A publisher calls

I hope that when I begin to type this, my phone rings. I hope I am interrupted by the shrill, alarming vibrations of my decrepid iPhone. I hope she rings me soon, she is 11 minutes late; 11 minutes over our specified time. I should’ve just answered the questions at 11:11 am, when she first rang me. Even though I was half asleep at the time, I should have rubbed my eyes sat up and talked. What if she doesn’t ring back. What if that was my chance? What if I never hear from Templar publishing again?

This is too much, I’m kicking myself now. Why didn’t I get up at ten, then I would have been extremely ready for vocal correspondence. But no, I was tired, no I was suffering from the ‘Just one more minute’ syndrome, that comes over all of us on the 27th of December, am I alone in my laziness here?

Ring, ring, ring. PLEEEEAAASSSSEEEEEEEEEEEEE! A watched pot never boils, blah blah blah. Good grief my heart is pounding, what if they’ve given the internship to someone else, some one more awake than I, someone who was up with the post-Christmas larks. She probably thinks I’m some hung over, overindulging imbecile. But she sounded so nice and she understood it was the Christmas season, so she let me have a few more minutes. Except that when the phone call ended, I leapt out of bed (literally leapt) and thundered down the stairs, dressing gown flailing in the stagnant, damp morning air, to tell my Dad. So really I was ready then to answer questions about my application. But I postponed it until 2 pm so that I could prepare, or rather scare myself rigid.

Why isn’t my phone ringing? Seriously, for once I actually have signal in this barren house. Ring, please.

She’s probably come back from lunch and is making herself a cup of tea. Yes, that must be it. Maybe I should do the same. No I can’t risk leaving the phone unoccupied or disturb the three steady bars I have. Maybe I should do something really inconvenient. Like go to the toilet, I could do with a wee actually, no but imagine if she rang when I was on the loo, the echoe of tiles would give me away and what would she think of me then. No I can’t do that. I could clean my teeth for a second time this morning? Or I could leg it down stairs grab my 15th Guylian chocolate and run back up. No, it’s all too risky. But seriously, she is 21 minutes behind schedule.

Maybe right now as I type, she is plumping down into her wheely chair, checking her emails, having a wide yawn, tucking her hair behind her ears, leaning towards the phone, typing in 075******** and lifting it slowly to her ear (she’s in absolutely no rush, clearly) and pressing the numbers against the line of her jaw, marking them slightly with a hint of orange, her foundation laying foundations on the subtle digits and its starts to ring….only it doesn’t.

RING ME! NOWWWWWWWWWWWW!

Although maybe I said 3 pm? Suppose I did? I clearly remember looking up at my clock and think of the possibility of 3 pm  but I could have sworn that I said 2 pm. I hope I didn’t sound like I was asleep. This is torture. It’s really cold in my room and I don’t want to sit here all afternoon long. I want to be curled up by the fire with my books and the beautiful knowledge that I have another glorious publishing internship to complete.

Maybe I should ring them?

I really hoped that by writing this I’d be interrupted mid flow and I’d have to leave off like this:

It’s ringing! Wish me luck.

But no such luck, should I hold my phone, will that enhance the likelihood of a call. Maybe I should get up and look in the mirror. I might put my jumper on actually. Yes, I’ll do that.

Jumper is on. I moved the phone but lost 2 bars of signal. Still no calls. Music? Phone call related music?

This isn’t inducing any phone activity. I swear this is the longest half an hour of my life. Stop chatting to your work colleagues and give me a bell. Come on, it’s the 27th of December, I have telly to watch and chocolate to eat.

‘See what’s the complication, its only conversation.’ The Feeling sum it up so perfectly, except that I’m not her-best-time-buddy-that-she-couldnt-wait-to-see.

‘Where are the plans we made for 2(pm)?’ Eh?

This is annoying now. Come on EE, if you can create 4G then surely, surely you can supply me with more than one measly bar of signal. Oooh they must have heard me, 2 bars!

37 minutes late. It’s a joke now.

Arrrrrrr! OOOOHHHHH! She’s ringing!

***

Ok, well that was absolutely terrifying. She rang and of course Maroon 5’s payphone was blaring out of my laptop. So whilst juggling the phone, I uttered an extremely jovial ‘Hullo!’ and tried hastily to stifle Adam Levine whinings about how he’s spent all his change on some woman. Why someone like him doesn’t have a mobile, is beyond me.

I didn’t know that this call was going to be an interrogation. Yes, you read correctly. I was nervous and probably spoke too fast and too much, rambling on about how children grow up to fast blah blah blah and need good wholesome literature. Cringe. Cringe and more cringing. I am an idiot and I suck at interviews.

The ‘Tell me what you know about Templar?’ had to be the worst question of all though. I totally froze and mumbled something about their charity work and ‘Ology’ books. And in that moment when I frantically scrolled through their home page searching for something to say I realised I had most probably failed. It felt exactly like my first driving test when I was merrily swerving along, trying to get round a bus without acknowledging the lorry coming towards me. The examiner screeched on his breaks and we came to a hasty but safe stop, intact but knowing I had without a doubt failed. That’s what it felt like, her ‘hmmm’ said it all.

But she proceeded to taunt me with what the internship would entail and when our 15 minute chat was up, she said; ‘Ok, well I’ve got some other people to talk to but I will get back to you by email if that’s ok?’

Well,  I suppose it will have to be.

Yeah and it will read something like this;

Dear Rebecca,

Thank you for your application , we really appreciate your enthusiasm. Unfortunately on this occasion we are unable to offer you an internship with us.

However we will keep your CV on file for the next six months.

Yours Sincerely,

Templar.

Crap, crap, crappity crap. The thing is that I actually researched them a little, but under the pressure, my mind went blank.

Please give me a chance, please!

Watch this space.

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