Occupation: FANGIRL, unemployed college graduate (but aren't we all)
For more details, please see the About page.
❒ TAKEN ❒ SINGLE ✔ WHILE I'M FLATTERED BY YOUR INTEREST, JOHN, I CONSIDER MYSELF MARRIED TO MY TUMBLR.
I. About 3 months ago, I applied for a position with the state of Illinois. I received my ‘grade’ about a month later, and was graded as an ‘A’ or Highly Qualified for the position.
II. Last Friday I received a letter from the hiring department for the state of Illinois informing me that I had been chosen for an interview for the position in a town in LaSalle county. It instructed me to confirm my interview day and time, and which documents I needed to fill out and/or bring with me. I called and confirmed the appointment for the following Friday.
III. The day of my interview I arrived at the office and gave them my documents. I met with the department manager who explained the position to me, and informed me that I would not be interviewing with her, but with the hiring department in Chicago via speaker phone.
So, we called the guys I was interviewing with and they informed me of how the interview would work. I was told that they would be giving a structured interview with several sections, and to answer slowly because they would be writing down my answers as I gave them. I was okay with that, because I’ve done structured interviews before.
But this was an EXTREMELY structured interview, the guy reading the questions informed me that he could read the questions to me as many times as I wanted but that he was not allowed to re-word or clarify any of them. (The department manager was in the room the whole time, but also unable to provide clarification.) They also told me they would be muting their side of the conversation during my answers.
Let me just say, it is NERVE WRACKING to interview with people you have never met, cannot see or hear reacting, and who are entirely compliant to a script.
The very first question they asked tripped me up. I would have loved some clarification on it, but that was out, so I just kinda winged it and hoped for the best.
On some of my answers, I swear I talked for like… ten minutes straight. It was ridiculous. And I was talking to absolute silence on the other end, not even breathing, I would have been happy with any kind of reaction information, holy cow.
Eventually the interview ended and they told me I would hear back in two to four weeks if I got the position. I ended the call with absolutely no idea how I had done.
When she was walking me out, the department manager did make me feel a little better because she said she thought I did very well.
So, I went home and freaked out (as you do) and then, yesterday morning I got called back and accepted the position. So I guess I did well enough, but I still can’t believe how strange that process was.
On the 4th I received a letter from the state asking me to come in for an interview for one of the positions I applied for several months ago, and I was super excited… for all of a minute. Because then I realized that the job is in a town an hour and a half away and there is no way I could take the job.
The next day my dad’s cousin stopped by and dad was telling him about the job, and we found out that one of my dad’s other cousins just moved to that town and would be more than happy to let me stay with her until I get on my feet. Return of the excitement!
Monday I called to confirm my interview for that Friday, more excitement.
Tuesday I found out that my great-grandfather, who basically raised my mother, had passed away during the night. After discussing the situation with my parents, we decided I should still go to the interview on Friday.
Thursday we had my great-grandfather’s funeral. It was really emotional for everyone… and I felt kind of awful because I had already done most of my grieving over the last few years. Grandpa had Alzheimer disease, and I was one of the first people he stopped recognizing. The last few times I saw him, he had no idea who I was and became very upset because he knew he was supposed to know me and didn’t; after researching Alzheimers I decided that the best thing for both of us was to stop visiting. There was no reason to keep upsetting him or to keep causing myself that pain. So at the funeral I was pretty much already at the ‘acceptance’ stage of my grief and everyone else was still in the ‘depression’ part.
Friday I went to my interview. I looked nice, I left the house on time, I made it to where I was supposed to be with 15min to spare… I felt really good walking in there. I walked out with absolutely no idea how I had done, but with the assurance I would hear back in 2-4 weeks if I got the job.
Saturday night, our dog Jack had a seizure. My dad was a mess, but he had resigned himself to the fact that Jack would probably not make it through the night.
Sunday morning Jack was up and moving around, though he was still wobbly. He didn’t eat all day.
Yesterday I received a call from the state offering me the position I had interviewed for, I was thrilled for about five minutes then I started panicking over all the things I have to do before I start on May 1st.
By last night, Jack still hadn’t eaten and was having even more trouble standing/walking.
This morning, there was blood in Jack’s stool and we took him to the vet. Dr. Brown did some blood work to see if there was any indication that something was wrong with his liver, but the tests came back fine. After going over our other options (sending him to UofI for intensive testing that had little chance of finding a ‘fixable’ cause of his symptoms or putting him on mild sedatives - which would mask the pain but not treat the cause) and discussing them with my father, we made the choice to have Jack put to sleep.
He had no quality of life and it was the right thing to do. Dr. Brown’s office was really great about it; they gave us all the time we needed with him, explained the whole process, and gave us several options for handling Jack’s remains. My mother, sister, brother-in-law, and I stayed with Jack for the initial sedative, but Mom and Ashley had to leave the room after he fell asleep. Dakota (my brother-in-law) and I stayed with Jack for the rest of the process. After Jack had passed Ashley and Mom came back to say goodbye one more time.
We chose to have Jack cremated separately, and to have the remains boxed and returned to us. One of the vet techs also informed us that she would make a plaster print of his paw for us which was free of charge.
So… I’ve spent most of the morning bawling my eyes out and a total mess.
I’m just… drained emotionally. Why does it seem like everything has to happen all at once? I know it doesn’t really, but it feels that way.
You know, a few months ago this dude friend of mine showed up to hang out with me all dejected. Over a couple of drinks he explained his long face — earlier that night, he’d been walking down the street behind this really cute girl, and when she looked back at him over her shoulder, he thought it was in interest and smiled at her. Now, this guy is tall and skinny, can most commonly be found in glasses and t-shirts scrawled across with math jokes, is kind to animals, considers himself a feminist. What he doesn’t consider himself is threatening, so he was surprised, confused, and even hurt by what happened next: the girl in front of him responding to his called greeting of, “Nice skirt,” by taking off down the darkened street in a dead run.
"Yeah," I said, "she probably thought you were going to rape her."
"But that’s not fair,” he said. “I’m a good person; I’d never rape anyone! How could she think that? She doesn’t even know me.”
Out here in the wilds of the internet, I often find myself making arguments about shit like feminism and rape culture unilaterally. For one thing, there’s so much (like, so much) out there arguing unilaterally against this shit that I feel it’s necessary; for another thing, ‘round these parts there’s a lot of people jumping to hostility when it’s painfully clear they don’t have a handle on all the facts. But I’m more lenient with the people in my real life, especially dudes like the one mentioned above. I’m willing to extend to them a patience that I wouldn’t with strangers on the internet, because they matter to me, and it matters to me that they understand. So when my friend sat there that night, whining over his beer and responding to my attempted explanations with, “But I’d love it if a girl smiled at me on the street, or even catcalled at me! Fuck, even if a dude did it, I’d be flattered,” I decided to spend some time thinking about how to clear things up for him. It took awhile, but I finally came up with a metaphor to get the job done:
Consider the bank.