It's just too funny for words. Or else I am crazy.
Actually, I must be crazy: why else would I be excited to get a job, and then laugh hysterically when it turns out I am ineligible?
So I got a call to interview for this job. I've been hunting since my husband lost his job almost 4 years ago, so I'm excited: first real bite. Tiny organization, good cause, only 15 hours a week; totally manageable. I like them, they like me, they call to tell me it's mine. Pay is crap, but who cares: I'll be out of the house, doing good, working with great people...
But the firm is a subsidiary of a very large and powerful institution, so I have to go through all this INCREDIBLY COMPLICATED rigamarole to follow through to employment: SIXTEEN different sets of forms, an interview in Seattle, an orientation day, AND a drug/urine test. That's three, count them, three separate trips to Seattle (you'd think they could at least schedule them all in one day; that's a total of about $75 in ferry tickets).
So anyway I'm game: I start running off and filling out all the forms as soon as the emails start rolling in, and happen to notice (since the forms they send include the projected performance review) that one of the qualifications for the job -- the only one NOT mentioned in the interview -- is that I must be able to lift 50 pounds. Which is not an option for me, thanks to an ancient back injury, though I'm stronger now (thanks to Pilates) than I have been in about 20 years.
So I send my boss-to-be a note asking if this is a problem. Full disclosure and all that.
I don't hear back. I'm not worried; I know it'll eventually get resolved.
So at 10:30 this morning I am on a ferry to Seattle, heading to a clinic in Queen Anne to take my drug/urine test. (another hysterical story but never mind. I mean, who gives a drug test to a 63-year-old church lady? I'm actually honored, and mildly amused by the level of precautions taken to ensure I don't cheat on the test...)
Phone rings while I'm there, but I wait to check voicemail til I am back in the ferry line. Surprise: it's my boss-to-be -- so sorry, he can't hire me after all: turns out the 50 pound thing is a dealbreaker!
He is very apologetic, I am very nice, struggling to keep the giggle to a minimum, but when I get off the phone I burst out laughing.
Talk about the universe NOT wanting me to get a job! OMG I think (again) that God is just about the funniest person I know.
And here I thought my life was about to finally settle down... What will they think of next?
2 comments:
Did you learn what makes up those 50 pounds? And a drug test, no less, to have the privilege of doing the heavy-lifting! I think I would have had to laugh, too. Now go celebrate.
OK so what was this job's title -- communication specialist/warehouse worker? or public relations manager/furniture mover? or maybe writer/poet/artist/longshoreman?
Fred
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