Monday, 2 April 2007

No news is bad news

The interview went okay. I think. I don't think I got the job though.

I've been to enough interviews to guess how things are going. I know I've failed when it comes to a point where the interviewers seem to stop taking an interest. Nothing is said but the atmosphere changes. They "withdraw" and stop prompting me on the answers. It's not said, but they've decided that I'm not what they're after.

That happened on Friday. They were very polite, they answered my questions but I could see that they were already composing the rejection letter. They said I'd hear from them by 'phone before lunchtime the following Monday. This is the following Monday and I've heard nothing.

One thing that bugs me about them is where have they been sending the letters to? I only learned about the interview from a 'phone call. I'm going to have to call up and find out.

I am blowing the interviews. I suspect that the depression could be doing that. At best, I must appear subdued. At worst, bored or uninterested. Combine that with the "Commander Data in drag" appearance caused by the foundation I was using (L'Oreal 16 hour and completely the wrong colour) and I must have appeared unhinged.

I spotted the make up blunder when I went into the toilets in Wolverhampton Beatties. I did a double take. It was dreadful. It sets without powder which I thought was great as powder tends to find every pore and wrinkle. The "dewy" look was perfect.

However, as someone with what is politely referred to as a combination skin type, the foundation needed two layers. The bone dry skin on my cheeks shooped up the moisture like fresh plaster does to paint. Thus the first layer ended up looking chalky, matte and old. The make up just sat without being absorbed at all on the greasy T zone.

A second layer to the cheeks matched up the two areas. I was then left with a thick, nearly opaque, foundation layer in slightly too pale a colour.

I honestly thought that wasn't possible. I'm as pale as white gets without going albino. Usually, I end up getting a foundation colour from the far left hand of any make-up shelf. It usually has a name along the lines of Porcelain, Ivory or Pale Beige. This one was called Porcelain.

By the time I get to the middle of the range (Honey Beige, Bronze Beige or Biscuit) there is a strong contrast between skin and make-up. And I don't look at the Toasted Cocoa, Mocha and Bronze Coffee end of the shelf at all.

I wanted to appear "professional and business-like" so, for the interview in Coventry, I wore funereal clothes and applied full slap. Indoors. Away from any natural light. The cream blusher, lipstick and eye shadow all took ages as well, and, under the dim, glow of an energy saving light bulb, I thought I looked as fabulous as a short, fat, Irish redhead in early middle age could get.

Wrong. So wrong in fact that I'm going into Boots this week and taking up the Max Factor offer of a foundation check. I'm not working this week so what the Hell? It can't get worse.