Working 9-5: Tales of a Dolly Parton Cliche

Ah, how I love the smell of Metros in the morning. It's like the news, only less substantial. The long commute to and from work has been providing plenty of amusements - highlights include the guy I sat down next to who whipped out a pack of cards and proceeded to practice hand-cardy-flick-poker-type-things for FORTY MINUTES, the young teenage girls clearly on their way to have 'the best time ever' taking photos of themselves in various train related poses - including putting rubbish in the bin - and finding it hilarious (oh to be young again), or the Hooray Henry yesterday morning barking a very rude joke about hung parliaments which I'm too polite to repeat. Or I can't remember it.

The real fun, however, begins in the office. Some professions have built-in excitement - as a doctor, or a fireman, or florist (go with it) - you know every day will bring the ups and downs of life, death, love and loss. And burns. If like me, you're a thrillseeker in academic publishing...you have to seek pretty hard. Which is why it made my day last week when, after handing me a list of herculean tasks (e.g. emailing) my manager picked up an author's file and said this:

"Now this might take you a little longer...I want you to try and get in touch with this guy. We haven't heard from him in a while, I'm not sure we have current contact details for him...also, we think he might......be dead."

This is a true publishing mystery - it has everything: late manuscripts, missing people, potential death, and a large file. I am now keeping my eyes out for a deerstalker hat so I can get to the bottom of the puzzle as Arthur Conan Doyle intended.

I have no real way of linking to this, but I just think it's amazing. Parton sings 9-5 with Minnie Mouse.

In which I burst onto the job market like the blazing sun on a glorious spring day

It has finally happened. I am fully percent employed. Take that, recession! I now feel like a slight fraud, blogwise, as one of the reasons for this whole blogging thing was to distract me from unemployment and chronicle my uselessness. All four people reading this can, however, rest assured that there will be many tales of employed incompetence/surburban office japes to come...and there's lots of potential for more hilarious eavesdropping during the many hours of my commute. For those interested, this is the job I hobbled to the interview for with a limp, got lost, and admitted to only joining my extracurricular activities because they were attended by Certain Gentlemen. These practices were not mentioned in any of the numerous interview books I read, an omission I intend to rectify as soon as possible.

Having acheived the short term goal of Gainful Employment, I should probably draw up some longer term Life Goals To Make Me a Better Person. I'm considering oragami and re-learning the Cello. Suggestions are welcome.

Recruitment Faux pas...

We've all done it...in an interview you suddenly realise you've said too much, laughed unconvincingly hard at your interviewer's joke, or realised on the way that the raindrop you felt on your head was in fact a pigeon. And it wasn't a raindrop. In an attempt to save others from a similar fate, here are some of mine...

1. Arriving to interview with a stye and a limp (see below.)
2. When discussing your extracurricular activities, admitting you only joined the gospel choir in the first place because a Certain Gentleman of Your Acquaintance was in attendance, and you hoped that in all the ShoopShoop-ing and Hallelujahs, your eyes would meet across the crowded room and all other voices would fade away as in your hearts you were singing only to each other...(N.B. This did not happen. It should also be abundantly clear at this point that one of my more charming qualities is my rich inner life.)
3. Letting slip that the only reason you joined the staff of the university magazine in the first place was to meet comedians you Find Intriguing (N.B. This is Meedja Slang for "Find Devastatingly Attractive"). I still maintain that this is not stalking, it is journalism.

In short, what I have learnt from this is to LIE MORE. And don't limp so much.

How do you solve a problem like incompetence?

Despite the title of this post, I'm not suggesting I draft in Andrew Lloyd Webber to help me with my job search (mainly because I have a mild phobia of people who look like amphibians) ... I'm just trying to find a way of saying...I'm rubbish. On the morning of a recent interview, I woke up ready to face the world. Unfortunately, so did my stye. (For those of you unfamiliar with gross swelling eye infections...that's what a stye is.) Not to be left out, my knee decided to swell up as well until I looked like I'd been attacked by someone who knew that there's a point on the body that if you hit it the person dies, but they weren't sure if it was the eyelid or the left knee. It is in fact neither.

My top tip for job hunters? No matter how smart your interview outfit is, a tailored skirt and sensible heels will always be overshadowed by a swollen eyelid and a limp - they just scream "Hunchback of Notre Dame". As luck would have it I had listed campanology as an interest on my CV, so at least that looked authentic.

Not to be deterred, I set out for the interview, limp and all. After over an hour on the train and a rather harrowing unexpected train change, I finally arrived and promptly turned the wrong way out of the station. After walking through a lovely park for some minutes, and wondering why none of the adjacent roads matched my map, I approached a kindly looking stranger for help. After pointing me in the right direction, he told me I needed GPS on my phone. I told him I needed GPS on my LIFE, as currently I have no direction apart from an inevitable downward spiral which is making me dizzy, and furthermore I told him to shove it. Well, actually I thanked him for his help and hoped he would have a nice day, but my eyes told a different story... or rather, the non-swollen one did.

Back (hobbling) on the right track, I began mentally rehearsing my 5 Years Time answer: "I'm committed to a career in [insert field here], in a company like this one where I can develop my skills."...don't judge me, it's a work in progress. My knee was hurting, my eye was hurting, and I was about as likely to impress these people as I was to spontaneously sprout wings. Which would definitely solve the limping problem.

But all was not lost.....it started to hail. Big chunks of ice fell from the sky. Still, glass half-full...you're supposed to put ice on wounds, and at least it didn't rain. There's nothing less employable than a freezing Hunchback lookalike who is also soaking wet.

In 5 years time...

I think I've discovered a fatal flaw in my plan for world domination/gainful employment: I'm very bad at bullshitting. Which is odd for an arts graduate, you'd have thought I'd be used to it what with all the "Oh The Wasteland? I totally read it. The messianic imagery blew my mind." (It totally did).

It would seem, however, that although I can blabber on quite eloquently about the etymological significance of... words... when it comes to things that actually matter, like job interviews, I can't do it. First they butter you up with all the offers of cups of tea - clearly they want you to burn yourself. We both know this. They just want to see how well you do in a crisis - I do not need a hot beverage to look like an incompetent fool, thankyou very much.

Then, they go in for the kill..."Where do you see yourself in five years?"

Let me tell you this, the answer "I have literally no idea" does not go down too well.

Honestly, in five years, all I know for sure is I want to be no longer living with my parents (no offence) and to be happy...but if you say that you sound like a directionless hippy (no offence to them either.) Also, when you hear the words "Five Year Plan" who do you think of IMMEDIATELY? Exactly. I do not want to be compared to Stalin by potential employers. Although it would give me the chance to whip out my stellar knowledge of Stolypin's agrarian reforms - thanks, AS History.

Having thought this through, I now have a plan for next time I get asked this question. I will climb on my chair (employers love assertiveness) get out my ukelele (they also love miniature guitars) and give 'em a startling rendition of this: