Assprof, Part III; The first phone call, or dude, it's late!

About 20.15 on a relatively mild day in Calvados early December 2007. I'm on my way out of my FrenchFlat to go to see Keny Arkana in larger town nearby. Flat mate already waiting in the car. I lock the door and hear my Swedish cell phone ringing inside. It usually never does, so I'm afraid it's something about the Goose. Can't ignore that even if I'm in a hurry. I rush back in, desperately searching through piles of clothes before finding it. It's the head of department of the university I applied to.

Apologizing for calling late, too much disturbance during normal working hours. Can I come to an interview next week? Sure, I'll be thrilled to come to an interview. Trying to keep my cool even though I'm all happy bubbles inside. But look, the travel takes me 11 hours at best and I'm going back home in two weeks anyway and I have a workshop in Nantes in between (or actually planned to be "on my way" home). Luckily this is Sweden and it's possible to have an opinion on interview date. If this is the only option, I will of course do it next week, but my life would be significantly easier if it would it be possible that I could do it the week I'm coming to Sweden anyway?

No problem apparently. But I'm getting ready for two weeks of even.more.stress. But first concert. Kick-ass Keny Arkana gig.