Hello and happy Thursday. I know you love what I post on these days because I get all deep and personal. I also want to think that I’m relatable at some level because if you haven’t gone to a horrible job interview, you’re very lucky and I’m happy for you but I’m also a bit jealous.
I don’t know why the universe thinks it’s fun to play pranks on me by sending me to hellish interviews in preschool centers, and I don’t know why I like to suffer and go ahead with said interviews knowing full well that they’re going to be a complete fail.
This job interview is way more recent that the one I told you about last week. This happened during that dark time we’ll call July 2018, not long ago at all, I know. I was desperate for a job after deciding that all the planning I’d done and all the money I’d spent on moving abroad had gone to waste because I was going back home. I sent my resumé everywhere and I was ready to take whatever I was offered.
Like in my previous interview from hell, getting to this preschool center was quite difficult. This time though, my mom took me. The place was relatively close to my house but in those geographic spots I hate because it was up on a hill, about two blocks away from a major street in my city. So it was close enough that you could theoretically walk from the major street to the place on the hill, but not that close that I really felt excited.
The place was like many preschool centers for rich people in Bogota: a big expanse of grass with an assortment of cottage-like prefabricated constructions that served as classrooms. I went to one of said cottages, the “administrative building,” and obviously I was so desperate that I got there early.
I wasn’t offered a glass of water, and trust me, I needed it. If you don’t believe me, stay tuned. Anyways, I was told to sit and wait in a puff while someone called me to the interview. I had to wait for about twenty minutes, I’d say, which again was my bad because I’d arrived earlier.
The first part of the interview was with the “academic coordinator” or something like that, and I’m putting quotation marks around it because, really? Does a kindergarten need that? I mean, it needs a principal and they can make those very important academic decisions, but come on.
I knew from the first question I was destined to fail this interview big time, especially since my youngest students were older than the oldest students in that place. I had experience elsewhere, and that was obvious both for her and me. During that talk with her, three things that for me marked my demise happened: one, I forgot what I was going to say mid-sentence; two, my throat was so dry I could feel that I sounded like Ursula from The Little Mermaid; three, the dress I was wearing had an opening on my chest, which showed my microdermal, and I’m sure the lady interviewing me didn’t find it hot.
All of a sudden she said she thought the interview was over and there was nothing else we could discuss. She told me I now had to talk to the school’s psychologist, but before leading me to her, she walked out of the room and talked to said psychologist. I’m sure she was telling her how much of a mess I’d been in that interview. How she could see me sweating, and how my voice was super dry from nerves. Now I guessed that because the psychologist treated me like an anxious child. She told me to calm down, to breathe, to take it easy, and all those things you’re told when you’re about to undergo a lot of pain.
She asked me the standard human resources questions about who I lived with and then told me to make a drawing of a person under the rain. I drew myself holding an umbrella, and I’d like all of my psychologists out there to tell me what that means in the comments.
I was then told that the next step was to do a micro teaching with the kids to see how I performed. They actually wanted me to stay until the afternoon to do it. I said no, thank you, but call me and we can arrange a time some other day. I ran out of that place and when I did get the calls because they were like three, I blocked the number.
I know, I’m a complete mess, but a couple of weeks after that, I got my job so at least I’m an employed mess. I already told you what I’d like you to share in the comments, so I got nothing more to say.
Love, Miss Camila