Funny story

I got a call from the agency this morning.  An opportunity arose, and they thought of me immediately, because of where it was, and the impeccable timing that I would be available again right as they were looking.  The moment I heard the words “convenient location,” and “Are you familiar with . . . ” I literally cringed, because I feared the name of the company that they were about to say.

Y’see, I applied at this company, and it’s currently #1 on my list of places I’d want to work, primarily for the location, but also because the job listing, and my job duties at this place would fit me like OJ Simpson’s glove (perfectly, damn it).  One of the good things applying for this company was the fact that I had never freelanced there before, so a finder’s fee would not be come into play if I were to make it through.  But anyway.

Are you familiar with [name of my #1 choice company]?

Yeah, big shocker.

Long story short, I told them that I was indeed familiar with company X, and that I would love to get my foot in the door with them and do some work for them, but if doing a freelance gig is going to jeopardize my chances at getting the full-time position with them, I would regrettably, have to decline on this freelance opportunity.

I didn’t really think my very first opportunity was going to result in this, but looking back, I can’t really say I’m surprised.  In a perfect world, the agency peeps will find a way to convince company X to agree to a contract-to-perm situation, bring me in as a freelancer to give me a test drive, find out they fucking love my awesomeness, and transition me into full time with little concern to the correlating finders fees.

But the world ain’t perfect, so this is probably not going to happen.  So it’s hoping for the best on my own accord, with clenched anoos and fingers crossed.

Oh goody

Just as I’ve really been able to settle into a nice routine of working out, sleeping sensibly, doing boring work while affording myself a lot of time for brogging or other personal writing endeavors, all while getting paid well, slightly seeing a little bit of financial breathing room, and dealing with a 30-mile commute that believe it or not, doesn’t suck . . . I find out today that tomorrow’s my last day, barring an apocalypse of work that would warrant needing me to stay longer.