Thwarted

My new direction contains a few more bumps in the road than I expected. I was certain that once I expanded my options I’d have a job within a week. A week has passed. I don’t have a job. I’m feeling thwarted. Very little seems to be turning out properly at the moment. Some days it’s comical. Some days it’s downright depressing. I was revelling in the former yesterday and am tending towards the latter today.

The most recent example is my attempt to keep pursuing front-of-house theatre work by sitting for the Responsible Service of Alcohol certificate. I was determined to take the course as soon as my money completed its electronic journey from the US to Australia. My frighteningly diminishing funds cleared on Thursday, and I promptly registered online for the course being taught on Saturday.

My name wasn’t on the list when I arrived.
“Oh, I don’t see myself on the list,” I said, pleadingly seeking assistance from the woman manning the sign-in table. After a thorough verbal investigation of how I’d registered, she perkily told me that the course was full but I’d be allowed to take it if someone else didn’t turn up.
“But I paid online already,” I protested, very reluctant to have arisen early on a Saturday and made the 20 minute trip into the city centre for no reason.
“Did you get a confirmation?”
“They sent me a text.” Drat. I’d thought that was a bit suspicious at the time. Apparently my suspicion was correct.
“Well, we won’t be able to give you your certificate until we’ve verified that you paid for the course,” she said. “What we can do is have you sit the course today and call on Monday to make sure your payment’s gone through. Then you can come pick it up once we have all the details.”
So instead of walking out with confirmation of having passed the RSA like everyone else in the class, I have to spend Monday tracking it down.

That incident, had it been isolated, would not have ruffled me much. But it’s another addition to a host of small problems (many involving the Internet and payment for it) that, taken together, are making me increasingly frustrated and decreasingly confident. Or maybe, that incident, had I a job, would not have ruffled me much. I’m fairly certain the responses I’ve been receiving from my efforts are the main thing that’s irking me.
“Someone will call you back.” (I have yet to receive a call back when told I would).
“If they were going to call you they would have already.”
“We’ll contact you in another 10 business days to let you know if you’ve been shortlisted."
“Your application was unsuccessful.”
Or no response at all, which is most common.

Given all the piddly frustrations and the sheer stasis of the job search so far, I expect that something has to look up soon. While it didn’t include a concrete offer of employment, last week wasn’t a complete wash. I received a call from a temp agency (the only one of the seven to which I’ve applied and follow-up-called to contact me) and went in for an interview with them on Thursday. It was a surprisingly enjoyable experience, since I’m still going through that initial infatuation with Australian phrases. “Hi, how you going?” the receptionist chirped cheerily as I walked in. This set the tone for my jovial interview a few minutes later. The interviewer frequently interjected, “Oh, good-O!” if I said something that pleased her. This infatuation also factored into the RSA course. Hearing “GOATee” instead of “goaTEE,” “trollied” instead of drunk and other random words made the class far more entertaining than it probably should have been.

Tomorrow marks the beginning of a new week. My fourth in Sydney. I haven’t given up yet. And some good things have been happening as well. But it’ll be easier to focus on those when I’m running on more than four hours of sleep.