[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.As I arrived at the clinic each morning, I assisted the other three nurses, steering well clear of Mrs T, cleaned cages, answered the phone, made appointments and ensured the animals were comfortable.But the following year, soon after my eighteenth birthday, something changed within me.For an unknown reason I began to have doubts about becoming a vet nurse.I kept telling myself not to be silly, I loved my job and it was the career I had always wanted.True, I was constantly scratching my red, itchy hands - I had discovered I had a reaction to the cleaning chemicals used in the clinic.The other nurses assured me my skin would become immune to the chemicals, as the same thing had happened to them when they first started but I knew something else was not right.Sarah and Brett had recently married and had just returned from their honeymoon in Sydney.They were full of exciting stories about their trip and I was secretly jealous.I thought maybe my desire for change could be a yearning to travel.Finally, I bit the bullet and resigned, forging some lame excuse to my boss, muttering something about needing to spread my wings.Although this was true I knew in my heart it was not enough of a reason to leave the career I loved, what I thought was my destiny.With no job prospects in the pipeline, I reluctantly said goodbye to the clinic and the friends I had made while working there, even Mrs T.Over the coming weeks I regarded my next career move.To be honest with myself I wasn’t ready to travel and certainly didn’t want to go overseas alone.On the other hand, I hated being idle, I had gone straight from finishing school to working at the clinic so I was bored sitting at home doing nothing.I had absolutely no idea what to do next, knowing only I wanted to do something exciting and different.I even thought about joining the army, that wasn’t boring, would take me out of my comfort zone and would turn my life around.As another week went by I became increasingly anxious, I had to do something drastic to change the course of where I was heading.Then as often happens in these situations, a friend of a friend happened to mention she knew of a vacancy at Office Supply Warehouse or O.S.W.(everybody knew the jingle from the radio and TV advertisements – O.S.W…O.S.W.– your stationery needs are no trouble, at…O.S.W!) They were looking for a person to take inventory and supply office products to companies.I put the phone down, I had got myself an interview and after a short meeting they offered me the job.I decided then and there to take it.Working at O.S.W.would be a good fill-in position until something better came along.My job description was to visit the workplaces on the company’s database, inventory their stock and take orders for their stationery requirements.This included paper, paperclips, envelopes, staplers, staples and even post–it notes.The clincher of the deal for me was any additional sales above usual orders would result in me getting a commission.A few weeks after starting work, I wondered why I had accepted the role in the first place.It wasn’t, in reality, my ideal job.But, with a clenched smile I carried on, biding my time, waiting to be shown the yellow brick road…the next path in my life.CHAPTER EIGHTThe Hindi word for heart is dil.The day after arriving in his new country Kishore again eagerly scanned the Situations Vacant columns in the New Zealand Herald.He nearly missed it too but there in the small print was an advertisement for a junior at McAllister and Co.Accountants, it sounded promising.Kishore quickly picked up the phone and dialed the number.After waiting a few minutes he was put through, to his surprise, to Mr Colin McAllister himself and fate stepped in.Kishore arrived at the office of McAllister and Co., the day after.Ready for his interview he wore his best suit, in fact the only suit he had brought with him from India.Clutched in his hand he held a folder that contained his certificates and resume.Approaching the front desk he was greeted by a smiling receptionist who introduced herself as Gillian.With the click-clack of her heels on the wooden floor she led him to Mr McAllister’s office.As Kishore stepped inside, Gillian left, closing the door behind her.Mr McAllister rose and extended his hand to shake Kishore’s.He was a mature, stout man, with balding grey hair, a bushy moustache and even bushier eyebrows but his eyes were kind.From the moment Kishore sat in the seat offered by Mr McAllister the interview was a blur.He barely took more than a glance at Kishore’s credentials, being more interested in telling Kishore, he too was an immigrant but from Mother England.That he was a soldier in World War Two and had served in India.He happily regaled Kishore with yarns of chai wallah’s and punka wallah’s.With Kishore barely saying a word other than “Hello,” Mr McAllister again stood and was pumping his hand.Giving him back his file of certificates he declared, “Well, Mr Patel, welcome aboard, we look forward to seeing you raring to go Monday morning.”For two years Kishore happily immersed himself in his new life in New Zealand and new employment [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]