Sacha hastily agreed that yes, Wednesday morning would be a fine time for job interview. So, it was settled, and she put the 'phone down carefully, as if not to wake it up; as if it was all a trick and might be taken back. She motioned her hand to take her glasses off with the intention of cleaning them - and then realised that the reason everything was blurry was because she didn't have them on. She was still half-asleep, but a sudden panicky thought woke her up with a jolt: it hadn't all been a dream, had it? She looked around. Her stomach grumbled for food. No, everything was all rather real. She remembered the brief telephone conversation clearly - like a white stab of torch-light through her gloomy mind - whereas if it had been a dream, the details would already be slipping away from her.

She stood up to go and get her glasses, and the folds of her pyjamas rearranged themselves softly over her legs. She couldn't believe she'd taken a 'phone call about a job interview in her pyjamas. Well I suppose that settles it, though, she thought: if it had been a dream, it would have been the job interview itself which had happened while she was in her pyjamas.

Now that the 'phone call was over, the morning was surprisingly like any other: she still had to have a shower, she still had to get dressed, she still had to eat breakfast, she still had to complain to the landlord about the faulty flush mechanism on her toilet. She fancied the idea of strolling down to Brunswick Street - which would be relatively quiet on a work day - and treating herself to something lavish for breakfast; but no, she thought firmly, there was no guarantee that she'd actually get the job: it was only an interview. Goodness knows how many other people might also be getting interviews. But, she reminded herself, her last job interview - for the public service in Canberra - had been a mere formality: five minutes of polite chat interspersed with a few token displays of knowledge of the relevant field, followed up by an offer of a job the next week. Ah yes, she counter-argued, but this job interview was for the private sector. It's different.

The next thing that needed to be done, she supposed, was to find out exactly who the hell this company was. She'd dropped her C.V. off to so many offices, she couldn't remember most of them. A quick Google-search would settle the matter - but that introduced another minor nuisance: nowadays Sacha did all her internet searching at the Word on the Street; but if she did it there it would be almost impossible to conceal it from Rona; and she wasn't sure she was ready for Rona's enthusiasm to come sweeping over this just yet. It could interfere with the shroud of pessimism which Sacha tried hard to maintain in the face of most exciting developments in her life. Oh, she wouldn't go into the interview itself in such a frame of mind, that would just be foolish - but a healthy dose of the stuff in the lead-up was the right attitude. She could stand pessimism more than she could handle the disappointment which followed on from unwarranted excitement. And she'd been practicing her pessimism for so long, she was confident that she could turn it on and off like a dripping tap. She probably wouldn't get the job. They'd probably been trying to get through to her for ages and hadn't been able to because she'd had her 'phone off the hook. Hadn't the woman on the other end of the line sounded less than enthused about the whole thing? They'd probably just called Sacha to make up some quota; hell, the job was probably going to go to somebody's friend. Isn't that the way it always went? It certainly was in the public service, she'd seen it happen a few times: a job has to be advertised, just for transparency's sake, so they interview a bunch of people but really the result's a foregone conclusion. So no, she told herself, she probably wouldn't get the job. It wasn't worth the hassle of getting all worked up about it.

Still, it was worth doing the interview. Just in case.