Hey, all; Happy Friday –
Last Wednesday, around the time Michael Cohen was being called by those on-high to answer for his many, many misdeeds against man, country, and God, I found myself experiencing what best could be described as sympathy pains with him. No, not because of the man himself; which would require a level of empathy on my part that I think even Jesus himself would find daunting, but that I was also set to bear my innermost in front of a panel of people who held the direction of my future in their hands.
Yes, for the first time in over six years, I was set to go to a job interview.
Now, I know what some of you might be thinking, but no; this column isn’t actually about that. The interview itself took a little over an hour, and, if I might dispense with the false modesty and writer’s prose for a second, I feel that I rocked seven levels of ass. Well, despite that heptacular rocking feeling, the final decision is still not up to me, and I was told that I would hear from them in a few weeks.
It’s a great job, with great potential for growth in a great location, with great hours and, most importantly, a great salary. And I have not even the slightest inkling if I got it, or not.
Thus begins…The Waiting Game.
And that, my dear workcados, is what we’ll be commiserating with one-another over zesty lemon trout poppers, this week. That interminable period between where tensions build, emails are checked, and where one begins to ponder if their current job really is that bad. (For the record, it is; it so is)
Of course, anything else you might have going on is fair game for a rant, too; so do. As ever, have a safe and productive rest of the day, safe trip home, and a great weekend. And remember: Checking your email seven to twelve times a days is normal.