About a month ago, I thought I had lived through the worst day of my life. I woke up too early, eager about a job test that I had arranged for that afternoon, at 3 PM or so I thought. I routinely checked my email to find that the Human Resources people at this company never spoke to each other: I was scheduled for two separate appointments on two separate days. I cleared this fiasco up with ease, luckily; an email back and forth and we were all back on track. I had a relatively nice lunch on the deck with my mom then decided to hit the road.
I stopped by at a friend's house because he still had my ice cream in his freezer, but somehow I still managed to forget to get it from him. With time to spare, I left Burlington at 2 o'clock and hit only minimal traffic. I was ready to walk to my appointment by 2:30, thinking that I had given myself plenty of time. To avoid extra running around I parked the car in the public lot because I didn't have the key card for the underground handy. As I started to walk, these were my thoughts:
"Hmm, it is a lot warmer out here than I thought it was."
"Well, maybe it is going to take me longer than I thought to get to this place--I hope not." (Being late makes me really uncomfortable.)
"Man, my feet are sweaty."
"Why are these guys walking so slow? Don't they know I'm in a hurry? I wonder if i can get around them."
My attempt to pass these folk failed more miserably than I ever suspected it might. I actually fell right out of my shoes--flat on my face. Now, something I failed to mention was that I had to take a dictionary to this test, in case there were any questions about grammar or spelling that I needed a reference for (I'm not sure that there were any, nor am I sure that the dictionary would have helped.) So, I fell down and lost my dictionary; it landed about 10 feet in front of me. A nice older man helped me up and as I brushed myself off in a panic asked if I was okay. I yelled at him that I was fine and tried to keep going. The guys I was trying to pass asked if I was alright too, but I hated them for being in my way and heard them making fun of my dictionary. I limped along, wondering if I was ever going to find Bathurst Street.
I was a little late, but that didn't seem to matter. Ms. Blanca Yang showed me to a computer and explained in halting English the test. She asked if it was hot out. There was sweat dripping into my eyes.
After the test, I tried to go on my merry way but realized for the first time that my precious ballet flats had turned my heels to a bloody mess. I hobbled along, the pain in my knee from when I fell finally realizing itself as well. Halfway down the block I noticed that I'd forgotten my purse. How perfect. How insane.
After I picked up my purse I swivelled between believing that my shoes hurt me more than anything on the pavement could and being certain that the broken glass was doing more harm than a silly pair of shoes. It was a pleasant evening though--about 6 o'clock and the sun was still shining with a little less heat than earlier in the day. I decided to swing by Union Station for a hot dog dinner and a quick drink. At this point, I resigned myself to having a rum and coke alone upon arriving back at the apartment. I picked up my hot dog, and decided to eat inside where I could sit and rest a little.
I found a spot near the door, and a girl with an enormous backpack eyed my hotdog then asked if I would watch her stuff. Feeling I had no where else to be, I agreed graciously. She took forever, and this couple took one of the two seats beside me so they could annoy me with their explicit acts of public affection. The second she returned I tore out of there faster than a cat out of a half-frozen pond (quickly, that is to say).
When I got outside I was astonished to find that it was already almost dark out. Had I owned a watch, I would have known that it was only 7 o'clock and I would have headed for cover immediately. I had no watch, though, so I went on my way. Halfway between Bay and Yonge I watched this enormous rain drops barely miss my face. I went and stood in a doorway with a half a dozen other people when the down pour started. I watched some people brave the rain, and others huddle across the street in a similar fashion to my own. Once the rain started to ease off I got impatient and decided to make a break for it.
I was relatively lucky. Most of the way back to the apartment there are little places to run and hide in when the rain starts back up. From Yonge and Esplanade there is a parking garage to walk through (the one I was parked in as a matter of fact), which is why it is so frustrating that I got soaked, by a taxi, when it was no longer raining, on the corner of Yonge and Esplanade.
So, there I was, soaking wet on my ironic corner, bleeding from the heels and holding back tears because I'm absolutely terrified of thunderstorms. And I burst out laughing. It really was hilarious. I was so soaked, so hurt, and so miserable. But here was the clincher: I did not have to work at Ford or read 1000 pages a week ever again. It was all worth it because it meant I was getting on with my real life, not just waiting for something that might never happen.
The worst part? I didn't get the job, or any of the jobs that I had applied to. I found this out exactly two weeks after. Now try again to tell me that Tuesday's aren't the problem. I have weeks of research to contradict all of your findings.
No comments:
Post a Comment