Waiting . . .

It’s the worst kind of waiting. At least the worst kind of waiting I’ve encountered this week.

Last month, I applied for a different job. Last week, I actually had an interview for said job. Now I’m in that limbo, post-interview, pre-news (good or bad). I don’t like it.

You watch for those little tells. You seek a clue in everything possible. Did they call the boss? Did they not call the boss? Are they the type who won’t call the boss because the resume and interview were so impressive, or are they not bothering to call the boss because the applicant was, obviously, runt of the litter? Am I about to start a new journey, or continue on the current track, a little battered, knowing that expectations on the new track were not met?

I probably should not have read Barbara Ehrenreichs’ Bait and Switch, in which she describes nine months she spent as a professional similar to me trying to find a job – and the resultant despair. Hope without guarantees, as Tolkein would put it. Her book is good, but depressing. I certainly do not recommend reading it if you’re between careers, as I was in 2005.

I wait for the phone to ring. I wait for that tell-tale e-mail. I wait for the clouds to depart and for God to descend in a fiery chariot. I wait to do the chant Homer Simpson does when he gets his first job at the nuclear power plant:

I got the job! I got the job! Only in America could I get a job!

Here I sit, one generation of Simpsons . . .