Please Excuse Me While I Hyperventilate

I submitted my application for a job, while in the midst of an indignant fit of rage. I will find a better job, with a better title and better pay, and which does not include the co-worker, whom is secretly referred to at our office by those in the know as: She Who Must Not Be Named. SWMNBN for short.

This was Monday. I hyperventilated for a couple minutes, then went back to work.

Tuesday afternoon, I get a call, asking me to come in for a job interview. Brown paper bags can be found in the drawer on your left, MsHellion. I am to interview next Monday, at 4 pm. She offered to let me interview first thing in the morning. I nearly told her I’d rather be guillotined than have to do something like that first thing in the morning. I managed to keep that to myself.

I have to find something suitable to wear. For the last several years, my casual work wear has lapsed into t-shirts and jeans. If I do wear a skirt at this point, it garners enough attention to warrant a: “What’s going on? Something special going on tonight?”—and that’s before I even bother with makeup, which would open up a whole other box of speculation.

I’ve been here 7 years. I know this job well; and the details for the other job are very good too. Stuff I know. Stuff I could do. But how to present myself when at heart I’m a comfortable slob who would rather be witty than diplomatic? (Well, I can be diplomatic…it just takes more effort.) This is all about effort. I’m inherently a lazy creature. Stepping out of my rut and embracing a free fall into possible chaos, or worse, rejection strikes at my very soul.

On the other hand, if I succeed, I’m going to love telling SWMNBN that instead of me covering all her duties—she’ll have to cover mine now.