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When I flew to Edmonton, one of the first words that scared me here was. In this city, only those who do not want to work do not work.
With my heavy experience looking for a job in Montreal and finally having a kindergarten that hung over my head for 24 hours a day, I didn’t want to go to any job. What’s more, the question of where do you work in this city is really often and dense. I understood that it really does not matter where, it is important that you work. Sergio said I shouldn’t worry and just say I don’t work because I don’t want to. Good joke, only I felt the pressure.
After the first week, I changed my Montreal address in my CV to the one from our Bed & Breakfast, entered a new phone number (every province in Canada has its own phone numbers) and sent the application. After three days, I got an answer and an invitation to an interview. I applied to work for the holidays at the City Hall as an animator of activities for children. The city has its own FB page and it also publishes job advertisements there. Hence my choice. After all, I have no idea what websites to look for a job on, and I have been following the city of Edmonton on the Internet out of curiosity since January.
I’m going by bus through a city completely unknown to me to one of its administrative divisions. Thanks to the street layout I wrote about in the previous post, I am at least sure that I am going in the right direction. I’m way too early. That was the plan, if I was late the stress would kill me. The office is closed after 5 pm. There is a notice on the door in the hall about the afternoon interviews for candidates. I sit on a chair in front of the door and wait. There is another candidate.
– Hey.
– Hey.
– You are waiting for an interview – he asks
– Yes – I answer
– I think we’re too early.
– A little bit – I feel that I don’t want to talk to her.
– Yes, I am Megan.
– Tom
– Hey – Megan greets the next candidate who showed up in the hall – I’m Megan and this is Tom.
– Kriss – the boy replies
– Also for an interview?
– Yes – he replies smiling.
– Hey – Megan greets the next candidate – I’m Megan, and this is Tom, … Kriss. What’s your name
– Hanna – she replies slightly embarrassed, but of course with a smile.
About 20 people showed up within 15 minutes and Megan made a named round among all the gathered, then sighed deeply, then looked around with a teacher’s smile and caressed her a simple skirt stretched quite tightly on her thighs. I don’t know what other people thought but I remembered why I hate my social work sometimes. Why, there must always be Megan like that ?! For fate, please don’t let her be on my team if I get this job. I realized something else as well. I seem to be the only migrant applying for this position in this group.
I hate these forms to be filled in. I am always afraid that I will not understand something, I will type something wrong or I will have no idea what to enter. Besides, I hate handwriting, especially in English. I think it worked. I already have almost everything except the neighborhoods where I want to work. After all, I do not even know what district I will live in. I mark them all. I think at random.
My turn to talk. A good-looking gentleman and a less-handsome lady greet me kindly. I am aware that in this application cauldron (another group of 20 people left the room before our turn) there will not be much time for courteous conversations. I was right. A few specific questions: why do you like working with children, why did you choose our proposal, how do you think you should maintain discipline in the group, what will you do when a child uses wrong words for the first time in your presence, what will you do if the bus for a group of children is late and there is a row in the neighborhood? one of the parents in a different matter, how will you take care of the needs of a child with a disability, whether you are planning a trip during summer vacation, have you ever been dismissed from work, have you taken a first aid course, or will agree to present a criminal record certificate. All my answers were recorded on the question sheet. This would be a good test for my preschool principles, I thought, because most of my answers were based on that experience. The handsome gentleman escorted me to the room with the forms, asking questions.
– Tom, since you came from Montreal, you probably know French?
– Well … that’s how I understand French.
– Please write it down in your form, ok? Enter all the languages you communicate properly – one more smile and a handshake.
– Ok. – I replied and I understood that I am after the first screening.
Before I went home, however, I had one more task to do. An attempt at classes to be conducted among my rival candidates. Who would have assumed that by having fun on the training center porch during the workshop break in 2005, I would repeat this wonderful game after Katarzyna at the Edmonton City Hall.
– Hey, it’s great fun – said one of my (maybe) colleagues – I’ve never seen her where she is from.
– Well, Polish imagination – I replied involuntarily and caused a burst of laughter and satisfaction on the faces of our entertaining jury.
12 of the 14 days have been waiting for a response. Well, it’s hard. A bit sorry, but I guess none of that. And finally the phone.
– This is Krystal from Edmonton City Hall, talking to Tom?
– Yes.
– I have good news for you …
In Pasłęk, I often worked with children, while still a student in a technical school. It was then that I decided that environmental protection was not what I was supposed to do. When I went to college, I always had a dream that this is what I work with a group of kids, supported by a diploma from the University of Warsaw. Then everything turned out a bit different and my work focused on working with adults. Montreal made me go back to my roots. Now an interesting holiday adventure with kids from Edmonton promises to be. First training this Sunday. On Monday, the first promotional meeting in local schools. I laugh under my breath at the stress. How will I handle public speaking in English? Believe it or not, I still have a lot of catching up to do. The truth is, I’m made for this job. What will it be? In emigration, it is often the same as with the first exits to the highway. You press the gas and go, you can’t stop now.
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