The Interview That Wasn't....

Let me get straight to the point; the interview was a complete fiasco.

I knew the location I was heading to was not all that accessible but since they do have another office I was willing to go out to this one for the interview. I always like to have a sense of the commute anyway, before I make decisions. The trip out there took longer than I expected but fortunately I still arrived on time.

The interviewer, on the other hand, didn’t arrive at all.

Turns out, the lovely doctor is pregnant, and a bit…uhm…unreliable in the memory department at the moment. She’d apparently forgotten to inform her staff that she’d booked this interview (by email), and therefore it never got put down on any calendars.

She then went and booked an ultrasound for the same time as my interview.

Could I possibly reschedule for next week?

Well, considering I was forced to take some time off to get to this interview, and it took close to two hours to get there…

Nope. Sorry. Can’t be done.

At this point I asserted myself and suggested that if the doctor would like we could have a pre-interview over the phone sometime in the next week, and if we decide to go ahead and explore it further we can book a second interview.

I’m very proud of myself for that.

The fiasco doesn’t end there, however; as it turns out the bus service to this area is limited.

Very, very limited.

Unknown to me, the bus route I’d taken to get there was a one-way-only deal, for just a few hours in the day, strictly a commuter. One wouldn’t arrive to take me home until…oh about 6:30.

In the morning.

I found this out by texting the bus stop number to Translink who then texts you the schedule for the stop you’re at. Fantastic idea, that! Thank goodness for cell phones.

So now, after spending hours getting there for absolutely nothing, I’m stuck out in the middle of nowhere, with no idea how I’m getting home.

After a chat with R., who researched my options from afar via internet, and a chat with a chance stranger coming by to catch a bus, I was able to find out that a different bus - which ran hourly - was due in about 40 minutes.

I’d just missed the previous one since I’d stopped to grab a quick coffee to fuel me for the long trip home, not that I’d have known to grab that particular bus. I like to think I’d have consulted the driver anyway and not let it go by; a policy R. has now made me promise to stick by. (A very smart policy, obviously.)

The young chevalier - who I knew to trust because he was wearing these great funky fashionable glasses - explained how to get where I was going by this less direct bus route. Since he was going there too, I was able to follow him, and get easily home. Not quickly, but at least without any further trauma.

Thank goodness for the transit commuter code of ethics that urges all of us who are dependent on buses to lend a fellow traveller a metaphorical beacon and map.

This almost surreal experience jut goes to confirm two things I already knew.

1) No commuter should ever, ever, ever be without a cell phone.

2) I hate the suburbs.

R. was pretty aggravated by the situation I’d been put in; he’s seriously doubting that this is a reliable company to consider working for. I can see his point, although everyone makes mistakes and having known enough fertile women personally I do know that the hormones (and often just plain fatigue) of pregnancy can cause forgetfulness.

So far, I’ve yet to hear from the fertile doctor or even receive an email of apology, even though I made it clear that I’d come a long way and taken some time off to meet with her. I do think that’s in pretty bad taste, barring some crisis that has prevented her from taking the few minutes it would take.

R. may be right.

(He often is…)

Thus begins, less auspiciously than I’d hoped, my job hunt. I like to think things will get better from here…

We shall see.