Job Interviews. Past and present

I had a job interview today.  It was with the USPS as a part time rural mail carrier.  I wanted to look professional and stable.  I wore black slacks, white shirt, black pearl earrings and a black and white cardigan.  Very boring.  Not me at all. However I finished the look with my lucky shoes:

Before I share the result of this interview I must share the story of an interview I went on about 12 years ago.

At the time I was working for the State of Oregon and was looking to stay within the state retirement system but get closer to my home in Vancouver, WA.  I wanted to shorten my existing 3 hour round trip commute.  I EXCLUSIVELY scoured the State of Washington job listings.  As luck would have it I found an opening about 20 minutes from home at the Larch Mountain Correctional Facility in their Network maintenance department.  I applied and was scheduled for an interview in mid-April.

It was a beautiful spring day and I dressed in a lovely linen dress and modest heels  (this becomes important later in the story.) 

I began my drive up the mountain - as this correctional facillity was at the TOP of the mountain.  The clouds gathered.  I arrived at my destination just as the snow began.  As I waited in the hiring office for my appointment the snow began to accumulate on the ground.  The interviewer showed up 15 minutes late and introduced himself explaining that we were going to be conducting the interview in the brand new, still under construction, computer room and we headed across the snowy parking lot.  He was dressed in a suit and tie, I in my short sleeve linen dress and heels.  He walked fast, the parking lot was gravel.  I stumbled and wobbled as we crossed.  I twisted my ankle.  We were almost at our destination when someone stopped him and started a conversation.  So we stood there, in the snow while they chatted incessantly about who knows what.  I began to shiver.  My shoes and dress were getting soaked.  My lovely hairdo began to droop and drip.

We finally arrived at the "new" computer room.  It was a partially renovated mobile home.  We got inside and all the doors were propped open because the smell of the newly painted walls was overwhelming.  It was not really warmer in this building than out of it.  The room was empty, except for a card table and four chairs.  Our voices echoed.  I was asked a few questions and then handed a written test.  While I took the test, shivering and getting light headed from the paint fumes my captors, uh, I mean interviewers, stood in the open doorway smoking cigarettes - which mingled with the smell of the paint creating a fine stench.  When I finished the test the real interview began.  One of the first questions was "How did you hear about this job?"  My answer:  "the Washington State job website."  His reply: "That's not possible - we didn't advertise there."

My patience was completely gone and my hackles were up.  No one should be treated with the complete disregard that I had been subjected to.  I didn't want the job that bad - if at all by that point.  A heated discussion ensued where I finished with a "you are wrong because that's the only place I looked for a job so it had to be there."  Then I believe I implied they were idiots and I left. 

Needless to say I didn't get offered the job.  Perhaps if I'd worn my lucky shoes things would have turned out differently.  I'm still scarred by that interview.

Today I did not argue with anyone.  It was a very good interview.  I was not offered the job but it was made clear it's mine as soon as I take (and pass) the drug and background checks.  Now that I have a job in my sights, I'm just not sure I want it.  Part of me hates to give up the freedom of not working.  Of course, that freedom will be seriously curtailed when my unemployment runs out.  My schedule would include working the days around Christmas and Thanksgiving so senior staff can have days off.  I would be working more Saturdays than not.  Good news is I'd have every holiday and every Sunday off.  It's good pay and in a year I would be eligible to move up the ladder and begin requesting specific days off or on.

Ahhh.. decisions decisions..

The Gates of Hell

'Surely we have passed through the gates of Hell' - So said Simon Fraser when navigating the narrow canyon on the Fraser river now called Hell's Gate.

Hell's Gate is way past Hope, BC - a bit before Boston Bar, BC - out in the middle of nowhere along the Trans-Canada Highway. That was our destination for today. Courtesy of Groupon. This week Groupon had an offer for Hell's Gate scenic trams. Two tickets and a pound of fudge for just $30. What a deal. I snagged it and off we went for our Sunday adventure.

As usual, I packed a picnic lunch filled with all our favorites, cheese, crackers, wine, and other assorted yummy snacks. The scenery along the Fraser river was rugged, untamed and beautiful. We stopped at many of the pull-outs to appreciate the magnificence of the view.

Just before the Saddle Mountain tunnel Peter spied a gravel road leading down to the river and with the excited statement of "Oooh, a ROAD!" off we went. I believe calling this cow path a road was being generous. It was part gravel and part pavement and the pavement was about 8 inches higher than the gravel. The "road" leaned to the left and leaned to the right. We passed First Nations People (the Canadian equivalent of Native American) camping, fishing for salmon and reading Archie Comic books. We followed that excuse for a road all the way to the end. While Peter was taking photos I was hanging out at the car when the car just quit.  It was dead.   It wouldn't restart.   The temperature was about 85, We were in another country, we had no cell service and our car was broken.  Peter went for help and I opened a bottle of wine and waited.  It was an important job!  I mean..  SOMEONE had to keep the car safe from marauding racoons!  At least the scenery was nice to look at from my blanket on the ground.  Fortunately Peter found Jim (on of the the salmon fisherman) with jumper cables and a willingness to lend a hand.

Once we got going we decided to bravely plod on to Hell's Gate, while cleverly staying off any roads that would lead us into complete isolation.  Fortunately the car did not experience any additional malfunctions.

Hell's Gate has an AirTram that takes you from way up here to wayyyyyyy down there.  Down there has a suspension bridge, a restaurant, gift shop, view points, candy shop, gold mining demonstration and lots of touristy things.

 

Going back takes you from way down here to way up there...

 

This is the narrowest part of the Fraser River and the water runs swift and deep.  It roils about treacherously.  They have river rafting tours that go down this part of the river.  I think I'd like to try that.  Maybe.  Maybe not.

On our way home we decided to stop at a scenic by-way (not too far off the beaten path) and finally have our picnic and what was left of the wine.  Before we found the perfect picnic spot we passed a pasture full of Llamas.  We stopped to admire them and just happened to meet their owner, Hugh.  Hugh was a very nice man who spent quite a bit of time with us talking about them and showing us Alice, a 3 week old cria.  He showed Peter how he trims their hooves and he sold me a bunch of Llama fiber and has offered to sell us a llama as well, when we're ready.  He has 12 and says it's really time to thin it down a little. 

Oh what a busy day it's been.  Tomorrow I have to take the car to the shop and start processing fiber.  It will be busy as well.

Dancing with Voles

noun /vōl/ 
voles, plural

1. A small, typically burrowing, mouselike rodent with a rounded muzzle, found in both Eurasia and North America  (see a picture)

My day started out quite delightfully with a shift in the wool and fiber booth at the Northwest Washington Fair.  I demo'd spinning for 4 hours.  Then I spent an hour poking around all the fair booths, looking at the ginsu knives, stuffed animals and specialty pet leashes.  I even tried the fair specialty of a Moowhich.  Yum.  It's nice to live in dairy country!

Since I felt like a played for a good 1/2 of the day I decided to devote my afternoon to assisting Peter in the ditch.  It seems the county feels the ditch needs maintenance and if we don't maintain it, they will spray everything with round up.  Round up is ugly stuff so ditch maintenance was our priority for the day.  Fortunately it's summer and the water level is pretty low.

Peter weed whacked the grass while I raked and scooped the cut grass out of the ditch.  I had just gotten into the ditch and begun my task when a vole hopped out of the grass and swam by my feet.  I know that voles eat our grapes, bulbs and other assorted prized plants.  We don't like voles.  However, killing a vole is clearly not on my list of duties (I checked the duty assignments).  I squealed loudly.  Peter was weed whacking and had hearing protection on.  He didn't hear me.  I took my rake and scooped up the little thing and flipped it in the air like a pancake  (don't criticize, I was in a minor panic)  The little vermin did cartwheels through the air and then went ker-plop back into the water.  I scooped it and flipped it again, while still calling for Peter who continued whacking weeds, oblivious to the rodent ballet going on behind him.  This time the vole landed right in front of me and attached itself to my boot.  I kicked my foot as hard as I could, water and the vole went flying. I spun the rake around and tried to scoop it again as it swam a lovely vole version of a dog paddle, but it was just out of my reach, I valiantly reached for it a couple times before it disappeared into a hole in the ground. Vole = 1, Sharon = 0.

About an hour later another vole made an appearance, I reached the rake out to do the classic "Vole flip" move that I had perfected only to be outsmarted again. It successfully stayed out of my reach and I didn't get a single flip in.  Vole = 2, Sharon = 0.

Stupid rodents.  

Brothers

I'm going to wax poetic here.

I love my big brother.  I'm very lucky to have him in my life.  I was talking to someone today who is not nearly as lucky in the sibling department and it dawned on me how fortunate I am.

My brother and I are adopted.  The story goes that my parents were unable to have children and a co-worker of my mother's had an unmarried sister who was pregnant.  Unlike these days, that was not acceptable in the 1950's.  My parents were waiting at the hospital to adopt the baby (a boy) the day he was born.  My mother always said he was a gangly, hairy little thing that reminded her of a baby monkey and if she hadn't wanted a baby so bad she would have sent him back.  4 years later and after many attempts to adopt another child with repeated failures, a miracle happened.  The phone rang one day.  It turns out their son's biological mother was pregnant again.  My father's words were, "Well we can't let anyone else have it, can we?"  They were there waiting the day I was born as well.  According to her, I was a beautiful baby.  Hah!

I think my parents inability to have children of their own gave them a mind-set that we were the best things ever.  We were precious and treasured and miracles.  I can't speak for my brother but I think I kind of look at him the same way.  He is precious and treasured.

Well.  Enough of the heartfelt stuff.  Now on to business.  I have a job interview!  It's with the USPS delivering mail on a rural route.  I've applied and passed an on-line assessment test as well as a proctored test.  I also passed a mini-telephone interview today and now I have an interview scheduled for the 30th.  The job is for a 4 to 8 hour per week position.  I will get to drive one of those cool jeeps with the steering wheel on the right.  I'm actually quite excited about this job.  One day a week would be quite doable.  The pay is reasonable and it would give me a warm fuzzy feeling to go to work every day.. uh week.  Keep your fingers crossed for me!

Kitchen Floor

Hey!  Check out my new kitchen floor!  Isn't it just gorgeous?

Now before you start the paperwork on having me committed I have to confess something. It's not my new floor at all, in fact, it's the original flooring that came with the house.  I don't really hate it and it's certainly better than the 1970's vinyl faux-adobe brick that was on there.

Removing the top layer of vinyl was challenging.  You see it was on plywood that was stapled to the floor.  I had to pry the plywood up, then remove the staples.  It seems this was  a rare and special kind of plywood that had a tendency to travel.  At least that's the only explanation I can think of to warrant the 10,000 staples they used to hold it in place.  It took me three days and gave me a huge blister in the middle of my palm.  Once I started though I couldn't stop until it was done.  Oh the things I get myself into!

Even though I don't hate the vinyl it is going to have to go (or atleast be re-hidden under a new layer of flooring).  The kitchen was remodeled at the same time that top layer of vinyl was laid.  That means that there are places where the vinyl just doesn't go.

There are also a gazillion staple holes in it as well as serious wear in places.

There is that beautiful fir under this vinyl but I don't think i want to use that in my kitchen.  Not to mention that this layer of flooring is glued AND nailed to the floor.  I'm thinking tile.