Today is the last day of my trial period at potential new job. Thank goodness, as I'm hitting real exhaustion now. Gluttony struck this morning in the form of coffee and I downed two thick cups of it as the morning hours rolled smoothly onward. The girls in planning left me alone for a bit to look for open time slots for new classes, and so I sat alone in a room on the 4th floor facing the boulevard Haussmann, two minutes walk from the Gare Saint Lazare of Monet's painting.
Mechnical pencil in mouth, eyes squinting at the computer, hair a mess because I didn't care about how I looked today, in that ¨I-have-to-go-play-mommy-starting-at-16h-this-afternoon-I-won't-bother¨ sort of way, hardly dolled up with one coat of mascara, and sporting a pair of brown Converse and jeans, I glared at the screen when he walked by. Yes, the hot as hell English Teacher.
Apparently, I've learned, teachers have a strict dress code at this place. For men, this means button downs, slacks, and a tie, no exception....I'm not complaining, and I admit I'm being entirely shallow here. It's a two way street, fellas.
The English Teacher stopped, looked in the doorway at me, I looked up from my screen, and he said hello very amicably. We then got to chatting a bit, in French. He asked how things were going and if they weren't too hard, as planning is known to be a tough thing to do here. I told him I was ¨m'en sortir¨-ing ok and that I had possibly given him two classes on Wednesdays, but we'd see, since I'd been warned not to touch his schedule too much.
He laughed, smiled above a pair of clear-sky-spring-blue eyes, said he wouldn't mind the work. I laughed and said I heard he was a crazy worker and took nearly any class offered him.
This is on top of playing semi-pro soccer, which you don't know I know about...holy cow.
I could've kept talking to him for a long while, but he had things to do, I had things to do, but alas, flirtation ceded way to business, and he walked down the hall toward the teachers lounge.
However, I'm a pathetic little girl and that made my Friday morning. It's the little things, I swear....but when you are this exhausted and run down and have no time to do anything alone or for yourself, it's the little stupid things. And I know I've brought it all on myself. Le sigh.
We'll see if I actually get this job.
Friday afternoon before I left they told me they weren't going to offer it to me right away and needed a few weeks to consider so now I am in serious doubt of an offer and panicking.
I am trying to be all que sera sera about it and I do have a backup plan, but alas. It's certainly not my forte. And it's leaving me feeling like I do about men sometimes: that I am an academic headcase whom no one wants to keep around.
I apologize if I'm going to what I call the dark place of my inner psyche, but I am.
I'll come out eventually.
And que sera sera, for jobs and men.
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