Update! I have a new job. After a hellish year of upheaval and uncertainty, I am back in the City and loving it.
My new boss, S, is brilliant. When I arrived at the company, full of cynicism and convinced that all men over the age of 38 (it’s a rough estimate) in the workplace hate me and seek to destroy my career, I was only on a temporary contract. On Day 3, S offered me the job permanently and cancelled all remaining interviews with the other candidates. S, of course, is gay. He is also on a low-carb diet, used to train with one of my trainers at the gym, firmly believes that daily physical exercise is the key to a focused mind, and nodded sympathetically when I complained to him that the photo on my security pass makes me look as though I have just had a very obvious botox treatment.
"What are your weaknesses?" he asked me.
"I am very scatty," I told him. (It’s true; as my friend S says, I can write a business plan, but I can’t dress myself.)
"Yes, you are scatty," he smiled. "But you’re also very comfortable with yourself – you are true to yourself and don’t try to be someone you’re not, and I really love your quirkiness."
"Tell me," I said. "How did you manage to discern my scattiness after only 3 days? I was, after all, on my best behaviour."
"Well," he said. "This morning, when you were showing the Chief Exec into my office, you had a bright pink post-it note stuck to your breast, and you didn’t realise."
Oh, yes, the post-it note. I remember sticking it to the front of my dress when I had no free hands, intending to throw it away before I entered his office. Written on it was a reminder to myself to book a session of colonic hydrotherapy.
"That post-it note got you the job," he chuckled.
