Thursday dawned for my job interview. I had a 7am Pilates lesson, a duo, which was lovely: whatever else happens, I will always have a warm and loving relationship with spinal extension. Few things in life are not improved with a backbend, don’t you find. Following this, I watched my boss having a lesson, and then I taught a newish client.
So far, so good. I had to wait a bit for a bus, and I had to catch the Mairangi Bay one, not the Windsor Park; that meant I had to hasten up the hill on my feet once I got there, which was inclined to leave me pinkish in the cheeks of my face. Fortunately, all three of my interviewers were stuck in traffic, so I got to sit peacefully on the couch for a wee while.
As readers are aware, the interviewers know me quite well, and so it was not necessary to discuss my personality defects or perceived or actual intelligence in any depth; I breezily described a few scenarios in which I have recently (a) forced someone against his will to do something unpleasant, such as eating vegetables or washing, (b) worked in a team, (c) used my perceived or actual intelligence to accomplish some important task, (d) withstood mind-altering boredom, and (e) other things like this. They delicately inquired after any warning signs I am likely to display just before I asplode from stress, and then we devolved into chatting for a moment or two.
Then I walked home, and on the way I discovered the Milford mall, which has quite the reputation as malls go around here; so I went in, and found it was dimly lit but well-stocked with swanky shops, which I did not peruse; I was making my way out when I received a call from the alpha interviewer, who offered me the job.
So there it is. Betty has a job. Onwards and upwards.