A rush and a blush: on my way to the job interview

An early rise, with the rare occasion of dressing in office attire and doing my hair and makeup. The kids I nanny down the road wouldn’t know what hit them; it’s a stark contrast to the shorts, t-shirt and messy pony-tail. I look at myself in the mirror, ‘the professional look’ is fulfilled as the words “the next business women of the year, Madison Scott” leave my mouth. I’m definitely one for self-affirmation to start the day off with a bang. The joys of living at home enlighten me as dad offers a lift to the train station. Lo and behold the legend has also printed off my design portfolio in full colour the day before at his work. However, this is where my luck ends.


The morning rush begins with jumping out of the car in the middle of an intersection at a red light, then running down the subway to my 7:20am train. I hop on the first carriage with a flick of the hair and an awkward retouch of that bloody G-string I have to wear with these tailored work pants. The whiff of a half-eaten bagel and a slight touch of body odour is not a pleasant aroma to get your head in the right space to tackle a job interview. Half way through the journey, post shuffling myself around the hoards, I realise I am receiving a glare from a middle-age man in a fluorescent-orange tradie outfit. I turn naively just turn the other way. Moments later, to my disgust, I look down to see my blouse half open at the top with décolletage and lacy beige bra on show. As an embarrassed scarlet straight forms on my checks, I fumble to fix myself up. My swift exit through the sliding doors onto the platform provides some relief.


Nevertheless, my friends, this was only momentary reprieve. With the human traffic flow of the morning commuters sweeping through the city, I suddenly feel like I too should be powering on. I start my confident catwalk, just like the other business women, getting a small rush from the sound of my clopity-clop high heels. Shit, what the f**k am I doing in this lavish la la land, I don’t know where I am going. I sheepishly go to the side and proceeded to punch the address into maps. Siri begins her guidance and I follow. Now, following Siri in your car is one thing but walking in the city with her on load speaker with everyone else listening in to the monotoned ‘turn left in 100 meters, then take a right-hand turn at Creek Street’ is a little different. Ok, now I realise, I am an official ‘newb’.

Maybe a coffee might help pick me up? Out of the 100 coffee shops I’ve just walked past I enter into Merlo…because, hey, there’s a cute guy at the counter. I come in with a smile. “Hi.” He’s got a nice smile too. “What can I get you?”

“A soy flat white, please.”

“Great, and your name?”

“Madi,” I say half expecting him to say ‘nice to meet you I’m Sam’ or something back.

“Is that all?”

“Oh and maybe your number?” (Alright, yes, now I’m just dreaming)

Once the love story was over I proceeded to get out my wallet to pay. Much to my disgust for the second time today, I see my shirt button has popped open again! I quickly bring my wallet to my chest. You’d think he’d give the coffee for free after that display, but, no, he pay waves my card and I hurry to a table to gather myself. Well, this better not happen in the interview I think to myself.


Arriving at the office just a tad hot and flustered (an understatement), I try to guzzle down a few glasses of water in the conference room before we get started. And so it begins…but, don’t worry, the job interview went a little better that the voyage there.

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