Get this. I finally walk in the door after spending five hours at the library; I knew it was safe to come home, because Milo had to work at 5. I sit down, sign online…and the phone rings.
It’s work. They want me to come in.
Are they kidding? I ask.
Is it actually Thursday, and my mental calendar has somehow skipped a couple days (which would have explained my no-show interviewee yesterday)?
But I’ve never worked on a Friday before, ever, in my whole history of working there, I explain.
Oddly enough, I’m on the schedule for tonight, they say.
Aren’t they closed tonight? I ask, desperately.
Isn’t there anybody else there? I ask.
Do I need to answer this one?
Because I thought it would look awfully suspicious saying I was busy, after all of my protestations, and because I have a chronic phobia of being fired, I agreed to go in.
Never mind that I’d been woken up inhumanly early for a day off. Never mind that it’s my freaking spring break, too! Never mind that I feel very under the weather and moody today. Never mind that all of my work clothes are in the laundry basket and I have to spray them all with Febreze to make them semi-presentable. I go to work.
Let me tell you, it was fun—and I mean ‘fun’ in the most sarcastic form of the word.
How’d I get put on the schedule for tonight, anyway? They knew I was going to be in town; I wasn’t consulted. I was being discriminated against as an FSCJ student.
On a lighter note, my interviewee did contact me today, and as I’d expected, she’d overslept (she was sick). So she offered to meet me at my convenience sometime next week (and she’ll buy lunch). That’s cool, then.