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I really thought I'd fucked up on the interview. The day was 90% in French. ANd while I did real well in high school french, 10 years later, I cannot take part in a debate on globalization (while taking the role of the financiers internationales --the bank). So I made stuff up. I extrapolated meaning and nodded sagely. I wrote a "cheque" for the local industry team and assured them we would help them compete in the global marketplace. I was allowed to speak in English, thank God.

In my one-on-one they asked no computer questions, they asked me in french what I thought about the plan Colombie. Huh? The war against drugs. I mumbled something about it beign a euphemism for funding paramilitary groups-- was that right? Then they asked me about Palestine. Um. I think a lot of stuff about palestine. In 1 minute or less? geez. I sounded like a dolt. I was so sure I did not get in. All the candidates were smart and fresh faced and earnest. I kept cracking jokes (unsurpressable reaction to discomfort).

The next day I flew here to Vancouver where my father picked me up at the airport. We went for lunch at the workers'compensation board cafeteria where Myra works. He set up a housesitting gig for me at his friend's place (an old couple) who have an indoor pool and jacuzzi, a kosher kitchen, a glut of judaica kitsch, and penchant for shades of brown. The air smells good. It is cold, though.

I checked my messages, and somehow I got in.
Jumped up and down and took a jacuzzi. Then I called folks.

But I need to be in Toronto to start packing up my life. I need to sublet my apt (know anyone?) for 6 mos (pets OK). Must chill.

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post #369
bio: adina

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