On the road to Mandalay
Or Yangon; whatever.
As I'm sure was totally predictable to everybody except me, there was a hyperurgent "COME TALK TO ME!" email waiting on my computer this morning from the guy who makes the decisions about whom to send to Burma.
I forwarded it to K, with an explanatory note reading "oops!"
Then I locked myself in the super-secure briefing room and hyperventilated for about 20 minutes.
But, y'know, this is an interview. And I chronically blow interviews. Something about being freakishly short and lacking any and all gravitas; I dunno, it's been explained to me a few times. And I'm below-grade for the job, which rightfully (supposedly) has to be given to anyone at-grade who asks for it.
I want Burma, sort of. Through the magic of September matriculation, I could put in my two years(ish) over there, apply for grad school next year, and begin only a year after I would have if I went ahead with the application now. It'd be like getting a year of interestingness free. And how could I turn down unknown adventure without, um, knowing what it is I'd be turning down? And think of the book fodder...
I don't want Burma, sort of. Constant international moves thwart personal growth, kill friendships, and stunt the emotional depth that comes with having a sense of community. I've reached the age at which I want to nest. I'd probably have to either marry or split up with K, neither of which I really want to do. And just thinking of all the stuff that'd have to be done to get there, to say nothing of two years of very tense 90-hour weeks doing a job I'm marginally qualified to do, plus learning Burmese in my spare time, makes me feel completely exhausted.
But, hey. It's just an interview.
As I'm sure was totally predictable to everybody except me, there was a hyperurgent "COME TALK TO ME!" email waiting on my computer this morning from the guy who makes the decisions about whom to send to Burma.
I forwarded it to K, with an explanatory note reading "oops!"
Then I locked myself in the super-secure briefing room and hyperventilated for about 20 minutes.
But, y'know, this is an interview. And I chronically blow interviews. Something about being freakishly short and lacking any and all gravitas; I dunno, it's been explained to me a few times. And I'm below-grade for the job, which rightfully (supposedly) has to be given to anyone at-grade who asks for it.
I want Burma, sort of. Through the magic of September matriculation, I could put in my two years(ish) over there, apply for grad school next year, and begin only a year after I would have if I went ahead with the application now. It'd be like getting a year of interestingness free. And how could I turn down unknown adventure without, um, knowing what it is I'd be turning down? And think of the book fodder...
I don't want Burma, sort of. Constant international moves thwart personal growth, kill friendships, and stunt the emotional depth that comes with having a sense of community. I've reached the age at which I want to nest. I'd probably have to either marry or split up with K, neither of which I really want to do. And just thinking of all the stuff that'd have to be done to get there, to say nothing of two years of very tense 90-hour weeks doing a job I'm marginally qualified to do, plus learning Burmese in my spare time, makes me feel completely exhausted.
But, hey. It's just an interview.
3 Comments:
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Anonymous said...
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- 6:16 AM
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esquiver said...
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- 9:09 PM
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Anonymous said...
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- 3:46 AM
Post a CommentHA HA HA! Your claim that you interview poorly because you are short is a copy of something I said about you back in the day. Someone was interviewing me about your generic moral character, and I began by saying you were very smart. The interviewer said that everyone began by saying how smart you are, and I suggested that part of your problem was being that you are a shortish female-type, people don't expect you to be as sharp as you are--so your smartness always comes as a surprise. The interviewer's response was non-commital, which was WAY more polite than your response when I told you the story (on some days, my ear still rings from the memory).
And I thought that's why you were going to the gym: Get rid of all that extra gravitas, if you know what I mean.......
Yeah---why would you want to go to Burma? I mean, look at all the people who were in Eastern Europe when the communist governments fell. They must have been bored shiftless, if you know what I mean. Forget having a front row seat on history--you have a chance to move a couple of the levers. You'd hate that....Better go on to write a B.S. dissertation about the effect of capital punishment on slavery and malicious use of crystal balls in elizabethian England. That would be way more fulfilling.....
And what's all this suggestion that your days of get up, stand up are over? My ass, and you all know how big an ass that is! And when was the last time you let being 'marginally qualified' for a job slow you down? I can only think of about ONE job you had where you were even THAT qualified. You've never known what the hell you were doing, or what was going on, but you always jumped in and not only did it, you kicked ass and took names just for drill (you also complained like hell the whole time, but we're all used to that). 'Learning Burmese'--give me a break. You telling me that everyone who goes to Burma gets all fluent? Not happening. Remember that other language you learned a little bit of? And that wonderful week we spent together (which sounds way, WAY, WAY^n (math joke) hotter than it was), and you tried to talk to the woman wearing a sweater shirt on a blistering hot day--and she wouldn't talk back to you? That's why you use an interpreter.
You being worried about 'stunting emotional depth.' What the hell is that, coming from you? The woman who had a fake marriage and a real divorce? You have always claimed to be an emotional yogurt brain (my word), but then you always break on through to the other side.
Let me tell you a story about this friend of mine....We were all chatting about how crappy our lives are (I tried my hardest, but still did not win. DAMN IT!). this friend of mine told me her daughter was flunking out of high school, but instead of writing her paper on the Scarlet Letter, she was playing the lead in one of the school plays. I told my friend that her daughter would have the rest of her life to write B.S. crap, but when would she have the chance to play the lead in a play?
Esquivalience--I'm 47, and have run 20 marathons and two ultramarathons. Why? Not 'becuase it's there,' but because I can. Why should you go to Burma? Because in your heart, you know you can do this.
In the immortal words of Gene Autry: 'To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.' Actually, it was Steve Prefontaine. God damn it, you go do that interview, and give it your all. If you don't get the job offer, well--then you know it wasn't because you didn't try. And if you DO get the offer, you can always turn it down...based on the K-man, or whatever else you have going on.
But you go to Burma, I promise you I'll run the Rangoon marathon--even if I have to organize it myself and I'm the only person running it.
I remain:
A Committed Backer of the Esquivalence,
Bill Abendroth nee Roth
PS to Esquivalience's niece: Don't be a potty mouth like your Aunt and everyone she knows. I don't know why you shouldn't, but for some reason, people just don't like it.
Bill,
Aw. See, folks, that's why we don't ban Bill.
But, dahlink, you misremember: I did not tear you a new one because you mused to a security agent that maybe the reason everyone expected me to be so dumb was because I was so short.
No, mein Schatz, I tore you a new one because when a security agent asked you, "does she seem like the sort of person who would be interested in the overthrow of the US Government," you, Cupcake, you answered, "Well, she's interested in evolutionary psychology, so I guess you could say she's well-read in gorilla warfare."
Gorilla warfare. This, to an agent who, bless him, interviewed former neighbors who lived on a cul-de-sac, went 'round to all *their* neighbors, and then ended up re-ringing the bell on the first place. And whom I could not swear is not, to this day, in that pleasant little Portland subdivision, among the whispering pines, doing laps still.
But I'll go to that interview tomorrow, and I'll try, even though the new Iraq policy (more on that later: I was in that meeting today that AP and Reuters are now reporting on (and why must the BBC continue to get important things wrong? I'm a believer, but my faith is starting to suffer.)) is driving potential Iraq draftees, by the scores, toward Rangoon as if it were Melbourne.
Actually, I'd be willing to go just to hold you to that promise of organizing the Rangoon marathon. Might I suggest you have it start in, say, Tachilek, and end, in, say, Thailand? You'll get a lot more takers.
Kisses,
-E.
Yee-hah! I'm with Bill (but I ain't runnin' no marathon in million-degree tropical heat).
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