Extract from 'A toe in the line'
Hazel B Cameron
I was dressed to the nines and feeling a little nervous. It was the summer of 1978, I was eighteen and this was my first job interview. It was for a clerk in an accountant's office - not what I wanted, however I intended to use it as interview practice until I found a position in my chosen career as a farm secretary.
I stood in the bus queue grateful for a dry, sunny day and popped a glacier mint into my mouth. It immediately slipped down my throat. I tried to cough it up, but it lodged further down - I turned to the lady next to me, but she turned away as the bus rumbled to a stop. I could breathe but with difficulty. A yellow van crept along the busy road and I jumped off the pavement and caught hold of the open window pointing to my throat. Tears poured down my cheeks. 'Get in - I'll take you to the Health Centre,' said the elderly male driver. I gladly obeyed.
On arrival at the health centre, I had difficulty explaining the problem. The nurse called the doctor and said. 'She has a Polo Mint stuck in her throat.' I shook my head but couldn't explain it wasn't a Polo Mint but a larger mint. The doctor seemed amused as he asked me to lie on the examination table and peered down my throat with a small torch. To my amazement he summoned an ambulance to take me to the nearest hospital - twenty miles in the opposite direction of my interview. This added to my upset and I handed the nurse my interview letter. After reading it, she said. 'Don't worry; I'll telephone to explain you'll be late'.
The ambulance driver suggested I sat in the front of the ambulance which I did so willingly. I stared ahead clinging to my throat as we sped along the country roads of Fife. He began to chuckle to himself. 'A Polo Mint, imagine a Polo Mint sticking in your throat. If that's what a Polo Mint does, it's just as well for you it wasn't one of those glacier mints.' I didn't try to correct this injustice.
On arrival at the hospital I was clearly not an emergency. I sat feeling out of place in my business suit amongst the cut and bruised of Kirkcaldy. An hour passed, then to my horror I realised the mint had melted. I sneaked towards the reception to tell them my problem had resolved itself, but before I could explain, I heard my name called. The entire waiting room watched with curiosity as I entered a small cubicle where a doctor awaited.
I explained to the young, male doctor what had happened emphasising the pain I had been in but that the mint had now melted. He stared at me in silence. I assured him I would manage to recover adequately. He was impassive. I fell silent too. He then walked out of the cubicle. The nurse looked at me with a mix of bemusement and pity. I waited to be told I could go, but the doctor reappeared carrying a glass of water, handed it to me, turned and left. Somehow I didn't feel he sympathised with my plight. I eventually returned home in an ambulance which collected elderly patients from various areas around Kirkcaldy. Most of the journey consisted of me explaining to each new passenger why I was there and the horrors of glacier mints. Each explanation was met with amazement and the assurance that they sucked glacier mints on a regular basis for years with no such side effects.
Two hours after the original interview time I called the accountant who seemed unperturbed and said I should come along anyway.
Friends told me that Blairgowrie was a small village situated just after Alyth. So after Alyth I disembarked at the next village and then popped into a nearby shop to ask directions. 'Oh that must be in Blairgowrie,' said the lady and then seeing my jaw drop, added 'it's only a couple of miles.' As if to reassure me.
My new, high-healed shoes were not worn in and became very noticeable on the walk. The sun was warm and the knitted, woollen suit which was supposed to make me look smart was now overheating me. My throat hurt and I was late again. I found the office on the first floor above a ski shop smelling of new paint. The accountant appeared friendly and unconcerned by my secondary lateness. He showed me to an interview room, offered a chair at a neat, modern desk and sat opposite. The desk contained a notepad and small cube games. I wondered if they were to be part of the interview - I didn't think I stood any hope of getting the balls in the hoops. The events of the day had wiped my motivation and now without nerves, I heard myself reply to questions in a confident and sometimes cheeky manner. With each answer I wanted to look over my shoulder to see who had spoken. 'Would you ever consider training as an accountant?' He asked. 'No, if I'd wanted to be an accountant I would have trained as one.' I replied. He seemed shocked by my answers - they astounded me. However, the job sounded interesting and I began to wish I had taken it seriously.
When finished, he thanked me and shook my hand. I moved towards the top of the stairs and turned to say goodbye. 'Don't go eating any more mints.' He said smiling. I laughed, turned and fell down the stairs.
The letter arrived the next week offering me the job. I wondered what affect my unusual entrance and departure had had on his decision. I concluded he had to be either very brave or completely crazy and as it transpired, he required both of these skills.
