Job hunting is hard…Foreign job hunting is harder…

And foreign job hunting is harder still when you’re 3 months out from your arrival and don’t exactly have what you’d call a ‘career.’ I mean, I call book selling a perfectly respectable career, but it isn’t exactly the best paying, doesn’t come with the best benefits and still classifies as retail unless you’re working for someone like Baker and Taylor.

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Today I spent the morning tracking down the email addresses to various bookstores in the Waikaito region and anxiously reading over my CV and cover letter before I drafted up a polite plea for a job and sent six identical emails whizzing off into cyber space.

As of writing this, I’ve had one reply.


Hey, one is better than none, am I right? Sadly, the reply didn’t say anything along the lines of, ‘You’re CV is amazing! You’re hired! Can you fly down early and get started tomorrow?’ Nothing like that. But! They did encourage me to get in touch closer to my arrival. I’d say my foot is sufficiently in the door. Okay, maybe more like my big toe is in the door, at least touching it.

What’s really got me freaked out is the email I’m waiting on from a former Hobbiton tour guide who I sort of made buddies with during my first visit. Late last year, after emailing him a thank you post I had put together to all the kind people my mother and I met during our stay, I casually mentioned my plan to move and asked if he could help me out getting a job at Hobbiton. He said he’d be glad to and to get in touch closer to my arrival (been hearing that one a lot, I have). So Saturday I did just that.

His reply showed up in my inbox a few hours after I sent the email. He said he’d make a call Monday (which was tomorrow for him) and get back to me with any information and maybe a contact name.

As of now, still nothing.

I may be in danger of losing my shit here, people.


The highly anticipated reply to this email is even more angst-inducing than the ones from the bookstores because the dream, the big beautiful scenario I’d love to see play out, is to work at Hobbiton. These past couple of days my imagination has been running away with me, giving me fantasies of waking up one morning to an email smiling happily at me from my inbox. I open it up and it says, ‘It’s all sorted. They love you! You start as soon as you land. Let’s get a pint at The Green Dragon.’ A girl can dream, right? A reply of any other kind just puts me back at square one, which is me, standing outside the dark tunnel of unemployment, and there is no light visible yet.


(They messed up the phrasing but whateves, you get the point.)

Not having a job before I leave won’t stop me from going. It would just be a nice thing to have. Don’t fret though, fellow travelers, I shall survive one way or the other.



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