Bugger, bugger, bugger
Had the job interview this morning. Distressingly, the position sounds even better, which will make the disappointment that much worse. I could telecommute often, the project might be extended indefinitely, my would-be boss is kickass smart, the facilities are hip and new, a cooper's hawk lives in a tree in the parking lot and...
...I want it.
I really want it.
I really, really want it.
I mean, I would be writing for a living. Tech writing, sure, but still writing. And it would be tech writing for the I.T. department of a biotech company. It just has Me! Me! Me! written all over it.
After I interviewed with the first guy, I felt like it was mine. He was excited, liked my writing samples, loved the idea of having a seasoned IT manager doing the documentation. The whole thing seemed preordained. I thought we might even wrap it up right on the spot. But then the second guy came in, and I just couldn't get comfortable talking with him, especially when, in his thick Eastern European accent, he said that, after reviewing my resume, he "didn't want to insult my intelligence by asking about my experience, because anyone who could string two sentences together could do the first part of the job." I said I was pretty sure I could string two sentences together, but might just draw the line at three. He got it but was not amused.
They're interviewing several other candidates. And I probably won't hear anything for at least a week.
In the car on the way back, Jeff--who very sweetly drove me down so I could keep blabbering out random answers to imaginary interview questions in the car without endangering the lives of other drivers--said, "Well, with our luck, you'll probably get the rejection call the same day your period arrives."
He's probably right.
But, goddamn it, I want it.