I had my telephone interview for the language school management position today. It went all right, I guess.
If selected, I would spend six months in San Francisco or Los Angeles (probably living in some sort of shared-housing situation, considering the salary), then be sent somewhere OVER WHICH I WOULD HAVE NO CONTROL to be a director or assistant director of one of their schools. Could be Santa Barbara, could be Detroit, could be Beverly Hills, could be Boise . . . . you get the picture.
Sigh.
I've been in charge of where I live since I moved away from home the day after high school graduation. MY choice, always. That's 30 years of picking the town I lived in, even when I picked Lawndale, California (inside joke for all you kids familiar with the "South Bay").
Yes, I could make the best out of any place they sent me. Good ol' Steve, the jolly big guy who plasters a smile on his moist face and bellows out a hearty baritone chuckle at even the direst situation. And like I said, I could be sent somewhere great. Hartford, Charleston, New York, Portland, Maryland, Phoenix - they all have their charm. Who knows, I might even get to like CASper, Wy-O-O-O-ming, right? I mean, so long as I got all cowpokey and learned to spit tobacky juice in a manly way, thereby preventing a trip to a deserted wheat field and some cranium kicking by locals who don't cotton to no goddam fags from San Fran Sissie, yuck yuck. Actually I'm less concerned about gay bashing as about limited access to good Thai food.
But we shall see, won't we? That's the wonderful thing about a job search - eventually, it's over, and there you are, at a desk somewhere, pondering the warped changes you've been through.
Bring on the post-search mind-numbing what-have-I-done period, and make it snappy, sailor!
TWO interviews tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment