Sometimes I dream I am sat on the edge of the globe.
It is like a balcony, and the vast never-ending blackness around me is the blanket that keeps me warm; the stars are the candles.
It is so quiet out here. A time-warp. There is nowhere else to be, there is no-one else to see, there is nothing I need; I am nameless. The earth is my lover –
Ring ring, ring ring.
The earth is my lover who –
Ring ring, ring ring.
The earth is my lover who doesn’t –
RING –
Oh what the fuck?! Somebody is bothering to call me?! During my QUIET time?!
(I proceed to grumble whilst searching for the Nokia I didn’t have the heart to throw away.)
I actually have friends?! My boyfriend sensed my calmness and realised it would be the most worthwhile time to ring?! My mother is worried about me?! The CAR TAX needs paying?! I need to buy insurance?! Would I like a mobile upgrade?! How are you today?! Can I interest you in –
(No you fucking can’t – don’t you just hate people trying to sell you shit over the phone?!)
(Amber) Hello?
(Man) Hi, is that Amber Hillier?
(Amber, tense) Yes, it is, hello?
(Man) Hi there Amber, this is Simon from Ascent Solutions, you applied for a media sales executive role this morning, is that correct?
(Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, there were so many roles I applied for this morning I don’t have a clue which is which. And what is media sales, anyway?!)
(Amber, laughing nervously) Oh yes, that would be me!
(Simon) So Amber, have you got ten minutes, I’d just like to ask you some quick questions about why you applied for the role, and why you think you’d be good at it?
(Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, proceed to bullshit about bullshit, discussing nothing of any relevance, thinking vaguely of what you might eat for lunch, wondering if Simon’s face is as nice as his voice, wondering why he keeps repeating ‘cool cool cool’ like he’s singing you a rap – and had you even said anything remotely ‘cool?’, haphazardly guessing what might be needed of you.)
(Simon) Brilliant Amber, I’d like to put you forward for this job, you have an interview in London tomorrow, I’ll email you the details.
(Oh golly, what?!)
(Amber) Yes – No – OK!
(Simon, laughing) Brilliant Amber, it sounds like you’d be perfect.
(Amber, weakly) Thank you….?
(Simon) No problem, Amber , I’m going to tell you what to do in the email –
(Amber) Tell me…?
(Simon) It’s going to be tough. Don’t let the shit heads bring you down –
(Amber, weakly) Don’t let the….?
(Simon, laughing) You’ll be fine.
(Amber) Shit heads…?
(Simons) The ass holes. They’ll try and destroy you. Just ask them questions –
(Amber) Destroy me…?
(Simon) Shoot you down. Back you into a corner. Make you question your very point of being. But you’re not insecure. Just imagine yourself kicking them.
( I. Am. Not. Insecure. ??????)
(Amber) So, what does the job actually involve?
(Simon laughing) Hahaha, oh Amber, you are funny.
(Amber) (Silence)
(Simon) Well it’s selling your clients products over the phone, isn’t it? Media sales?
FUCK.
MY.
LIFE.
Those really fucking annoying people that ring you up and sell stuff and before you know it you’re signing up to everything because they’re so Goddamned good at it? That’s what I’m aspiring towards.
The trouble is, you’ve started really going for the job searching now. Its got to the point where you aren’t even looking and you’re clicking ‘apply’ like there’s no tomorrow.
(Which there isn’t when you consider income.)
Before you know it, you’re receiving email confirmation from places you’ve never heard of, realising you applied to build gardens for old people (you’ve never held a spade) and you’ve tried to describe why you think you’d be suitable to manage a global company of thousands (what a waste of application time.)
You’re getting delirious.
At the job centre they print a list of placements that might be suitable for your drama degree (meaning they think you’re going to be an ‘average’ and ‘adequate’ player at pretty much everything.)
All of the jobs have really wonderfully important sounding names that I can’t even be bothered to list here due to embarrassment. You are sat looking at your advisor with a flushed face and wide eyes (like Bambi) – eyes that are saying ‘help me,’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘fuck you’ all at once. The advisor then turns to you and says ‘these might be interesting.’
Enthusiastically, like a small child learning to walk, you reach out and grab the papers as though they are the Holy Grail.
You read one of the names out loud and try the person specification –
- Good communication skills
- Ability to empathise with customers
- Friendly manner
- Good customer service
- High product knowledge
- Able to persuade
- Loves a challenge.
You say – ‘This sounds good. What does this job mean?’
Your advisor smiles at you and says ‘it means you’ll be giving away free little cheese samples in supermarkets.’
Face still flushed, you reply ‘that sounds perfect.’ And wonder how the fuck you’re going to convince them to pay you in a fortnight’s time.
Interviews……………… (bain of my life.)
If you’re wondering how the job interview went for the Telesales Executive I’ll try and give you an idea.
You run to the interview exceptionally early because you need to go via MAC in convent garden. Oops. You forgot to research the company’s website.
- Bullshit Rule Number One: ALWAYS RESEARCH THE COMPANY WEBSITE.
You click on it, bored after one minute of navigating yourself round a website that really means nothing to you.
You arrive at the offices hating yourself for having gotten into this mess – you know you are meant to be doing something creative with your life, and you’re just gutted you hadn’t managed to work it out yet. Because it means you’re kind of taking chances in the meantime. Spending twelve quid on a train ticket and kind of already thinking that that twelve quid will never be earned back again.
DAMN IT BRAIN, HURRY UP AND MAKE A LIFE CHOICE BEFORE YOU SETTLE FOR A CHEESE SELLING JOB.*
*No offence if you sell cheese. Cheese is a lovely product in many lovely varieties. We’d be nothing without cheese.
There are loads of people already there, it is a group interview. Gosh. A lot of men. In suits. A twenty-seven year old (I thought this was a graduate interview?) I make idol conversation, take names and that, all the niceties. I figure out pretty soon they are desperate for the job. None of them are there ‘just because.’ They are there because they are seriously considering a job in telesales.
Fuck.
I say something and laugh and when someone else arrives we all have to squeeze up together on the sofas and I say ‘oh, nice and cosy, we’re bonding!’ And no-one laughs.
There’s this really nice other girl there wearing a pink shirt. She looks at me and smiles as if to say ‘thank fuck there’s another girl here,’ and I look at her back as if to say ‘what the fuck are we doing here?’ and I can see it in her eyes she’s saying ‘I’m just desperate to feel as though I have a purpose in life.’ And I’m all like, through the eyes, you know, ‘is it too late to run?’ And she’s like ‘yes. Yes it is.’ So at least then, we know.
We have to sit through a presentation on the company. I make some notes, I quite like the feeling that I am pretending to care, it’s a fun task.
The head of the company office is chatting blah blah blah blah and I’m trying to concentrate, really, truly I am, but he is saying words I don’t understand as I never did business studies, and he’s asking questions about the company website and I’m thinking, nod and smile nod and smile.
Before I know it I am wondering if he is married and I am trying to look at his left hand to see if he has a wedding ring – I don’t feel remotely attracted to him I am just curious. Then I wonder where he lives. And what degree he studied for, if he did a degree I’m guessing he did, and whether he actually wanted to work here before he came and then I’m wondering (strangely) if he’s good in bed, and I have no idea why the thought came into my head, and then I notice he has a small waist and there is a gap where the zip of his fly isn’t quite done up properly so I can see a speck of white and I don’t know if it is his boxer shorts or his shirt. I notice Bex (the girl in pink) staring at me, with a face like ‘Babe! Get in the game!’ So I hastily return to looking at the papers infront of me with my writing on – with no memory of ever taking the notes I clearly had...
The interview lasted 3 hours during which I had to convince everyone that Jesus should come to a party we were all having (and God Forbid we should ever find ourselves at a party together)– pretty easy task. Who wouldn’t want a guy at a piss up who could turn water into wine?
Well the knob head next to me actually. He was all like ‘Jesus will bring the whole affair down,’ and I was like ‘man, you want to invite Alan Sugar who the fuck are you kidding?’
The next task was to persuade everyone to buy a flame proof match.
These people, are they fucking crazy? They said scientifically we could be as blasé as we wanted so during the attempt of the sale of ‘the cold flame’ the Smart Alec judge goes ‘and how does it work scientifically’ and I’m like ‘what the fuck?! I don’t want to work for people that lie!!!!’
I left the interview thinking ‘Holy shit in a bag that was ten times worse than Dragon’s Den’ – stood outside of the offices for half an hour with two friends, Bex and another girl called Anne – while we were all waiting for the shaking to subside in our legs.
Together, we picture a world where men in their suits all get on their hands and knees as we arrive, and let us walk over their crippling backs to the seats in our chosen professions. Bex – an English teacher, -me - a professional cheerleading coach and choreographer, (with middle aged aerobics on the side)and Anne – just a man whore with guys on leads. She hadn’t quite worked out where she wanted to be yet.
It is a relief to be out of there. On the train home I am like ‘phew!!’
Until…..
The phone rings.
I recognise the number. It’s Simon.
(Simon) Hi Amber, how’d it go?
(Amber) Well, I don’t think telesales is for me, actually.
(Simon) Oh, no, why not?
(I explain in detail the previous events, missing out the bit about staring at the company director’s crotch, and finish my sentence with ‘thank fuck they won’t be wanting me back.)
(Simon) That’s a shame Amber
(Amber) Nah, it’s alright.
(Simon) They want you for a second interview, Amber. Tomorrow. They liked you, they described you as ‘resilient’ and ‘no nonsense.’
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!
Well. I can’t exactly turn it down, can I?!
I live with my Granddad. He is a watchmaker and he always has customers over that seem a hell of a lot more interested in me than even I am!!!
So I can hear them, and – bearing in mind I am in the room next door and all the doors are open so you can hear everything, I can’t even fart without being heard, I can’t even send a text without them hearing the keypads being pressed AND it’s on keypad silent – they are asking in loud carrying voices all about me.
Now, I understand they are curious. But seriously. There’s asking questions. Then there’s actually giving a shit. And why on earth would they give a shit?! The length of their intrigue is beyond me!
‘Is Amber still at University?’
‘No, oh right, what are her plans now then?’
‘Oh she hasn’t got any, right, so what are her interests?’
‘Oh right, ok, but how does she plan on making money doing that?’
‘Oh right ok, so, she’s applying for jobs?’
‘Oh right, ok, so she’s been unsuccessful so far, then?’
‘Oh right, ok, so she’s just doing nothing at the moment then?’
Oh right. Ok. What a shame. And she was always such a lovely, happy girl.
As I speak someone has just come through from Granddads workshop. No word of a lie. She has just – right this minute – in fact, she’s asking me as I’m furiously typing – come through to the kitchen and asked me outright –
‘So you can’t get a job then?’
What the fuck?! I am busy! Can she not see that I am busy?! Just look how busy I am! Furiously busy being uninterested in other people’s lives whilst I try and get my own straight! I don’t give a shit about the conversation. I am much too busy to be bothered!
There’s the ‘Curious Customer’ protocol. It always goes a little something like this –
- Step one - Initiate the loud questions, with the hope that Amber will take the personal curiosity directed about her as an invitation to her to speak for herself.
- Step two – deal with the failure (Amber’s lack of involvement and feigned deafness) by casually starting to move towards the hall, staring out of the window and commenting on the birds, or, the weather, ‘oh, lovely day out there, isn’t it?’ No. It’s rainy.
- ‘Oh!’ Step three - Initiate the feigned shock as eyes fall upon prey located in kitchen (the only place I can get internet much to my severe frustration.) ‘Didn’t see you there Amber! How are you?’
- Step four – don’t wait for reply. Dive right in there with questions that are obviously of the most importance – ‘How much are you earning? Where do you want to live? How many children do you plan on having? What is your sex life like? Do you have a boyfriend? How big is his cock?’ Etc etc.
- Step five – Conclude that Amber is a rude bitch. Either that or severely retarded, with a distinct lack of knowledge and complete ignorance of how to conduct a decent conversation.
Now when the doorbell rings I leg it upstairs, shut my door, and hide under my quilt where I have a stash of Cadbury’s roses and a bottle of wine just in case they are there too long and survival supplies start to dwindle.
Granddad to Amber – “You could sell doughnuts if you wanted.”
I don’t know what his aim was in saying the comment, but I think he was trying to be nice.
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