A Day In The Life Of A Jobseeker
Time to get on with my search for gainful employment. I think I'll phone Jobseekers Direct - its a happy friendly service to help idiots like me get a job by finding vacancies on their extensive database. After the usual identity checks the woman asked me what areas of employment I was interested in.
Warehouse, distribution, logisitics.
"We've got one vacancy for a warehouse supervisor.."
North Swindon? Yes I've applied for that.
"Well thats all we've got. Have you done any stock control?"
Just a little bit. Go on, give me the details... She started to give an email address to send my CV. Then something twigged. That name! He's one of those managers who pushed me out the door at a previous job! Lets not bother with that one.
"I see" She said slowly, "Ok, we'll try part time too."
Eh? No, hang on...
"There's a stockroom vacancy. You need to call in at Smartypants Ltd at the Designer Outlet to collect an application form. Do you know where that is?"
Sigh. I can find it. Fine, thank you, thats all I need. Good grief, working for a retailer in a shopping mall... Don't they do long hours there?.... This does not bode well. Too late now. I've got to visit the sports center today so I'll drop in on Smartypants on the way home. Just in case it rains.
It did. Heavy showers were predicted and sure enough the rain came pelting down. Sensibly I stayed under cover. An old woman didn't and wandered out into the car park, swivelling 180 degrees on the spot when she realised she was getting wet. It really was quite funny to watch. So was the hatchback driver going the wrong round the car park and failing to negotiate the corners at very low speed. Then a taxi driver drew up by the exit, decided he wasn't in the right position, then manoevered back and forth until he was satisfied his original position was correct after all. It must be the rain that does that to people. Anyway, I arrived at the Designer Outlet and wandered around until I found Smartypants Ltd, a retailer of clothes for the discerning young professional male. Which was pretty much what I didn't look like. But I stopped at the tills and enquired about getting an application form.
"CALLING MANAGER TO FRONT DESK... MANAGER TO FRONT DESK PLEASE... He'll just be a minute Sir"
Righto. I lean nonchanlantly against the desk and the manager comes around the corner ahead, a tall and very discernably smart young professional male. I hate bosses like that. They're always clicking their fingers at people and casually threatening termination of their employment if they don't run around like little servants. They never show any real leadership. Most of them never show any ability. As he approaches we both size each other up like gunfighters at the OK Corral. There's barely an introduction before he hands me a career application pack.
It was a truly extraordinary document, a glossy colour brochure selling management careers, displaying teams of happy smiling management trainees whose prospects are now going to skyrocket to the point they can afford mortgages. I glanced through it with disbelief at the shear waste of quality cardboard. Noticing this, and assuming it was because I was unable to locate the actual forms neatly hidden in a pocket at the back, he very kindly pulled them out to show me.
Thanks mate. You got a plastic bag for this? Its raining outside...
"Oh yeah" He said, proceeding to rummage around behind the counter. Thank you kindly. Time to go.
Initiative of the Week
There's been a fair few stabbings in Britain of late, especially London, something we're not entirely used to and threatening to make our streets more dangerous than Los Angeles. So not suprisingly there's about to be some new measures to combat knife crime, and not a moment too soon, seeing as some people in Swindon have been using samurai swords to settle differences. Come to think of it, Swindon was also the place where one guy wandered into a police station with a Bren light machine gun some years ago. At least I had the sense to surrender mine to the police in the privacy of my own home...
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