me was practically perfect as it was, of course, but I just fixed the grammar and a few spelling mistakes… you no how great at spelling I am!
By the way, Rosie, you haven’t been doing a ‘crappy job’, as you so nicely phrased it. I don’t think you understand the difficulty of what you are doing. You are a full-time single mum who has a job as a personal secretary to a very successful businessman. I only changed the words around; I didn’t alter the truth in any way. What you have been doing day after day is incredible. When I come home from work I’m so shattered that I just collapse; I barely take care of myself, never mind another person.
Don’t underestimate yourself, Rosie; don’t play down what you do. When you go into your interviews keep your head held high and feel confident that you are an incredibly hard worker (when you want to be), you have the wonderful ability to work with other people as you are always well liked (except that time when we had to do a group project in school on the planets and you insisted on drawing little men on Mars and little women on Venus over Susie Corrigan’s picture that took her weeks to do in art class, which ended up causing everyone in the group to walk out in protest, leaving just the two of us having to start another one all by ourselves. God, what is it about you and me being together that makes everyone hate us?). You are wonderful, beautiful, smart, and intelligent, and if you knew anything about coronary heart diseases I’d hire you myself.
I’ve suggested adding that you were offered a place in Boston College, which is impressive, so everything will be fine. Just be yourself and they’ll love you.
Just one more thing. I strongly suggest that you apply for a job that you actually like this time. You would be surprised at how easy it is to get out of bed in the morning when you’re going to do something that doesn’t make you want to jump off the top floor of the bus (I was a bit worried when I got that email). How about finally trying to find a place in a hotel? You’ve wanted to do that since you stayed in the Holiday Inn in London when you were seven, remember?
Go for it and let me no how you get on.
From Alex
To Rosie
Subject Boston visit?
Just taking a sneaky break from performing ‘lobotomies’ to send a quick email to see how you’re getting on with the job search. You have one week left till Randy Andy throws you out of his paperclip empire, so there’s still plenty of time, and if by any chance something hasn’t caught your eye by then, I can send a cheque to help tide you over for a while (but only if you want my help).
I would love to go home right now and go to bed, I am so tired. I’ve worked a double shift so I don’t have to get my hands bloody tomorrow; I have the day off, such bliss … The problem is that when I get home Sally will be getting ready to go on her shift. We don’t have the most sociable hours in the world – well, not unless you count talking to people who are rolling around in agony on hospital beds. Sorry, that wasn’t funny.
I’m just tired, and Sally and I don’t really get to spend a lot of time together, and when we do we’re usually so tired we just pass out.
Here’s a good idea. If you come over with Katie and whatshisname then I’ll take a few days off and we can see all the sights, eat out, enjoy ourselves and I can sleep. And I’ll finally get to meet whatshisname. I’ve had a lousy few weeks; I really need your comic relief! Work your magic, Rosie Dunne, and make me laugh.
From Rosie
To Alex
Subject Rosie is here!
Hello there, misery man. Have no fear, Rosie is here! Sorry things have been shit for you lately. I think life likes to do that every now and again: it does a dip and when you feel like you can’t take any more it smooths out again. But until then, my dear friend, I will try to humour you by explaining the events of my life.
OK, firstly you are a bad, bad influence on me. After I read the masterpiece that was my CV, and after I read your letter I felt so motivated and hyped up that I donned my tracksuit, headband, wristbands and jogging shoes (not really) and I raced around Dublin city like a woman on a mission.
You horrible, horrible man. You made me feel like I could do anything, like I could take on the world (never ever do that again) so I proceeded to drop my CV into every single hotel I’ve ever wanted to work in but was always too afraid to try. Shame on you for giving me strength, because it quickly disappeared and I found myself faced with a million billion interviews with a million billion snotty companies that hated me and my cheek for even thinking I could work for them.
So let’s see, which embarrassing interview should I tell you about first? Hmm … there are so many to choose from. Well, let’s start with the most recent, shall we? Yesterday I had an interview to work at the reception in the Two Lakes Hotel – you know, that really posh one in the city? The front of the building is made entirely of glass so you can see the big bright glistening chandeliers dripping down from miles away. At night-time the building looks like it’s on fire, it’s so bright. The restaurant is on the top floor so that you can look out over the entire city. It really is very beautiful.
But it’s also one of those places where there’s a guy (actually, more of a gentleman) dressed in one of those cloak things and a top hat who stands at the door and refuses to let anyone in. It must have taken me about ten minutes just to get inside the door. He just wouldn’t listen, just kept saying that I needed to be a resident. Honestly, how could anybody ever get to be a resident if they don’t let you in the door? Anyway, finally he let me in and I nearly slipped on the marble floor that was so shiny.
The place was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. No, I mean it literally: the woman at reception actually did drop a pin. I heard it. Well, I suppose the hotel wasn’t that quiet: there was the tinkling sound of a piano filtering out from the lounge, there was a water fountain trickling down through the lobby area – the sounds were just so calming. It even had all those giant pieces of furniture that I always loved as a child, like huge mirrors, gigantic chandeliers, doors the length of my apartment wall. When I stepped onto the carpets I thought I was going to bounce up to the balcony, they were so spongy.
I was seated at The Longest Table Ever for the interview. Two men and a woman sat at one end – at least I think that’s what they were; I was so far away I could barely see (I almost felt like asking them to pass the salt).
So I thought that I would try and make myself sound interested in the company, just like you told me to, so I asked them how the hotel got its name as I wasn’t aware of any lakes in that part of the city. The two men started laughing and introduced themselves as Bill and Bob Lake. They own the place. How embarrassing.
So I basically just kept talking about what you told me to say: how I like working as part of a team, that I’m good with people, how I’m very interested in the running of a hotel and about how I’m such a hard worker and always put my mind to working on tasks and always finishing off what I start… bla bla bla. And then I waffled on for what felt like an hour about how I’ve loved hotels since I was a child and have always wanted to work in one. (Well, the luxury is in staying in one but we both know I can’t afford that.)
And then they go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like: ‘So, Rosie, from the time you spent working at Andy Sheedy Paperclip & Co. what have you learned that you think you can bring to the table here
