I was not a patient child. I am not currently a patient, ah, young adult. When I was younger, I was told that “a watched pot never boils”, which never made sense to me. The literalist in me knew that water would eventually have to boil, given enough heat. Who cares if someone’s watching it? While I'm on it, the pot doesn't boil, the water does, so ha! I bring up this tired cliché because I find myself watching yet another pot, and I don’t know if it will boil, much to my dismay.
A few months ago, after a particularly trying week at work, I made a decision to start looking for another job. It wasn’t an aggressive job search, but I wanted to see what else might be available. Since then, I’ve started interviewing for a position at a company that has an amazing, if not the best, reputation in the area. The position is fairly similar to what I do now, and there are various opportunities and areas where I could grow; in my current company, my professional development is no one’s priority except mine, and that is a continuing frustration. One of my interviews was with a girl who has the job currently, and as corny as it sounds, I felt like we were kindred spirits in our love for spreadsheets. Each time I’ve come in for an interview, I’ve felt totally welcome and comfortable, and after three interviews in three weeks, I’m excited about the prospect of taking on this role.
Or as I might say outside of an interview setting, I reallyreallyreally want this job!
My second interview at the beginning of this month was supposed to be the final one so that the department could bring someone in by the end of the month. When I expected to have a decision by mid-October, I got a call for a “supplemental interview” instead. I took the afternoon off last week, had more good interactions, and was told that I'd hear something by last Friday.
When my cell phone vibrated, I jumped out of my skin, took a deep breath, grabbed a notepad, and answered it, trying to sound as cool and collected as possible. Agh – false alarm! It was my darn eye doctor, scheduling me for my annual appointment! It turned out to be my only call that day. The response to my cautiously inquisitive e-mail read, “Sorry, please give us until Monday.” Okay. As if I had a choice.
I didn’t stew too much over the weekend, but I slept terribly on Sunday, my mind gears turning all night long. I wasn’t nervous as much as anticipatory, and I’m not sure which is worse. The next day, I watched my cell phone as if it were about to escape and compulsively checked for voicemail when I got up to grab something off the printer. My day was hellish enough to make me yearn for a phone call and a job offer, so when I received neither, I was nothing but nerves, and frayed ones at that.
I sent yet another e-mail when I finally got home, skipping the previous polite niceties, and received a response this morning: “This is not typical for us, and I completely understand your need for an answer. With decision makers out of town, we will not be able to get back to you until later next week.”
Ugh. I hate waiting. If the water in this pot doesn’t boil, I will be really sad.