Darlings, I am a bad blogger. Or rather, I am, too often, an absent blogger. I started writing last night and then just went to bed instead.
I’m starting, cautiously, on the house-hunting route on my own account. Through a friend of a friend of a friend of Weeza (I’ve only exaggerated slightly), I’ve heard about a house just where I might like, and am going to see it at the weekend. It’s not on the market yet, but will be sometime next year. Having said that, I’m nowhere near ready to sell up myself, yet, but if I find somewhere I love, it would certainly spur me on. I’m not honestly counting on it, though. But we’ll see.
On another subject entirely, I read in the paper yesterday about an employer who was taken to court because a woman who’d gone to work for him found that he’d put comments on the appearance of interviewees on his notes, which clearly were a strong influence on whom he appointed. They were personal to the point of considerable sexism and he was found guilty. But it reminded me of an occasion when I was interviewing someone when her appearance did put me off – not that it was the reason she wasn’t appointed.
It was a senior post and a major promotion for both candidates. One of them came in an elegant trouser suit that I’m sure was bought for the occasion. The other arrived in a skirt suit, much washed, with a wavy hem beneath which you could see the lining. For the post, it wasn’t professional enough. I don’t think the other interviewers picked up on it, it wasn’t mentioned at all in our later deliberations, but I was pretty astonished. Wouldn’t you wear your best professional attire for an important interview? I had, and I wasn’t applying for the job.
At the High School (this was not an interview there), there is a dress code – that is, professional, smart clothes. No tattoos on show and not distracting amounts of cleavage (especially from the men, clearly). In short, a ‘good example’ of suitable working clothes for the students. And if the bloke I mentioned at the start had kept his comments to that sort of thing, I don’t suppose it would have been a problem. Mind you, I wouldn’t write anything like that down anyway. When we were interviewing a potential librarian, I couldn’t help admiring her shoes, but I didn’t make a note of them. I just quietly coveted them for myself.