Of Being on the Breadline January 9, 2008
Posted by Jen in : Journal , trackbackGood grief. I am feeling a little grumpified.
With no job or financial frivolity on the dull grey horizon, I visited another employment agency yesterday. Sigh. I had applied for a job online through them so had to go in to be ‘processed’ or something.
Rushing through the rain, I clutched my passport tightly – proof, apparently, that I am not merely a figment of my own imagination. I had wondered.
On arrival, I spoke into a pressy-button thing which magically made a blonde 12-year-old come out with a clipboard and questionnaire which asked me questions I’d already answered. I answered them again.
Forty minutes later, the young strumpet re-appeared. ‘Have you finished yet?’
‘After forty minutes? To fill in my name, address and previous two jobs? Yes, just about,’ I didn’t say. I thought it really sarcastically though. You’d have been ever so proud.
I smiled at the strumpet as best I could. She gave me a funny look. I suspect I may have looked slightly mental, wonky or as if I were being throttled by an invisible nutter.
She couldn’t find my CV on the system and had no idea who I was or what I’d spent the past twenty years doing. The job I was being grilled for was already interviewing so I was too late for that. Never mind, eh?
The room was approximately 40 degrees Celsius. My face turned a most becoming shade of beetroot as I hysterically explained my life history to the 12-year-old who hadn’t even ironed her jumper.
Luckily, I had a telephone call from another agency at the end of the day. Would I like to go and work for a bakery, chasing up bread orders for supermarkets and doing data input?
Um, no, not really, thanks very much for asking. I’m too busy writing my novel, doncha know? Sod the money, I shall live on porridge until I am published. Hurrah.
Comments»
LOL! If that wasn’t a HUGE NEON SIGN to keep writing I don’t know what is. Screw the depressing stats about publishing. Being a penniless writer is better than being a desk jockey (I still have nightmares about my data imputting days) in my humble opinion.
Porridge is scrummy.
You should have said to her, ‘don’t you know who I am? I will immortalise you in print you … you strumpet!’
x
“Would you like to go and work for a bakery, chasing up bread orders for supermarkets and doing data input?” What kind of a stupid question is that? That’s the fundamental mistake from the employment agencies point of view - no, they need to learn to rephrase: ‘Are you desperate and hungry enough to consider working for a bakery,chasing up bread orders for supermarkets and doing data input?’ Otherwise the answer can’t possibly be in the affirmative.
JJx
Yvonne - ugh, I’m sure I’ll have to resort to some dreary data input one of these days but it won’t seem as bad if I’ve written a novel first!
Caroline - I love porridge, actually. Brown sugar & cinnamon on top, ooh yes, scrummy. Isn’t ’strumpet’ a fab word?
JJ - I despair of agencies, I really do. Maybe I’ll set up my own agency. I used to work for a recruitment consultant and he reckoned that it was rather like being a rug salesman. Plenty of people to fill the gaps, it just depends on the employers’ preferences in colour, size and flamboyance…
I am ‘ever so proud’ of you Mrs Jen.
Now if you could just throw a bit of broccoli and ham into that porridge, you’d have all your nutrients in one bowl. Cheap and more time for writing!
An unironed jumper?? Sheesh. You just can’t get the staff nowadays:-)
Keep writing m’dear. You’re almost there:-) x
Good for you! Their loss, definitely.
Just think of all that writing you’ll get done now that you won’t be chasing up bakery orders. Yay!
You can live a long time on ketchup on toast if need be! Keep writing!!
Aw, fanks Mrs Lane. Mmm, broccoli porridge. Lovely.
Maddie - well, yes, writing is the plan. But now I keep thinking of bread-based food products. What I’d do for a croissant right now is probably bordering on illegal.
Kate - Ew. I think I’d rather have earwigs on toast. Ok, that was an exaggeration.
Oh no this is what I’m in for in a couple of weeks . Pretending I care rather than just marching in and saying give me your best paying temp job right now cos whatever it is I was probably bored of doing it before you were born young lady. Ooops carried away just thinking about it I’d better chill out. Well done you for saying no. Now get on with that book.
Poor you, though your post did make me laugh - forty minutes, bless.
Heh. I’ve been wondering myself, recently, why it is that, seemingly all of a sudden, everyone around me appears to be 12… And none of them know how to talk with clients/customers properly. My new job as Empress of Call Centre Land has only caused my suspisions to become further entrenched… Especially when so many Irish people lack the ability to pronounce simple sounds like th: “Grand so, tanks for dat” is not, in my doubtless very ancient and uncool opinion, how one expressed gratitude for something, for example. *sigh*
Your word count is coming along nicely. Keep the faith, Jen.
x
Breezy - try not to think about it. Crumbs, you are such a slavedriver!
Debs - aaarrrgh.
LQS - wait ’til you’re as old as me, Chicken. I like it when you type Oirish. But, yes, I’m with you on proper old fashioned-ness and doing things right. I like being a curmudgeon sometimes.
Bloody Hell! Are you really meant to iron jumpers?
Or was that just woman humour?
But don’t kid around.
I’d believe anything.
I trust experts.
Not that I want to play the “man” card
But really, jumpers … ironed?
Who makes these rules???
Porridge is very nourishing and full of soluble fibre which will keep your writing (and everything else) regular. Keep it up, lovey, nearly there.
Mya x
As long as it’s soft southern porridge, with milk and sugar, I’m with you. My mother always insisted that proper porridge was made with salt and water (she was a Scot), so I’ve had my fill of that stuff already.
Yeesh - I once worked in a legal recruitment agency (was brought in to set up a new department) in London - everyone was about 12 and dyed blond and orange (and that was just the men!!). I managed to last 9 months (9 long miserable months!!), got the department up and running and then buggered off as fast as my non orange legs could carry me!! It was after that that I changed career completely and worked for a non-profit organisation. I was empathising like mad when I read this post. I had never come across people that the phrase ‘would mug their own granny for her gold teeth’ applied to before I worked there!!
C x
The older I get, the more I notice the proliferation of twelve-year-olds. They started popping up behind receptionists’ desks and masquerading as dental assistants, then they began directing traffic and reading the news on television. I didn’t really get concerned until our accountant sold her business — and us — to a twelve-year-old. Now I work for one — and so does she. Where do all these underage people come from?
Bobo - It depends on the sort of jumper. A 12-year-old blond’s skimpy, silky jumper needs ironing. A rugged Bobo-type jumper does not.
Mya - thanks for the encouragement… shame they don’t make porridge with added caffeine, isn’t it?
Leigh - ugh, my mother used to make it like that too. The ‘proper’ way, she said. Me, I have a splash of cream in it and everything!
Carol - I don’t think anyone should have to work with blond and orange, unless it’s in a cockatoo factory. The older I get, the more I think I hate people, especially the young ones.
KeVin - I really do think they’re taking over the world, don’t you? I tell you, one of these days there’ll be none of us old ‘uns left but they’ll still be here - a little greyer but in charge of everything. You mark my words, young man!
The best thing about being a writer is that you don’t have to iron ANYTHING. Having said that, I have done an unusual amount of ironing so far this year, i.e. one skirt (to wear to a party). I don’t even iron clothes to do funerals in, in winter, as I have a big smart almost-floor-length black coat that covers everything. (Don’t tell on me.) I do have to iron some work clothes in summer, but I keep it to a minimum. I was talking to a friend who takes in ironing, and people pay her to iron their underwear (why?) and sheets (WTF??? Don’t they get flattened by being slept on? Mine do!). Ironing: life’s too short.
Agencies really are the devil’s spawn, full of numpties who jump up and down with excitement and patronise you if yo can type fast without errors.
Zinnia - loathe ironing. The only things I do are school shirts and lovely bf’s work stuff. Creases drop out while you wear things, don’t they? That’s what body heat is for. I truly can’t believe that anyone would have their sheets ironed. That’s obscene, somehow?
Hullaballoo - I think some of them are ok. Probably. Maybe? Pffff, I should be nice since I am relying on these people to save me from poverty
It’s scary isn’t it, when Brownies are in charge - do they even have brownies now a days?
Go on - you know you’ve grown very fond of fluff and marmite. Put your thermals on and carry on writing the funny stuff. It’s very good you know:)
Hello Fin
You know, I think they still do have Brownies though I’ve no idea who goes. Nice children. Christians, probably. Thanks for the compliment. Here, have some fluff…
Love the cartoon - and your blog. As for agencies and looking for jobs - my “favourite” offer when out of work was for a job as a concrete tester. I’m a medical researcher (when I’m not trying to be a writer). But you know, testing, research, they’re the same, right?
Sal - hello. I was reading your blog last week, oddly enough, via Nez. Hmmm, concrete tester? Sounds weird - did you have to jump up and down on it? Taste it? The mind boggles. Agencies really are useless sometimes, aren’t they?