Interview

I found out today that I've been shortlisted for a job.

It's a job I really want. A job doing something which I thought I would do when I left university. It's taken me very nearly eight years to actually get here. 

That's largely my own fault. I'm not the most driven of people, I tend to wait and let things come to me, rather than seek them out.

I sometimes think that makes me really stupid. Really, really stupid. Because that's not how the world works is it? People don't just come and drop opportunities in your lap, you have to go and take them. Fight people off and prove you're the one with the hunger.

When people start saying things like that, I don't really understand. That's not how my brain's wired. I'm more of a "work to live" sort than "live to work".

Still, here it is, I've managed to be in the right place at the right time. It even looks like the fact I've started a blog and spent ages on Twitter might help me out, rather than condemning me as a monumental waster of time.

I'm worried. Obviously. Does anyone ever look forward to a job interview? Maybe. One of my ex-girlfriends. On the run up to exams she used to get excited. Animated. 

"I don't understand why anyone wouldn't like exams! They're like a really fun competition! I don't know why anyone doesn't like them!"

It probably helped that she was consistently excellent in those exams. Not something I can claim. Obviously, she's pretty successful now. 

If that's the answer: find exams fun, then I'm fucked.

Exams are not fun. 

Interviews are not fun.

But I'm unusually determined this time. I am going into that interview to put myself forward in the best possible way. I will be me, but I will be the best possible version of me. I will not just sound like I know what I'm talking about, I actually WILL know what I'm talking about. I will prove that if they don't take me on they are making a mistake.

Hopefully, once it's over, I won't feel the need to unleash 140 characters of unbridled regret and fury on Twitter.

Tomorrow on the blog: baby stuff.

Challenging

There are moments in life where we are faced with seemingly insurmountable challenges, either as individuals or as a race. Climbing Mount Everest, visiting the north and south poles, putting footsteps on the moon. All these and many more bear testament to the will and ingenuity of humankind.

We're pretty damn awesome when you think about it; pat yourself on the back quickly, bask in the glory of being a person, take a sip of whatever is your favourite tipple and permit yourself an indulgent moment of self congratulation.

There.  Feels good right?  Good, you've earned that.

There's something else that, if you are a parent, there's a good chance you've done. Something which you might not often think about, might not wish to recall. You may well have fitted an Isofix car seat base, plus the associated seat.

I was feeling masochistic tonight, so I decided to take on that particular challenge for myself.  I'd heard the stories about how annoying it is, how awkward and frustrating. But there was a little sticker on the base. It had pictorial instructions, like you get on Lego kits. There were numbers next to the pictures and the biggest of those numbers was five.

LIES.  PICTURES OF ACTUAL LIES.

"It must be easy" I thought to myself "there are only FIVE instructions, and they all look really simple!"

DO NOT BE FOOLED.  There is false security deeply ingrained within those bright, cheerful instructions.  Here's how it went:

1.  Push the button on the front of the base.

(Done.  Easy.  This is going to be a piece of piss.)

2.  Slide the seat base forward, exposing the two Isofix mount thingies. 

(Bit of a struggle.  Hmm, this is harder than it should be isn't it?  Am I doing this right?  Oh, for the love of Jesus, why won't this farking thing mov...*smack of plastic on knuckles*...*Swearing*... Oh, good, done it.)

3.  Push the Isofix mount thingies onto the Isofix bracket thingies in your car.

(I don't see the bracket thingies.  The car definitely has bracket thingies, doesn't it?  Are you supposed to take the seat out or something?  WTF?  *rummaging in depths of car seat*...*scraped knuckles*...*more swearing*... AHA!  There they are.  Now, just push them in until they click.  Done.  *mop sweat from forehead*)

4.  Slide the seat base back until snug to the back of the car's seat.


(*pinches tiny piece of skin on hand between sliding parts of Isofix base*...*VIOLENT swearing*... Done.)

5.  Slide the stabilising arm doofer until firmly against the floor of the car.


(*shaking in anticipation of mishap*...Oh.  That bit was actually easy.)

Feeling a strange mixture of smugness and resentment I went back into the house.  That was when I found the two little pieces of plastic which go between the car's seat and the Isofix base.  The two little pieces of plastic which meant I had to go back out to the car and start again.  The two little pieces of plastic which I may well one day tell my therapist about.

Yeah, it's all smiles for you...

Still, I've calmed down now and realised that, actually, all the manufacturers of these things are trying to do is prepare us for the arrival of the child itself: poor instructions, lots of mistakes, trials and tribulations, swearing and pain.  I ought to be writing to thank them.