I was thinking about the first day I went to work…
There I was in my stiff, hot, starchy uniform with;
– A vest top on underneath for security.
– A bottle of rescue remedy in my bra for emergencies.
– A bottle of water for fear I would become dehydrated.
– A pair of old shoes on for comfort.
– A packet of biscuits in my pocket for the possibility of feeling faint.
– A hair band on my wrist to ping for when my anxieties got too much.
– A locker key tied to my belt for worry it would fall from my pocket.
– And a watch for knowing when I could escape.
The weekend gave me time to think. And all I could think was:
A) They gave me an interview out of pity. Also because they have to appear fair to all and seen as I’m classed as disabled they kind of had to. Fair equality and all that.
B) Even if they did offer me an interview for these reasons it meant moot. Either way I was grateful for the experience. I was proud of myself for going through with it. And it proved that I’m stronger then I think.
C) Plus I was pretty sure from my bad answers, terrible honesty and general chit chat that I wasn’t going to get the job so I could forget about it all.