So, I finally had the job interview at the bakery/coffee shop today, which wasn't so much an interview as a two-hour trial period. I was originally supposed to show up Monday, but then they called me and chaged it to 7am on Tuesday. Which, I thought, was cool, no problem, whatever.
Went to bed (relatively) early on Monday (midnight? That's like... really early...) and set the alarm for 5:30, leaving enough time for breakfast, a shower, and looking up what tram to take, which I had neglected to do last night (figuring there'd be enough time in the morning). So far so good.
Of course, when the alarm did go off at 5:30, I just turned it off and went right back to sleep, to wake up again an hour later. You know how when you oversleep, you go right from "just five more minutes" to being wide awake within a nanosecond when you see what time it is? Yeah. I practically jumped from my bed right into the kitchen (which is quite an accomplishment, my flat isn't that small) to start the coffee, and somehow I must have dressed myself mid-jump, because I have no conscious memory of doing that.
Everything else is kind of a blur until the moment I almost left the house five minutes later with only one shoe on and the toothbrush still hanging out of my mouth.
Bless the genius who invented smartphones, because that way I could check for the right tram while waiting for the lift.
And you know what? I was outside the door of the shop by 6:58. Proving that I can be really fast when I want to.
So. The first thing you should know about me, in case you don't already, is that I have a very high tolerance for dirt. So when I tell you that I stepped through the door and thought "Holy shit, this place is a mess," ... well. But hey, it's a job and if it pays the rent, whatever. Or so I thought.
First I was (ironically, almost) put on cleaning duty, meaning I spend a good twenty minutes scrubbing grime off the filthiest baking trays I have ever seen in my life.
After that initial test of my endurance, I was then deemed worthy to be put into direct contact with the customers. Oh, this was when the fun really started, though. I must say that the customers' racist jokes about the Turkish family who had apparently owned the place before already annoyed me quite a bit, but when the boss actually joined in... let's just say it didn't really make me warm up to the idea of working there.
I was then informed by a very drunk old guy who smelled like he hadn't showered since 1998 that he used to work as an underwear model and that if I ever needed to get laid, I should feel free to give him a call. ... Um. No. Thank you. He then went on talking about several of his special "skills" while I just kept thinking to myself "the simple fact that there's a pair of scissors right there next to you on the counter does not mean it's a good idea to perform an emergency operation on a customer, no matter what a disgusting old tosser he is." According to the boss, though, it's a regular occurrence there. Ooookay. Good to know.
Following that, the boss decided to teach me how to use the coffee maker, offering helpful instructions such as: "For a large cup of coffee, press the large cup and then 'coffee.' For a small cup of coffee, press the small cup and then 'coffee.' For a large cup of cappuccino, press the large cup and then 'cappuccino.' For a small cup of cappuccino, press the small cup and then 'cappuccino.'"
After I had promised her I had remembered everything correctly, she 'taught' me how to use a tin opener so I could get the soup ready. Once I had accomplished this very demanding task, I was even allowed to make sandwiches.
Next up, the boss decided to test my knowledge on things like the wheat to rye ratio in dark bread, and yeah, I guess I didn't do too well, because first of all, I have no idea, and also, I was a little distracted by something large and brown-ish with eight legs poking its antlers out from under the refridgerator. It all pretty much went downhill from there.
Eventually, she told me she didn't believe I had enough professional experience, at which point I may or may not have said something along the lines of "I didn't know you needed a Master's degree to sell donuts." (Impulse control. I'm working on it.)
Was sent home fifteen minutes early with a "we'll let you know." Right. Uh... I think not.
I think I'm going to have a look at more job ads now. At least it was interesting. :)