And yes, I am coming against the same seemingly unsurmountable obstacle: I don't really want a job. I just want the money. So basically my job search involves wandering up and down the street, seeing a 'Staff Wanted Sign', deciding that I don't really have what it takes to work in Monsoon, and then continuing to walk on. Occasionally I will say to myself "Thomas, you need the money, so bite the bullet, be a man, and ask for an application form to work in Mothercare." Then I walk in and give them my CV and pick up - sometimes - a little form offering employment possibilities. I never ever fill in the form. I add it to the little drawer in my desk that is filled with chocolate, love letters, and photographs of my own head, taken from various angles. This is the final resting place of any application form I am given. As for CVs... I feel that they occupy the bin. Although thinking about it the other day a guy had a long look at my CV and said "Wow, you have a string of As and A stars here, chum."
He called me chum! I was like yessssssssss. Then he said he'd call me. He never did. I SAT UP THE WHOLE NIGHT WAITING FOR HIS CALL. I cried.
Thinking about it, this is like a repeat of what happened last year. At least this time I am being a bit proactive and have started my own stencilled tshirt company. So far I've spent about 70 quid on fancy paint, shirts, envelopes etc. I have only taken in £40. This means that I'm LOSING money, despite the fact that I am charging extortionate (if you are a potential customer, read the word 'extortionate' as 'low low low') prices. However hopefully more money will come in when I get PayPal to work. I hope. Dear God I hope. By the way if anybody wants a tshirt please get in touch and I will sell you one for a reduced price.
So while I slowly but surely corner the tshirt market, I'm meanwhile on a search for more gainful and easy employment. This means that I have a fucken STACK of job application forms. It's great. I like the wording on all of them. I mean, here are some frontrunners:
Sainsbury's Checkout Assistant:
You’ll make sure customers receive a great service at the checkout. You’ll do this by:
- ensuring goods are scanned, packed and paid for without delay
- being friendly to customers
- helping out store colleagues
How will I do a great job?
Providing an outstanding service at the checkout is one of the most important roles in the store because there’s nothing that irritates customers more than a long queue. Working on a checkout means dealing with shoppers all day, so telling the difference between people who want to chat and people who would rather not is a handy skill. There are set break times, so you’ll have to be happy sitting down for extended periods.
I like this because it tell me how I'll do a GREAT job. I looked but there wasn't a section on how to do an acceptable job, a slightly substandard job, or even a plain shoddy job. And I DID look. "You'll be rude to customers, molest their children and spit in their soufflet when they aren't looking". I don't think that this job would suit me. Firstly, because I find it difficult to tell the difference between people who want to chat and those who would rather not. This is a major problem with me and one that is almost running my life at the moment. I mean, I'm ALWAYS trying to pick a conversation with people at the pub and stuff and frankly it gets pretty wearing. As people go I wouldn't rank myself as being top of the list for 'tact' and 'noticing that other people don't want to chat and just want their shopping packed'. I once tried to get a deaf and dumb boy to play snap and frankly he was RUBBISH so I span him in circles and moved all the furniture in his house around. That was the worst birthday party ever.
My best friend Sarah K used to work as a checkout girl for Sainsbury's. She didn't like it very much. However I cheered her up by visiting her now and again and I tell you, the look on her little face when she saw me every day was worth the 59p I spent on the chocolate reighndeer.
Starbuck's 'Barista'
I do not know what the FUCK a barista is. According to the websites, all baristas are asians who are having a hell of a time playing with shiny coffee machines.
ASIAN
ASIAN
SLAVE
I am not asian so I don't think that the job is for me. Equally, I would not consider myself to be an "adaptable, self-motivated, passionate, creative team player". I'm more akin to one of those old cars that won't move until you get out the front and wind it up with a crank, and then when it does move it goes at about ten miles an hour and the steering wheel goes about four degrees to either left or right and it won't stop or change speed once you've set it going and it ends up crashing into a barn and breaking the metaphor. My other best best friend Stephanie is a barista. She makes coffee (when she isn't too busy snorting cocaine off of the floor of the shop). I think that she only got the job because she saw the letters 'co' on the menu and her drug-addled brain thought that all they sold was cocaine. They gave her the job because she has big cheekbones and so looks a bit like an elderly asian man:
... and she keeps it now because it funds her habit and means that she doesn't have to turn so many tricks under the table during the school prom to get her next fix; and anyway the FOOLS at Starbucks HQ mistake her being monged off her crank-noggin for being a self-motivated and passionate team player. Little do they know that she is actually just completely buzzed like 24-7. Has anyone ever seen Scarface? You know that bit at the end when Steph (sorry I mean Tony Montana) has just a huge pile of cocaine on his desk and is snorting it by burying his head in it? That's like an average night out for Steph. Actually fuck it that is like an average night IN for Steph. Seriously. When she sneezes, white stuff comes out of her nose. I guess that explains why she professes a love of 'intelligent rap' in her Facebook profile; her brain is nothing but a mushy apple core of wasted dreams and broken neural connectors. I mean I phoned her the other day and I was like "Hey Steph do you wanna go out for a bike ride?" because it's been a while since me and Steph went for a bike ride and visited the orchid where we spent our childhood together, but she was just like "NARGH TOM I'M TOO BUSY DOING LOTS OF COCAINE AND BEING HIGH" and I was just like :-o
You know what? This isn't even a blog any more. It's a motherfucking INTERVENTION. Steve. Please, put down the dirty syringe and the spoon. All of your friends love you and want you to GET HELP. I mean, we've all been in your situation - many times I have looked in the mirror and said to myself "Tom, your choice of poetry and music is woefully and purposefully esoteric and elitist; time to take some drugs" BUT DO I? NO I DON'T. I quietly sit in my room and colour something in. Sometimes I do a dot-to-dot or, indeed, a word search. Why don't you just do the same? You have too many beautiful dreams to let it all end like this, in a tidalwave of vomit and bad cheekbones! We can help you! What would Koyaansiquatsi say if he saw you today? He would feel let down, Stephanie. YES HE WOULD. PUT DOWN THE SPOON.
Maybe I should just get hooked on drugs instead of getting a job. That would be an interesting life-affirming experience.
[Maybe for legal reasons I should say that for legal reasons, Steph's drug addiction is only a rumour and definitely not based in any way on truth. Wink]
Or I guess I could just work for Oxfam. I saw a sign on an Oxfam shop in Kingston that said "Are you honest, reliable or hardworking? Volunteer for Oxfam!"
I like the word 'or' in there. It implies that I could be honest and reliable, but lazy as fuck. Or I could work hard, and be constantly relied upon to lie to customers and steal stuff. Or I could be really honest and work hard. When I show up. Which is like a 50/50 chance from day to day. Man that'd rule I should totally work for Oxfam. I could steal all the good stuff for myself and eat all the Aid parcels and stuff. Mmm, nourishing. Then I'd take photographs of myself eating the food and include it so when the Africans open their parcels on Christmas day it's just photos of me enjoying all of their food.
I think I'm going to lose interest in the whole job search idea soon.
* * *
It's that time of year again, so here is my prediction for the last few paragraphs of Harry Potter 7:
"So you're telling me," said Harry disbelievingly, "That you have all been taking the piss for the past seven years?"
"Yeah!" said Ron, sniggering. "I can't BELIEVE you fell for it."
"So I'm not really a wizard?"
"No chance!" said Hermione, taking off her wig and revealing herself to actually be a heavily made-up man in drag. "Wizards don't even EXIST, you tit."
"My parents?"
"Oh, they're alive," said Dumbledore, walking past smoking a rollup and clutching a greasy back issue of FHM. "They've been watching the whole thing on CCTV with me and having a right laugh."
"But... HOGWARTS?"
"Made of polystyrene. Everyone's an actor. We've all existed for the past seven years to make you look stupid."
"WHY?" said Harry, whose bottom lip was quivering unstoppably.
"I dunno. Bill Gates fancied a laugh I guess. He's the one who paid for it."
Suddenly, inspiration struck Harry. "Wait a second! I don't believe you! I have seen so many wonderful creatures and monsters, things that can't POSSIBLY have been real! Like Dobby the house-elf! I remember his weird bulbous head and shiny brown skin and stubby little legs! He can't have possibly been anything OTHER than a goblin."
Dumbledore rolled his eyes and took a deep drag of his ciggie. "Harry. Do you know what a 'black person' is?"
Harry stared blankly at him.
Dumbedore sighed, then pulled a photograph out of his pocket. "Here's Dobby pre-makeup."
Harry fell to his knees. "This doesn't make any sense!"
"No Harry," spat Ron balefully. "I'll tell you what doesn't make sense! In book two of the Harry Potter series the Chamber of Secrets is accessed through an opening hidden inside a sink, however on page 500 it also clearly states that the chamber was built by Salazar Slytherin around 990 AD, many centuries BEFORE the introduction of indoor piped plumbing! Eh? DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE! THAT'S ANACHORNISTIC! BUT DID YOU SEE ME COMPLAINING AT THE TIME? NO! Now fuck off."
Scar.
The End.
Now let's all wait and see for when the book comes out to see if I'm correct.
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