The Spot

The thing with insomnia is, you really are convinced you've been up all night. How can you tell the difference, when you stare at the wall when you're awake? But, even though it felt like I was up a lot, I was beyond awake by 7. Ingrid's pre-interview prepping "so, why this firm?" had me forgetting everything I knew. Why this firm? Why me? Give me a job!!!
I did the thing I always do when I'm nervous. I kept myself really busy, unable to leave on time.. or late.. only later. It's weird: the more important the meeting, the later I seem to want to be.
But I was too nervous to stay still, and as a result, actually got there 5 whole minutes early. Success! But wait... how many elevators? 6? The first bank of three go from 2-40, the second bank from 57-80, how do I get to the mid 40's? AUGH!
Turns out there are two floors to leave from. 40-57 left from the basement. This is stupid.
Got ushered into the boardroom, AKA holding tank. Full of articling students and food [note: don't eat the food. Don't touch the food. There's no way you can be sure it won't get in your teeth, you're too nervous to eat it anyway. All that's going to happen is you wandering around with a damp carrot stick in your right hand. The hand you have to shake with].
So I didn't touch the food, and my guide arrived 3 minutes later. Wow, these guys are efficient.
First interview, I was so nervous I was sure I was going...to...die. I started asking every kind of question I could think of, which may have been a mistake. 20 minutes into it, and I'm out of ideas, but no one seems inclined to ask me anything. Lots of work to keep things interesting. I felt like a wrung out rag.
Second interview was lovely. A friendly guy, lots of questions about Vimy, easy easy conversation. [to myself: "is this going well? God, I hope so"].
2 hours have passed and that's... it. A shakey me calls Ingrid for lunch. I attempt to walk back to the apartment, give up and take the metro.
Stage two... dinner.
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