I think what upsets me most about Steve Irwin's death is that he was one of the few people I was able to impersonate. At present, I can think of no other impersonation I can do where I wouldn't have to tell you who I was impersonating.
I have come to the conclusion that the child bride hates adventure. Or, at least, she hates the kind of adventure that involves showing up to job interviews with seconds to spare. She was swearing like a Welsh Valleys native (who beat out sailors and longshoreman pretty much any day of the weak) as we hurried our way to Ysbyty Llandochau on Monday.
Interesting side note, no one seems to be able to agree on the proper spelling of the large Penarth-based hospital we went to. Signs and maps offered multiple spellings in both English and Welsh. I spotted Llandochau, Llandoche, Landochau, Llandough, Landough, and Landoc.
Whatever it's called, we arrived there just in time. Rachel scurried off to interview and I wandered around the hospital corridors for about an hour and a half. I had a surprisingly long conversation with an old bloke about the fact that it was too hot in the hospital and there weren't enough toilets, then I went and stood in the rain.
Meanwhile, it was pretty much made clear to Rachel in the interview that she wouldn't get the job because she doesn't have immediate experience within the British system. She was applying for a temporary and part-time job, and they were looking to find someone who could hit the ground running, to use insufferable business cliché.
We were pretty worn out by it on the way home. The child bride has gone through this four times now -- interviewing and being rejected -- and as time wears on you start to see only the worst-case scenarios. Presently we are living on credit cards and family charity, all the money we had saved before coming here long gone. So, there's that feeling that it will all cave in on itself. And then I don't know what would happen. Just as this week's column deals with the fact that I don't know what I'm doing, I haven't a fucking clue what I would do if this didn't work. It's sort of like George W. Bush's war strategy:
"What happens if we lose?"
"We won't lose."
Except that far fewer people die as a result of my learning Welsh. There was old man Higgins, sure, but he had it coming.
The job rejection is hard on Rachel, who, unlike me, hasn't built her persona on consistent failure. It really kicks at her confidence.
And it's hard on me because, you know, I'm the husband. Traditional roles bollocks, but there is still that feeling that it's my fault and that I've put us in this position and if I were any kind of man at all, I'd fix it. This led to my drinking all the beer in the house and getting really angry with myself that I can write and write and write and write, but I'm not making money from it. I am prolific but penniless.
Rachel heard from the hospital today and they made it official, she didn't get the job. But the people she interviewed with were so impressed by her that they are eager to find a place where she would fit. They said they were particularly impressed by her enthusiasm. Perhaps that invigorating dash to the hospital was helpful after all.
Ideally, she will be employed by Christmas. I think we can hold on until then.
The child bride and I are hosting our first guests tomorrow. Koss and a sundry Jew crew will be staying over Wednesday night. I mention religion only to set up the comment Koss made on the phone last night.
She told me she and her crew were headed to my beloved Portsmouth, and I told her all the good things I could think of, but couldn't dance around the fact that it's not the prettiest town on Earth. For a place with such an incredibly rich history, it is architecturally no more inspiring than, say, Fargo, N.D. This is because it was bombed to shreds in World War II.
"So, when you walk down a Portsmouth street and run into yet another architectural embarrassment, just know that at the heart of it, Nazi Germany is to blame," I said.
"Right," Koss quipped, "because I need another reason to hate the Nazis."
Oh Texas, you make me so proud.
(Link sent to me by my dad)
I found this strangely fascinating.