...and then things got a little weird

About two weeks into the journey there were some strange noises coming from the cockpit.

An announcement was made over the P.A. regarding some qualitative fieldwork which I was required to do every week for the rest of my foreseeable life commencing at 10:00am and finishing at 8:00pm. Something about going to supermarkets and asking people about the minor and irrelevant details that they like or dislike about that supermarket at that specific point in time.

These were to be in supermarkets everywhere except for within 30 minutes of my home. I could envisage myself to be writing reports about bruised peaches and disorderly pasta shelves for the rest of my career.

Not to be perturbed (after all I was already at cruising altitude) I decided to ask a simple question in return. "I've just signed a contract for a 38 hour week and now you're asking me to work 10 hours plus travel on one day in every week. Is there a system for time in lieu to ensure I don't get overworked?"

The plane began to shudder and took a fairly serious nosedive when I received a reply email with a pithy yet obtuse subject line - 'Lol!'. The 'lol' (which is internet-speak for 'laugh out loud' I have since read) was one thing, but the inclusion of the exclamation mark was as alarming as it was volume-enhancing.

After processing the content of the email - including some choice quotes such as 'you haven't even started here yet and you're asking for time off' and 'what do you think this is? do you want a real job or not?' - I decided it best to go into the cockpit to clarify what must have been an administrative error. Or at least a short-term brain lapse from a capable pilot.

Upon entering the cockpit you'd understand my shock as I realised that my pilots were in fact an aggressive and savage Welsh poet and a disorganised  and overly emotional cat-lady living in the hills of New Zealand. They sure looked the same, but all signs and controls were pointing to an impending disaster.

I retook my seat and put my seatbelt on a little tighter. Things weren't looking quite as rosy as what they once did and the hamburger I ate started to process a little quicker than what it otherwise would. The turbulence might not end here.

Smooth sailing on flight DAW817

It was a warm day in late January when I considered boarding the plane. 

I'm not a typical passenger when it comes to career change. I take my time and I plan my journey carefully. I had been thinking about a flight for months (six at least), so when I got a call from a pilot to say that I had an opportunity to fly I was eager to impress.

I was told that there were co-pilots. The one I met with presented as a professional (if slightly emotionally detached) British lady who seemed incredibly switched-on. This is a good thing for a pilot to be (switched on, not emotionally detached).

Based on this interview I earned myself a second interview with the second co-pilot. This one appeared as a slightly eccentric but warm and friendly cat owner living in New Zealand. I own a cat, so I felt like this was OK. As the organisation I was to fly with was British it was not a surprising thing that this co-pilot was also British.

After meeting with the pilots and feeling good the process progressed to me chatting to flight control (the global CEO based in the UK). This was a Skype-based interview featuring me wearing a suit up top and no pants (newsreader-style). It was a hot day and ventilation is important.

Pleasingly the flight path was approved and booked in for departure, although the formal paperwork was to be completed. This included the actual offer of a job.

As the weeks went by I went from excited about the flight to slightly concerned that the whole thing wouldn't get off the ground. I had to attend to a minor detail in March (my wedding) so was otherwise distracted from the lack of progress for a few weeks.

With a little psychological manipulation on my part I received the paperwork after 10 weeks and eagerly signed my life away. The last pre-flight ritual was to leave my old job (which I liken to going through security and immigration).

This was about as hard as I expected it to be and it certainly filled me with the dread and fear of risk that comes when you leave the country for a new horizon. But I was brave and did it - after all there was a new career at stake.

Optimism was high as the plane was boarded and took off. In a short four weeks I would arrive at my destination. I sat through the safety demonstration (which as usual I never took any notice of) and did up my seat belt to a comfortable tightness. 

This was going to be some flight. I ordered a hamburger (which was no doubt going to be microwaved) and kicked back.

Cause for an update

I've realised recently that it takes something of significance to make me write my blog.

Significance is a funny word. We attach it to things like buying houses (I've done that since my last post), getting married (that too) and other major life changes.

While I've been on a roll with buying a house and getting married I thought it would also be wise to complete the 'trifecta' of significant and stress-inducing life changes within six months. That's right; I decided to change my job.

While changing jobs is not in itself a big deal (even though I had been at my existing job for almost seven years) this particular job change attempt produced for me the strangest week in my life.

As I boarded a plane for Sydney I thought of a metaphor for the events that unfolded in that fateful week. I likened it to a career 'plane crash'. While it seems a little extreme it's hard to deny that there are some parallels.

The plane itself represents my aspirations and hopes for a fulfilling future career. The story starts from boarding and progresses to smooth sailing at altitude (the seat belt signs were even turned off). But then of course the tale outlines the ultimate plummet to earth and the process of picking through the wreckage to salvage the black box.

I do hope that this black box may provide a tale of caution to future job change attempts.

This story will take some time to detail as it is the details themselves which make this tapestry even richer. 'Confusing' and 'weird' are about to confront you like a shark with knees that can breathe air. Allow me to indulge myself with a few separate posts.