Beep! Beep! Beep!
The alarm screeched as I fumbled around to shut it off. Reluctantly I started to open my eyes, heavy as if someone had tied tiny concrete blocks to the bottom of my eyelids. I grabbed my phone to check the time, because who owns a clock or a watch in the age of smartphones right?
9:30am it read. Holy crap!
Half an hour until the interview. I jumped out of bed flinging my duvet off unaware of my cat Eevee sleeping next to me as I sent her flying through the air, the hiss she let out both frightened and amused me. Reeling my thoughts back in to the human world I ran to the bathroom to rush through the three S’s, I don’t have to explain what they are do I?
Coming out of the bathroom I tried to find my phone to see what the time was, I couldn’t find it, cursing myself for not owning a clock; everyone should own a clock surely?
I finally gave up and switched on my laptop, 9:53am. Rushing around frantically at such speed I’m sure I could have given The Flash himself a run for his money, I put on a shirt and tie but before I could find my trousers my Skype started to ring out. I don’t need trousers right? My legs will be under the desk anyway.
So sat at my desk in a creased shirt, a tie that was far too wide for my tastes and no trousers, I clicked answer and prepared myself for the imminent failure that would be my job interview.
“Ah, hell… I mean… góðan daginn” I stuttered, I thought learning at least how to say good morning in Icelandic would impress them somewhat, had I not just messed up the pronunciation.
“góðan daginn to you Mr Fairbairn, did I say that right?“ He didn‘t
. “Anyway my name is Sigurjón Sigurðsson and I am the chairman of this fine sports club here in Iceland.“
He didn't waste any time with small talk and got straight down to business. It didn't bother me so much that he pronounced my name wrong as I had just butchered his language from the start and what was his name again?
He asked a lot of questions, mainly as to why he should hire someone with zero experience and who could quite obviously not speak the language, I was sweating from nerves and I answered as best and confidently as a 25 year old guy on Skype in his pants could. A huge struggle considering this interview was one camera slip away from a chat roulette horror story.
After what seemed like an eternity fighting my nerves and an accidental panty flash, Sigurjón brought proceedings to a close and informed me that he'd be in touch once he had made a decision and reviewed other possible candidates. The tone of his voice throughout and his reactions, or lack of should I say, to my feeble attempts at lighthearted humour and boasting that I would be the man to take his beloved club to the top of Icelandic football told me all I needed to know, I wasn‘t going to get the job. Somehow I doubt my story of how I led my local pub team to glory in a cup competition absolutley no one in the world cared about was enough to seal the deal.
Fast forward to the next day, sitting on my sofa finishing off a corned beef sandwich and watching Jeremy Kyle berate another spotty lowlife, my phone started ringing. I picked up.
"Hello?“ I answered.
"Greetings Mr Fairbairn, hope you are well today. This is Sigurjón Sigurðsson, I have an offer for you.“
"Oh. Erm. Hey Mr Sigurðsson I hadn‘t expected to hear back so soon.“ I replied, I was genuinely shocked, I really thought I‘d failed the interview yesterday. Well, either I got the job or he saw my pants and wanted to offer me a job as a catalog underwear model, which I highly doubted.
"Yes well, it is tough times for the club at the moment and desperate times call for desperate measures. We are currently on course for relegation this season with only a handful of games left. We are prepared to offer you the management position on a temporary basis until the end of the current season. If, and only if, you can keep us up we will talk about keeping you on a more permanent basis. You will of course have to fly over immediately so you can take control of our game on Sunday. Is this acceptable Mr Fairbairn?“
"Bloody brilliant!“ I exclaimed as I simultaneously fist pumped! I had just got my chance in football management! "I will make the arrangements and be there later this evening.“
"Great to hear. Send me an email with your flight details and I will have someone pick you up from the airport.“
. Then just like that he hung up. I once more fist pumped with excitement and rushed around like a madman once again to sort out my flights and arrange for someone to look after Eevee whilst I was gone. I would keep my flat just incase I was back in a months time. Such thoughts didn‘t stall my excitement though, I was on my way to Iceland to start my journey in football management, and most importantly, to prove my friend wrong!