Boat Shmoat, We're Going to Paris - Part 4

When I got home, Sean was at the dining room table reading the paper. Without saying anything, I handed him the two sheets of paper describing the job I had just applied for. He looked at it and grinned and said, “Did you apply for this?”

Timidly I replied, “Yes. I was worried that you wouldn’t want to move because of Summer Camp.”

He said, “BOAT SHMOAT, WE’RE GOING TO PARIS!”

He stood and we did a little happy dance together, while we giggled with glee. He told me that he didn’t see how anybody could beat me out of getting this job. We chanted together, “We’re going to Paris, we’re going to Paris…”

So, back at work I waited for word on my application. Time passes so slowly at big companies. They move like molasses. When I am waiting like this I think about outside candidates who are waiting to hear from us and don’t understand why it takes so long and eventually give up hope. Bureaucracy is a deadly thing. But, eventually I got a call to come to New Jersey for an interview with Ms. S of Human Resources. I took the train there to make my appointment with her.

She met me and she had the most wondrously manicured nails, which I complemented her on. She became Ms. S of the manicured nails. She acted like the cat that ate the cream as she showed me into her office and treated me like royalty. She explained that if I got the job I would get the full ex-patriot package that would include a car, sizeable salary increase that may even cover my husband’s salary, money to cover my mortgage at home and help for my husband to find employment. I would be flown to Paris with my husband to go house hunting (in Paris, eep!) where a real estate agent would accompany us, and we would meet with a lawyer to begin work on my work visa, plus my husband would meet with connections for a job all at the company’s expense. I felt as if I had won the lottery or something, if only I could land this job. So, I shook hands warmly with Ms. S of the manicured nails and made my way back home.

More time went by. I was contacted by Dr. A’s administrative assistant here in the US and told that Dr. A would be in town and could I come meet with her? But certainly, of course I could. Arrangements were made. I managed to get on the helicopter there. When vice presidents are over from Europe it means there is a big meeting going on and I usually get to fly on what ever is going.

Our company has several of these babies that seat 5 passengers

The thing about the company helicopters, jets and planes is the vice presidents can order them, but then they need to fill them with bodies to keep them, or another vice president with more people can take priority (and the chopper). What I did is make friends with the administrative assistants of all of the vice presidents at my location so that if there was a helicopter going south, they would call me to see if I needed a ride. Few others at my level knew this and of those that did, they did not feel it was their place to be on company air transportation. I say to heck with that. I’m flying! I got to know many vice presidents this way too.

So, I got there, fresh as a daisy and ready for my interview. Dr. A, vice president of Europe and the supervisor for the position I was applying for, was a cardiologist and widow, in her early forties. She was a handsome Parisian woman and always dressed at the cusp of style in clothing and jewelry. I complemented her jewelry even though I thought it was ugly. It was striking though. She thanked me and told me who the artist was that designed it.

Then she put me through my paces in the interview and I passed with flying colors because the initiatives are my job. I had no trouble seeming eager to travel and meet people of differing nationalities, because I already had. She seemed pleased and stood when the interview was over and we shook hands. But, I still had no idea if I had the job or not.

More time passed. I mean like weeks. I put out my tentacles to gather information on other candidates and my competition. All I could find is that it was between me and one other guy from Spain. (Spain?) Finally, Ms. S of the manicured nails called and told me that there would be a final interview in Paris for the last two candidates, myself and the guy from Spain. She said excitedly that Sean was invited too and we would be going for a week. I almost fainted from joy. When I got off the phone with her, I called Sean and told him right away. He was also uber-stoked. I couldn’t contain my joy. How would I wait until it was time to go? The way I usually waited, I shopped for clothes to wear!