Drowned Rat

So you have an interview. You pull on your smartest outfit, attempt to brush your hair into some semblance of neatness, give up and opt for sticking it all up and out of the way and generally try and make yourself nice. Since you've put all that effort in for the interview you kind of hope you remain in that state until the end of the interview.

Well not if you're me. It all started off well - all the usual preparations ran smoothly and I dashed out the door at 7.45 and hurried along to get to the stop in time for the 8.15 bus. I huddled in my waterproof coat at the bus stop, the rain pounding down on the brolly but only had to wait 15 minutes for the bus. Because of course in bus timetable speak 8.15 means 8.30 unless you're running late then it means 8.10.

I thought the late bus would be the only problem I had to face but I was wrong. The bus was crowded and I perched on the edge of a seat as the old lady next to me was for some reason sat in the middle of the two seats with her bag next to her. So after a tour of the county turning what is a fifteen minute driver by car into an hour and fifteen minute trip.

The crowded bus on its convoluted route combined with interview nerves were gradually making me more and more annoyed so it didn't help that the bus was one of those buses that they've for some strange reason painted completely as an advert; this one was for the RAF and a plane had been painted across the windows making it impossible to see out. Helpful considering I wasn't familiar with the bus route or the area I was going so I had to try and guess when it was time for me to get off.

Eventually the bus arrived at my destination and I managed to find the right stop. My celebrations were short lived. The bus doors swung open to reveal a grassy verge. No pavement just a muddy swamp. Realising I had no choice I reluctantly stepped off the bus and was met by a large squelch. As I trudged through the marsh as quickly as possible towards some civilised tarmac I mourned my lovely shoes. For they were no longer black, they were brown with mud and soaking wet to boot. They will probably never be the same.

Thinking that there could be no more horrors other than another drenching as there was now only a twenty minute walk up a straight road separating me from the interview. Eighteen minutes later I was pretty confident of making it there in not too bad a state. Yes I was wet but the raincoat had mostly protected the coat and smart outfit underneath, the umbrella had stopped my hair from getting too wet and the rain had washed off a vast majority of the mud. What could possibly go wrong in two minutes?

It was then that I heard a car zooming up the road at about 60 miles an hour and before I could react it was shooting past me it's tyres causing the contents of a large puddle to fly up from the road and splash down over me like a waterfall. If my mouth hadn't of been full of dirty puddle water a yell of 'asshole' or similar would have been sent in the direction of the retreating BMW.

So I arrived at the interview sopping wet, for my raincoat and umbrella had been no match for the BMW induced tidal wave so I sort of just dripped over the floor as if I was melting, wanting to do nothing more than just burst into tears. I probably could of done; I was wet so wet no one would have noticed.