Closer to work, escape plans forming, and surprise tampons.

The second interview went not too badly, though it did serve to highlight that even though I use a computer every day for gaming and all the usual stuff I don’t actually know a great deal about the ins and outs of them. Not off the top of my head and in technical language anyway. I was asked ten questions, largely about the likes of diagnosing connection problems with the internet and peripherals like mice and printers etc. It was fairly informal, just sat in a room and rattled through it quickly then back out the door again. The position was apparently “tier 3” technical support, whatever the fuck that means, as opposed to the original one being one lower. No mention of earning more money from it though, and the lazy part of me that doesn’t want to work a job in IT for the rest of my life is yelling to do the least work needed if they’re both minimum wage. I didn’t want to bring it up in the interview for obvious reasons, right now I’ll take what I can get. The interviewer told me again that I’d already got into the job (or training, which better be paid or I’ll cry) I originally applied for, and this was just to see if I’d be suited to another part of the company. They said they’d call me back today but I haven’t gotten one, with any luck it’ll be tomorrow. I wouldn’t mind a bit more of an assurance before I go telling everyone in the off-chance that they change their mind or there’s been a mix-up. And mostly because I don’t want to have to deal with any of those annoying cunts at the work programme.

Fingers crossed though, I’ve scrimped enough that I’m keeping a steady £150 or so in my account so if for any reason my dole gets stopped I can survive for a couple of weeks. Other than that I wouldn’t mind getting a few presents for everyone in the house, the car’s exhaust is slowly but surely dying again, and I’d like to update my wardrobe to decent stuff that I don’t need to pretend is shabby chic. Or that I’m such a hardcore ironic hipster that I’m making a statement out of old trackies and battered trainers. Maybe I’m going to stumble my way right into a £22,000 a year job, a professional call centre monkey! I’ve began to have notions of saving every penny for two years then quitting and fucking off somewhere, anywhere. The pan hasn’t progressed further than that rough outline. Getting out of this house is the first priority now though. Save up, find a guy that needs a roommate, and get out of here. Made the mistake of mentioning to my mum that I’d probably gotten a job rather than just leaving the house on monday morning and coming back eight hours later. For some reason this makes it open day for abuse. Everything from using the wrong lights to see with to the dog not having any tinned meat to eat, can’t do anything right. And instead of me getting a job, the complaint is that I should’ve gotten one sooner. Soon it’ll be not handing over enough money, that my work isn’t that hard, when am I going to move out… I might get a well done to start with, but I pay for it over the next few days, as always.

Spent today hanging out with Hans, this may be our last Thursday meet-up unfortunately. I’m starting to dislike this employment malarkey already. Told her that if I did get the job I’d ask around and see if they needed anyone fluent in German. It’s a big company with a lot of contracts, a German native studying English at uni level would walk into a niche job like that. When I left and got in my car to drive home I found a nice present waiting for me on the passenger seat: a tampon. The joys of having women for friends eh? I looked at it like an ape would an iPad, or a soldier in a war film would stare at the grenade that’s landed in front of him right before it goes off. I’m ashamed to admit that my first thought upon seeing it was “That’s an oddly shaped mint.” I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it. Should I give it back? Are they valuable? Personalised? Do I keep it in the glovebox in the unlikely event someone asks me if I have a spare one? What does the inside of it look like? Should I take it home, fill up the sink with water, drop it in and giggle as it expands? In the end I chose to chuck it out of the window, bouncing it off the windscreen of a passing Transit van. Some mysteries are best left unknown.