I wish......

.......that one single potential employer would look beyond the fact I have dreadlocks and give me a fucking job.
At least, I think that's the reason I'm turned down.... well.
 Not even turned down.
What happens, is I have a fantastic interview, we both make really positive noises about our future working together, we say we'll talk tomorrow with a definite plan/start date/agreement, and then I never hear from them again.
So I ring. And I ring. And I leave a message. Then a text. Then ring again. Maybe an email. None of this in a stalker-ish fashion, reasonable distances between calls, being perfectly polite...
I hear nothing.
I say I loved their family. I say how warm and welcoming they were. I say what a joy they'd be to work for. I say I'm not looking for much money. I say how adorable the kids are.
I hear nothing.
I say look, even if you've decided to go for someone else, could you just let me know for certain, so I can line other interviews up?
I hear nothing.
I might finally get through.
Oh, so sorry, driving right now, I'll ring you right back.
I hear nothing.
Ok. Well. I get it. You don't want me for the job. But could you please, please, have the common courtesy to reject me to my face when we've specifically said we will talk the next day. That is just rude, and ill-mannered, and I'm sure your pampered children will grow up to be horrible people with such charming guidance from their morally fucked up middle class parents.

I wish...
... that I wasn't feeling increasingly compelled to cut off my hair and to take out the most obvious of my piercings. The liberated, open minded, well off, successful, wouldn't-dream-of-being-un-PC middle classes are not, apparently, ready to accept me as I am, even after days previous to the interview of gushing amazement at my reference and CV. Not even after their children have flung their arms around me and said they really like me and have force fed me ice-cream. Not even after saying it was so lovely to meet me, and goodness, haven't I done well to run my own business so young, and aren't I a refreshing change. The door still gets slammed.
Just say it. You don't think my image fits with your Conrad shop sofa and pale beige walls.
You don't think my hippy hair has a place at the table.
You don't think the other mums would like the look of me pushing your pram.
Just say it to my face.