Only the frustrated...

Sunday afternoon my phone rings.

"Lady," a panicked voice down the phone, "I need to book a flight tomorrow and I don't know who to call."

A few days earlier, an email from another colleague, on holiday in Europe.

"Lady, a favour? Can you tell me how long the train to Florence from Rome is?"

And earlier still.

"Lady, I've misplaced my plane tickets. Please can you call them and get them to fax me a copy to my hotel so I can rebook?"

The same colleague who looks at me with a straight face and asks me to get him tickets to a sold out show. I would not be surprised if at one point he was to ask me to step into his shoes when he gets married, or at the very least ensure his shoes are tied and his underwear is clean.

I am frustrated beyond belief with hierarchy and staid business attire, talk of golf and hunting, being a visible minority because of my sex and treated as such. And so when I am called back once, twice, three times for interviews at that great company where I know I will shine, I jump at the opportunity.

And so, 2 months, 3 seperate positions and 6 interviews later it is with a sinking heart when I get the email from that great company about that perfect job to say that I'm not really so perfect for that job after all. But it sure was great to meet me.

There is still rent to pay, and so I smile back at the bankers. Say yes, no, how high, of course, whatever you need...
Make determinations to find another job as soon as I can, head back to the drawing board, put myself back out there.

Because with each setback we all need to pick ourself back up, dust ourselves off, keep ducking and diving until one day it all falls back into place.