haha! So my mother suggested I give teaching a try and so I volunteered as a teaching assistant and I quite liked it, and the children loved me, I've always been good with children, some people have just got it, you know? And the pastoral side of the job clearly was..."
That's small talk. "Yes, I was a teaching assistant at some points" would have sufficed. But at some point, somehow, I had managed to switch to 'natural charm' mode. I wasn't even aware that I still had that mode programmed in. It hasn't had much of a chance to be activated recently. But it seemed to be serving me well, so I just coasted along with it for a while.

She said The Mystery Job will let me know on Monday. If it does, I have to face an hour's commute every day for at least two months. But hey, that's all part of the gig, right?

Feeling unusually spry for someone who was awake until 4 last night dwelling on the past, I journeyed back home, and as my iPod lurched between Spamalot, Amateur Transplants, Goldie Lookin Chain, Avenue Q and The Scaffold, the sun began shining down on me - and the future looked that little bit brighter.