When Going to the Dentist is the Less Painful Experience

Today I've done practically nothing outdoors: except a leisurely cycling glide through the allotment gardens to find the lilies-of-the valley scenting the air, lilacs blossoming purple in the high branches of their trees, miniature blue forget-me-nots thronging happily along the feet of the fences, red tulips glowing in the shadows like late winter sunsets, and children chatting hidden in the garden bowers as their parents must have organized quite a few parties today.

It was the first time since 1 week and 2 days ago where I haven't had commitments, and it has been lovely.

The Interview

On Monday I finally received an answer about the interview that I described in the last post. The manager had telephoned me during the Kant 300th birthday event, and it was rather awkward. Fortunately I had put my phone on silent before the event, but he really timed the call just 2 to 5 minutes before the Chancellor of Germany started to address the room.

I would never have been and likely will never be in a position to worry about that scheduling conflict at any other time of my life. 

Of course that flabbergasting bit of timing was funny. But it was also distracting. I really agonized if it would have been more professional to stand up, leave the room, and take the call.

From what I understand of American security protocols for gatherings with the head of state, I might not have been allowed back into the room even if I were allowed to leave it. I don't know what German protocols are.

So after I arrived home, I sent an email to the interviewer explaining that I had been in the middle of an event. (I didn't think that adding detail would be anything but self-aggrandizing.) But the manager prefers to use the telephone, so no reply ever came via that corner.

Story to be continued.

The Tooth

The dentist's check-up happened on Tuesday. The assistant kindly managed to reassure me that despite a small cracking sound I'd heard, things looked fine; but the surgeon and he still seemed a little antsy in general and wanted to be sure I'd come in again for another check-up mid-May.

The Interview, Part II

In the dentist's waiting room, which was empty so it was already clear that I'd be in my appointment punctually, I tried to follow through on the promise in my email to the interview manager and call at noon. (I had received no answer to the email.)

The thing is that I'd forgotten the check-up was scheduled at noon too. So I compromised by calling at 11:55 a.m. The manager picked up and said he'd call back two minutes later. Unsurprisingly, he did not.

So I awkwardly messaged that I'd doublebooked myself. The dentist assistant was sympathetic when he opened the waiting room door, held it for me, and watched me madly typing on the way in to the examination room, and I'd explained why. He reassured me that it would just take 5 minutes.

So I went home, still clinging to my phone because I wanted to hear when it rang. That was a massive nuisance.

I don't recall when the manager did ring. But when he did, he explained that he'd been arguing with himself about hiring me for a while; in the end they'd decided to hire someone else. Reading between the lines, he'd never gotten back to me after his lunch because of guilt-related procrastination.

The rejection I understood because I'm not necessarily suited to every sales job. But what made the call painfully awkward is that I barely caught most of the words he was saying. Not because his voice isn't clear in general, but because of the call quality. 

I had to strain to hear the details of my rejection without the reward of actually understanding everything. He mentioned feedback. It sounded like he'd enjoyed our conversation, but I never found out if he had mentioned anything I should improve.

Endearing myself to interviewers on a personal level apparently just makes it tougher for them when they reject me... But if there's one lesson I already learned in my twenties, one might as well make the future repressed memory of an interview a pleasant repressed memory for both of us.

***

Anyway, the same day I walked around the neighbourhood and found a new crop of shops to apply to.

One of the shops hasn't replied yet to the question I sent that day (or the next?) about the level of experience needed for the job. So I'm going to use the lesson I learned from the Calling Back After Lunch saga, and not waste much thought on that application any more.

That said, I've been reflecting angrily about how I hate asking for the privilege of contributing to society when, during amateur journalistic work, I don't have to ask. I just do, with genuine good intent, even if the contribution turns out to be little and obscure.

That said, maybe there's a lesson in those feelings, too. Even if I may not think of myself as up to the level of a professional journalist in every way and the problem of earning a living has not been resolved, I am already putting so much effort and time into it that I may be meant to do some form of journalism at least for the present.