Full circle

I have a sort-of advocate in the process of hunting for an onward assignment.

Under normal circumstances, one might not ever interact with one's "agent" -- who, after all, has far more clients than he or she can personally shepherd through the season. With so few spots available right now, however, and my own timeline stretching out uncomfortably toward a barren horizon, I've been talking with mine. A lot.

He's a voluble and affable guy -- let's call him Bernie -- who likes to phone me up and chat, and to dispense an avuncular heads-up on spots that may be coming available, even if he does tend to identify assignments that require fluency in Uzbek, the ability to distinguish among different types of heavy artillery on sight, or both. A few weeks ago, he called and the conversation went thusly:

B: "Hey, E, how's it going?"
E: "Eh. I didn't get that Belgium job."
B: "I'm sorry. I never thought it was a good fit for you, though. Hey, didja see that Managua vacancy I emailed?"
E: "Um, they wanted a fluent, senior-level person with expert knowledge of human resources regulations. To arrive by the end of the month. And I don't speak Spanish."
B: "Well, let's see what we've got. Trade and tariff negotiator? Hm, this one doesn't sound too good: women's something-or-other. Oh, but hey: anti-proliferation compliance special assistant for Central Asia!"
E: "Wait, wait, wait! Bernie -- go back!"
B: "Trade and tariff?"
E: "Women's whatever."
B: "Seriously? Huh. Dunno, something about ensuring that international women's issues stay on [employer's] agenda. But lemme tell you about this Caucasuses gig..."
E: "Bernie! Phone number!"
B: "Ok, ok; it's [...]. But, more importantly, here's the number for the Russian --"
E: "Gotta go! Thanks! You're a rock star! Bye!"

Now, usually, yet another handicap I have in the jobs process is that I tend to be a bit diffident when making first contact. Abject self-promotion just seems so gauche. And, frankly, I usually am pretty ambivalent about most of these vacancies. But this cover letter was a miniature masterpiece of efficient persuasion. My phone rang about three minutes after I pressed "send." My interview was twenty minutes after that. There was no doubt in anyone's mind as to whether this was my job. (Interviewer: "To start with, I have to warn you about the amount of writing for the media that this job entails." E: [swoons].)

And yet...argh. It's been several weeks. Talks are ongoing, in fits and starts, but the obstacles -- timing, politics in the recalcitrant lame-duck political appointee sense -- are largely out of my control. I think that if I could white-knuckle it for another six to eight weeks, the job would be mine. But, at a certain point Bernie has the authority to assign me to whatever Mongolian military detail he thinks is somehow right up my alley, and, even if I manage to hold him off, should any of a number of nearly routine potential mishaps ensue, there's a bunk in Diyala with my name on it. Regrettably, the odds of success are too low; the stakes, too high.

There's another DC job that I'd probably be completely nutty about were it not for the greater gravitational tug of the chance to serve as the feminist noodge of my organization (officially, I mean). I'm still in the running for that one, too.

And today, a position opened up in which the timing, for once, isn't too bad, and I've already had positive contact with the people involved, and it's in...wait for it...Belgium.

I know I haven't actually gone through the entire list of worldwide vacancies and am now making a second pass, but it sure feels that way.