Boldly Going Where No Katt Has Gone for Six Years!

It would probably be appropriate to start the first entry of 2009 with a Happy New Year to one and all.  Hopefully everyone I know in cyberspace had a most excellent time and that are all safely back in your respective homes and tackling the shiny new month and year with great gusto (or hangovers).

If one could assign a date to the start of Silly Season, which I am obviously about to do, 1st December would seem like a good date to stick on the label.  So, for the sake of clarity and your sanity, let’s say my Silly Season started on 1st December.  Of course, being me, I can’t just turn my life around, upside down, give it a good shake and bang its head a couple of times like normal people do.  Nope, I’ve got to through in a few disasters as well.

Bright and early on the 1st I drove to Port Lizzie and collected two bodies, live ones I might add, to keep me company on the trip up to The Land of Putting Pieces Back Together.  It was great fun, road trips always are.  But, of course, disasters always demand their share of attention and this particular one struck with a vengeance.

Somewhere in the Free State I finally paid attention to another driver who was frantically hooting and flashing lights at me.  Pulling over to the side of the road and doing a cursory inspection of Metallica revealed a rather impressive, ominous cloud of black smoke billowing out from one of her tyres.  Of course, we were not alone in our little nightmare.  A very sweet farmer pulled off to check if we were okay.  And he kindly hung around while I organised a tow truck.  And then things went pear shaped…

You see, it’s like this.  I was under the impression the kindly man had left.  And I was sort of close to a minor nervous breakdown (primarily because we all know the stories about how people get ripped off by tow truck drivers and I had two people in the car with me who had obligations to other people too).  And I was sort of in tears too.  And I sort of dug into the file labelled Choice Words NOT to be Uttered in Polite Conversation and started swearing at my car.

Through a lachrymose induced blur I saw the farmer, still very much in our midst and looking highly embarrassed, digging into his pocket.  Despite my protestations, notes came floating passed me as the wind whipped them out of his hands.

All in all, a very embarrassing moment.  And NO, I don’t look pretty when I cry but then no one does (I hope).  The good part was that we got to ride in Metallica while she was being towed on top of a flatbed truck, in a Free State rain storm.  Hey, new experiences are always good.  Fortunately, the mechanic who rescued us was an absolute gentleman about it and the repairs sort of fell within my price range.  About two hours later Metallica was back on the highway, heading to our destination.

We related this tale to a very close friend of mind who shall be henceforth be known as Teddy Bear.  One of my Road Trip companions, let’s just call him The Highlander, ends it with “See, people throw money at her.”   Teddy Bear responds, without missing a beat, ”Ooooh, don’t you want to go and stand on Oxford Road with me?  We could make a fortune.”

No one has any respect for the fact that I was highly embarrassed and would have preferred to FORGET the entire incident.

However, Teddy Bear’s suggestion is beginning to sound rather lucrative.  The hunt for some form of legal income has proven just as frustrating as Metallica’s PMS.  Could someone please explain why you send off your CV to a position advertised in the JobMail, via e-mail and then get an automated response that reads “Thank you so much for applying.  NOW, please send us your CV (again), a copy of your ID, birth certificate, death certificate, marriage certificate, divorce certificate, vaccination certificates, letter of introduction telling us how wonderful you are (written by yourself, naturally – not everyone is Narcissistic) and all certificates proving your qualification BY FAX!

Okay, some points on that.

Why did I bother e-mailing you my CV in the first place?

If I am e-mailing you my CV (as requested in your ad), there is a very strong possibility I DON’T have access to a fax machine.

Why would I want to send you a copy of my ID if I have never met you face to face?  Do you know what people do with copies of IDs, ID numbers, etc?  Better yet, why don’t I just give you my credit card details?

So, to make a long story short (and making you realise you basically just had to skip to the last paragraph or two), I’m up north, looking for a job and Oxford Road is beginning to look VERY lucrative.

Anyone got a job for me?