Bidding. It’s almost over, and I can’t wait until it is.
Bids are due tomorrow, and after that there’s nothing to do but wait and see how it all works out. Until it does all work out one way or another my mental state can perhaps best be compared to that of a wallflower quivering in a corner of a crepe-papered middle school gymnasium, worried that no one will ask her to dance. It’ll be another month or so until real job offers start being made, which is a long time to quiver.
In fact this whole procedure has been deeply reminiscent of the awkwardness of middle and high school dating. I have pursued my crushes with (I hope) adequate ardour to convince them of my interest, but (again, I hope) not so much as to seem desperate, because that’s never cool. I have done the bureaucratic equivalent of sending my friends over to talk to that cute guy for me, in the form of asking people to weigh in for me with decision-makers they know. I have agonized over polite, functional emails, trying to figure out if Job X likes me, or if maybe they LIKE me like me, but maybe not as much as they like that blonde cheerleader? And every time someone calls or doesn’t call, emails or doesn’t email, I drive myself nuts asking what does it meeeeeeeean? This is not good for my mental health.
Friends and colleagues have tried to be supportive and reassuring as I (and hundreds of others just like me) go through this painful process, but the reality is that this is a very competitive bidding season. On a purely numerical basis the chances of not being asked to dance – even by that guy with the face full of pimples and two left feet – are higher than usual, and I am deeply concerned about it. I have had some expressions of interest lately that have done wonders for my peace of mind, but I can’t really relax until I have an honest-to-god job offer. Just one more month to go.