The year is off to a great start; I measure this by the fact that I haven't messed up the year on papers yet. I'm a bit shocked, to be honest; by now, all four pages of my journal entries should have 2018 scribbled out and a 2019 stealthily added on top. Lo and behold, the dates are flawless and there's no messing up now.
I am in a warm cafe on George's Street Lower in Dun Laoghaire (go on, say it), and awaiting an interview with Snap Printing for a receptionist position. The African Rooibos tea (#JavaRepublic) I ordered is a sweet fire of herbal infusion in my belly. I already had tea this morning, but I needed somewhere to sit and wait. The cheapest thing to buy is a cup of tea.
The music is in another language - French perhaps - and the predominantly male staff are quiet, professional and I'd go as far as to say 'posh'. Jazzy music takes over as soon as I think about the weird song selection. The breakfast wraps filled with bacon and eggs overpower the scent of coffee. It's like a coffee shop Oreo - imagine a latte scented cookie sandwiched around the sizzling body of bacon and toast.
A few seats over, a group of people dig into their avocado toasts after discussing something to do with holidays to Miami and the Caribbean - but I didn't want to eavesdrop. Soon after, two young men dressed in business suits sit between the table with the toast and I. They are discussing dating women and sipping white lattes.
All of this distracts me from the nervousness I feel about getting the job. I have never had so many 'nos' in my life before in a such a short period of time. Rejection numbs you, and the hole deepens every day without making a dime. As I anticipate all this, I focus on the shadows of steam clouding over my journal page. The whole atmosphere is right here, above me.
A couple hours later and BAM, I am sitting down in my favorite little cafe and devouring a hot Mezze plate full of falafel and hummus. I am still awaiting a call back from the job, but I'm pretty certain I get to start a trial week with the company to make sure I'm happy with the position. Until then, I shall feed the soul and enjoy the George Ezra playlist that fills the quiet room. I'm grateful that the music master switched off REM during my first five minutes of sitting down.
Every now and then, the buoyant owner rushes past to the kitchen, singing the lyrics without a care in the word. He's the guy who also always insists that I shout, yell, scream or holler if I need anything at all. I want to holler "Get me job!!!" but I know that's not how the world operates. Raising my voice is something I need to work on.
Commentaires