Ask for Singapore, settle for Belgium

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UPDATE, 5/1:

After all that, Singapore's gone. I mean, went to someone who was probably smart enough not to offer an ambivalent response when asked whether they were interested in the job.

I was ambivalent, and, honestly, I'm ok with this development.

I'm not actually any closer to locking in anything else, however.
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To be honest, I like bidding season. OK: not the ambiguity, per se. Not the hairpin twists and turns, not the "how on earth do I compare a great job in Bujumbura to a crappy one in Kuala Lumpur?" Not the compulsive avoidance of dinner parties because someone will inevitably ask where I'm headed next and not only will I not have a pat 20-second answer, but I'll try to explain the whole system and my place in it and will end up having a mini-anxious breakdown before their very eyes (especially embarrassing when it turns out all they really meant was "if you were going back across to Arlington, I was going to offer you a ride...").

No, not any of that stuff. I guess the best way to put it is...well, have you ever seen TV ads for the Oregon lottery? They're terribly clever, in a sort of insidious way (or, at least, were, eight-plus years ago). The basic patter is this: they show some comical moment of sweet anticipation from everyday life, and then the quirky Northwest grunge-type narrator guy (again, eight years ago, before he got a job with Apple) says "You know that feeling when something really good might happen? Yeah. It's like that." They explicitly do not sell the promise of winning a fortune; they sell the certainty of a pleasant feeling of hope that will in all honest admitted likelihood not be fulfilled but is enjoyable just for being able to sit with an illusion for a couple of days. Sorta sick; sorta brilliant.

Bidding's like that.

Especially because my decision-making for these sorts of things leads me to quick, intensive research with the goal of being able to play a little mental trailer of what everyday life in the place might be like. I create several different versions. ("Ok, brain, play 'Rabat, worst-case scenario,' please. Hmmm. Now 'best-case.' Oh, that was best-case? Well, never mind; cue up Belo Horizonte, please.") Unfortunately, this leads me to discount known quantities in favor of places for which I have to turn the Imaginator up to eleven. I mean, Chiang Mai was on offer. And even though I've often thought to myself that Chiang Mai would've been fantastic if I could only have gone there with K, I let myself be dragged down by inside knowledge like "yeah, but I'd probably have to live on-compound this time, and the compound sucks." By the time I recognized my fallacies (oh, like the housing in Vladivostok is going to suck less just because I have a mental placeholder there based heavily on little more than a Chabon novel, instead of an actual image?), it was too late; the job had gone to someone with more conventional decision making skills. ("Thailand? Cool!")

Another problem is that since I'm bidding, in effect, off-season, there are surprisingly few jobs available at all, and none in my supposed skillset area. I launched an early aggressive campaign for Colombia, but petered out as I got more details (less to do with the FARC, and more to do with my fear of flying, which increases exponentially as the aircraft moves away from the standard commercial jet and isn't flown by my brother. There was a lot of helicopter time in that job description.) I flirted with Seoul -- a very bad place for vegetarians, apparently (who knew?) -- accidentally bid on Jo'burg, and theoretically still have Toronto on the books, though I'm not holding my breath.

My current top contenders are, in fact, Singapore and Belgium. I should probably be pursuing Singapore more vigorously, but can't seem to. It's a shame: I love, love, love the city (which was also the site of one of my more bona fide religious experiences, but another time, another post) and could happily spend a tour just grazing through the food stalls. But the job...in deference to my employer's bots, let's just say it's a glorified gofer job. With more stress. And longer hours. I've run it through the Imaginator a dozen times, and still can't see how I wouldn't be living for the weekends -- assuming I didn't have to work during them.

And, too, there's the vexing issue of quarantine: they have it. Yeah, it's only 30 days -- I won't even consider the six-month places -- but that takes us into the realm of "the cats'll probably be ok," which makes me really uncomfortable. Don't get me wrong: it's Singapore; it'll be the most efficient quarantine station on the planet, and I have no qualms about the cleanliness or modernity of the place. It's just that poor M will think he's being punished for something, and C....well, C has a marked tendency to turn into the spawn of Satan when I'm not around. And she's damned quick. If she isn't deported for filleting an attendant, she'll be taken out and caned for the attempt; I just know it.

Then I think: do people do this? Make life decisions on the basis of the comfort of their pets? Am I overreacting? In the end, though, even if I'm wildly anthropomorphizing and they really wouldn't be all that bothered by the experience, I think I would be.

Which brings us to Belgium. I'd be an economist (of sorts). There are those of you, I know, who know me and would find that prospect frightening. Consider this, however: at the moment, I'm allowed to freely wander around Langley. All of Langley. Which scares you more?

It is not lost on me that Belgium may very well be the Columbus, Ohio, of Europe. Frankly, I spent a week there not all that long ago and can remember only that Brugge was an over-rated ripoff and Brussels was cold and gray. I think. Though that might actually have been Antwerp.

What I'm banking on, of course is that all the difference lies in that little "of Europe" qualifier. So, yeah: really expensive; cold, gray, rainy; and no fresh tropical fruit, domestic staff, or drinks at Raffles. But: great biking, good train connectivity, no quarantine, and a job with at least the potential to not be traumatic. And, really, is there any such thing as bad Europe?

Ultimately, of course, I probably won't be offered both and would be lucky to even get one. In the meantime, new jobs are still appearing on the list every few days. I know the chances are remote that one in my skillset, in Berlin or Tokyo or Bangkok, will be among them. But I'm content to sit with the illusion for as long as they'll let me.