Jobless

 The interview happens on Skype. That should make things easier, shouldn’t it?

It is 5.45 p.m. on a dull Monday. Mondays are always dull, especially when spent on job seeking. It has already been two and a half hours since I started waiting for Godot – namely, the president and founder of glorious PoundBeef (fictional name).

Our original appointment at 4.30 has not come through, despite me being in front of my monitor, sat in my chair since 4.20. Despite me having removed beforehand any inappropriate objects that could stand out in the background (flying socks, a baby bottle used as a pig bank, sheep patterned pyjamas…)

However, at 4.40 glorious PoundBeef president has written the following Skype message:

Hi, I have called you but you have not answered (how is that even possible?) Anyway, I have just realised that interview was actually scheduled at 5.30 (was it?). Talk to you later.

I rush to type that there is a misunderstanding: I am there, ready to impress him and shine on the pedestal of confidence. His response is clear:

It is too late, now my schedule got all messed up. Talk to you later.

Rule one of the perfect jobseeker: the prospective boss is always right. Even when you have not been hired yet and he is already holding you responsible for something.

I manage to keep calm and carry on until 5.30.

You can imagine my state of mind when at 5.40 the glorious president of PoundBeef has still not showed up. Have I messed up his schedule again? God, I hope not!

Finally, he shows up at 5.45. He is young, as spotted earlier on his Linkedin profile. His piercing blue eyes look at me from my laptop screen. There is a faint smile on his face. He does not bother with chitchat, like hello, how are you doing, or maybe sorry for delay (forget about this, the prospective boss and I are Italians; we know that politeness is a waste of time.) He goes straight to the point, as real men do.

Hi. We are going to have an informal chat. Eventually, if I like you, you will have an interview with our head of communications. Eventually, if he likes you, we will all meet in London, for a final interview.

I can’t wait for that! I think.

I start talking about myself, as he asks. However, as I open my mouth, the glorious president breaks our virtual eye contact and turns his face to the left. I can see his glorious profile while he is apparently inspecting something else; maybe he is looking at another computer screen (is he reading my CV?).

Anyway, I carry on talking about myself, my background, why I moved to London, what kind of company I am working for. Trouble is he is not being acknowledging my presence. He is looking at something else. A few times, he is even turning his back to me, bending over and rummaging on the floor.

I am worried that he cannot hear my voice, that we are both in the same dream, that aliens have put us in two different space-time dimensions.

Suddenly he cries, as if someone has stepped on his toe:

This is not what I asked you, I do not want to know what kind of company you work at! I just want to know what YOU do!

Good to know he is actually listening to me. I must make the most of this moment, since he is looking towards the camera again. This is my chance.

I quickly give him the information he wants, although his attention span is really too brief. It reminds me of when I was a child attempting to catch a fly with a glass. Just when you think you’ve got it, it flies away.