I stare at a photo of Ryan’s smug face on Facebook and want to punch the screen of my laptop. I’ve tried contacting him several times since I left, but he keeps ignoring all my calls and messages. For now, the only way I can cope is to erase him from my life. I click Unfriend on my old boss’s profile and open another tab so I can check the status of my new job applications.
It’s been four weeks since I landed back in Australia, and I’m no closer to becoming re-employed. When your previous place of work is unwilling to provide a professional reference, it makes it hard for anyone to trust you.
I haven’t spoken to Emmet either, apart from a quick text once I touched down in Brisbane. His impulsive nature (which I found sweet but wildly misguided) meant that he’d found a new girlfriend before I’d even left Vancouver—and I want to give them both some space to build a meaningful connection without me getting in the way.
The only upside to this whole sorry situation is that I have a bit of money saved. I’d been planning to travel down the west coast of the US right before I was let go, so I’ve been living off my travel fund since I returned. It won’t last forever, though, and I’m running out of businesses in Brisbane looking for tourism directors.
My Airbnb is paid up until Monday, four days away. After that, I’ll have to find somewhere else to stay. I can’t afford to remain where I am.
I scroll through the list of job applications and note, with a heavy feeling settling in my chest, that they have all been rejected.
It’s been over five years since I last worked in any other job, and the only qualifications I obtained before that were making coffee and working in retail.
I change my job search to include retail. I’m not sure I want to inflict my rusty barista skills on anyone just yet.
A huge list of very unappealing positions appear on the screen.
Sales consultant required for Australia’s fastest-growing business in the bicycle industry.
I know absolutely nothing about bikes, other than I owned one in Vancouver. It was a cool orange beach cruiser I used to ride around English Bay and up to Stanley Park. A tear rolls down my cheek as I move on to the next listing.
Retail assistant required for a leading gold buyer. Casual position initially, with view to a permanent role based on performance.
Translation: we have no intention of making you permanent but want to attract candidates who won’t leave us after two weeks of crappy pay.
Moving on.
Sales assistant for old-school pawnbrokers. Must be available seven days a week.
‘Old-school’ pawnbrokers? What does that even mean? I wasn’t aware there was a new school of pawnbroking that was less superior.
And then something catches my eye. I think it must have been put in the wrong category by accident.
Night manager required for a luxury five-star resort in the Whitsundays. Must have tourism experience. Immediate start.
I skim through all the requirements, but nothing in the listing says that the experience in tourism can’t come from an office-based director’s role in another country.
I quickly fill out the application and send it off, trying not to get my hopes up in the process.
Working in the Whitsundays would be perfect. I even have a bit of knowledge of the area thanks to a marketing campaign I did for some Great Barrier Reef tours while I was in Canada.
But if I don’t get this job, I might look even farther afield. I only returned to Brisbane because it’s where I’ve spent most of my life, and I’m familiar with its geography. I do have people I used to be friends with here—and my father lives nearby too—but I have no desire to see anyone.
Actually, that’s not entirely true.
There is one person I wouldn’t mind seeing again.
Seb.
Except it’s been over four years since we last spoke, and I’m pretty sure he would have forgotten I existed by now. But I can’t even check, because he doesn’t have any social media accounts, and his old phone number doesn’t work anymore.
It’s probably for the best.
I’m not sure how long I sit there daydreaming, but I suddenly see a notification on my screen.
Oh my God. The employment agency advertising the night manager position has responded already. And they want to meet me!
I quickly reply, saying I’m available anytime and anyplace. I’m sure there’s a rule about not looking too eager when applying for a job because it makes you seem desperate, but I don’t care. I am desperate. And if they’re responding that quickly to my application, they might be desperate too.
It could be a match made in heaven.
***
I stand in the lobby of the building where my interview is due to be held and examine the business listings on a board mounted on the wall. Diamond Recruiting is on the twenty-third floor. I enter the elevator and look for the button with twenty-three on it, but there isn’t one. It only goes up to twenty-one. Is this some kind of a joke?
And then I notice a small piece of paper taped beside the numbers.
For floors 22 – 25, take the service elevator on Level 21.
Okay, then. As an ex-tourism director, I learned that visibility is everything, so a business that can’t afford an office somewhere easily accessible isn’t a good sign.
Still, I’ll reserve judgment until I’ve actually seen the place.
I arrive at the twenty-first floor and spy another piece of paper nearby with the word ‘elevator’ and an arrow pointing to my left. It looks handwritten, and I wonder if this is some weird ploy to lure unsuspecting people to a secret location and then trick them into investing in a pyramid scheme.
Or worse.
I contemplate turning around and leaving again but chastise myself for letting my imagination get the better of me.
I locate the second elevator and take it up to the twenty-third floor.
And find myself in an almost completely empty office. My sense of unease ratchets up a notch.
But then I notice a woman in the back corner who strongly resembles Emma Thompson’s character in Harry Potter, with masses of frizzy hair exploding out of her head, and a pair of thick black-framed circular glasses enlarging the eyes behind them.
“Welcome!” she says, hurrying over and sticking out a hand. “I’m Birdie. Apologies for the mess. We’ve only just moved in.”
“We?” I ask, peering around.
“Okay, you got me. It’s just me for the moment. I recently left another employment agency and decided to set out on my own. And what a coup it was to land the recruiting contract for Coco Bay Island Resort! Stick that up your arse, Faye Matthews!”
“Um, right.”
She covers her mouth and chuckles. “Sorry, that was highly unprofessional of me. But you’d understand if you met Faye. She’s like that woman in The Devil Wears Prada. You know, the one played by Meryl Streep?”
“Oh. I’m afraid I haven’t seen the movie.”
“Never mind, never mind. Come and take a seat. Let’s get this ball rolling.”
“Sure.”
I follow her over to a desk that is completely bare, except for a salmon-coloured mug with a picture of Nicholas Cage’s face on one side. She points to a collapsible chair in front of us. “Please.”
I oblige and watch as she sits down on a green fit ball on the other side of the desk and starts bouncing up and down.