"So, why wouldn't you want to work for them anyway?" Jill's new pal for the conference asked, in a voice that may have carried to the passers-by. Jill didn't want to be caught gossiping, but she did want to vent, ha. While submitting her resume about 1,000 times, she had tried very hard with volunteer effort, in different capacities to make a difference to the organization... But the people responsible for influencing the management didn't really seem to care about actual improvements. Or so Jill decided because they never hired her, and seeing who they did select (and how they all interacted) was frivolous and frustrated her beyond measure. It was an old boys club that she had decided to give up on changing, or exposing, ha.
*
Her new roomy said the attic was now off limits. Apparently the last tenant had borrowed a scarf from the landlord's storage up there. The frustrated blond learned this when the landlord came through, unannounced in her absence and the rotten tenant put said dirty, stained, ruined pink pashmina on her coat hook, ha. It was a first impression with the landlord she never could shake.
On a more positive note, said that she had a box of rosettes somewhere. She wanted to bond over a shared love of horses! Her collection would be "in serious need of ironing" but she still had it… Jill didn't say that in a way she lamented the year she threw out the entire stuffed filing cabinet drawer's worth of ribbons, or that in another way she thought ironing? I don't even iron clothes! To put such effort in to something so simply sentimental! All her awards were sooo old… her winnings as a junior? Its true that even as she matured she was disappointed to learn that ribbons won nowadays, technically belonged to the horses' owner, not the competitor, ha. She hadn't received a new one since she was about 18 years old! She'd only earned one medal and never, never, never (despite all her hopes) had she ever taken home a trophy!
*
Sitting near an official's vehicle, as the competition neared its end, Jill heard the call over the radio for the vet to take a look at the distressed mare, that had just come off course and returned to the stable. A draft cross, who had found the marathon phase in the southern heat a bit much it sounded like...
The requesting voice just wanted to be sure she would okay. Was it the owner requesting the vet care? The competitor? Jill heard much difficult back and forth question and answer about whether this was a courteous suggestion for general horse-health welfare or an actual order from the ground jury? "You realize the implications of asking for a vet check, right?" the walkie talkie changed its tune and asked instead for a casual walk by in one hour.
*
As they came back from their hack around the hayfield, with all the freshly baled squares strewn in rows every couple of feet, making it impossible to find one to jump with even a stride or two on landing, Jill shocked her riding buddy. "I see a line," she announced, gathering up her reins, urging the pony into a few steps of trot, and popping length-wise over a hay bale, with the short side testing their accuracy and sending them leaping a nice, long spread of a jump. Whoo hoo!
Jill had never jumped the pony before, but she knew her history as an eventer and she knew from the feel of their rides that she was an honest, go-ey kind of girl that might enjoy the pop test. What fun!
*
Her new roomy said the attic was now off limits. Apparently the last tenant had borrowed a scarf from the landlord's storage up there. The frustrated blond learned this when the landlord came through, unannounced in her absence and the rotten tenant put said dirty, stained, ruined pink pashmina on her coat hook, ha. It was a first impression with the landlord she never could shake.
On a more positive note, said that she had a box of rosettes somewhere. She wanted to bond over a shared love of horses! Her collection would be "in serious need of ironing" but she still had it… Jill didn't say that in a way she lamented the year she threw out the entire stuffed filing cabinet drawer's worth of ribbons, or that in another way she thought ironing? I don't even iron clothes! To put such effort in to something so simply sentimental! All her awards were sooo old… her winnings as a junior? Its true that even as she matured she was disappointed to learn that ribbons won nowadays, technically belonged to the horses' owner, not the competitor, ha. She hadn't received a new one since she was about 18 years old! She'd only earned one medal and never, never, never (despite all her hopes) had she ever taken home a trophy!
*
Sitting near an official's vehicle, as the competition neared its end, Jill heard the call over the radio for the vet to take a look at the distressed mare, that had just come off course and returned to the stable. A draft cross, who had found the marathon phase in the southern heat a bit much it sounded like...
The requesting voice just wanted to be sure she would okay. Was it the owner requesting the vet care? The competitor? Jill heard much difficult back and forth question and answer about whether this was a courteous suggestion for general horse-health welfare or an actual order from the ground jury? "You realize the implications of asking for a vet check, right?" the walkie talkie changed its tune and asked instead for a casual walk by in one hour.
*
As they came back from their hack around the hayfield, with all the freshly baled squares strewn in rows every couple of feet, making it impossible to find one to jump with even a stride or two on landing, Jill shocked her riding buddy. "I see a line," she announced, gathering up her reins, urging the pony into a few steps of trot, and popping length-wise over a hay bale, with the short side testing their accuracy and sending them leaping a nice, long spread of a jump. Whoo hoo!
Jill had never jumped the pony before, but she knew her history as an eventer and she knew from the feel of their rides that she was an honest, go-ey kind of girl that might enjoy the pop test. What fun!
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