Who let the blogs out?

Right following one of my by now accustomed 6 month breaks, Max is back. And do I ever have some stories to tell. Now the reason for my absence can easily be explained by an extraordinary cashflow crisis, a relationship breakdown, a forced relocation and two further job roles... I'd probably better tell you about what happened to the last job I had before all that though, eh?

Well inevitably I got fired from the ripping off old ladies gig. This was partly because I didn't turn up, but that wasn't enough on its own. It wasn't because I was shit at it, even though I was, really. It was at least partly because the faceless sickline voicemail turned out to be staffed by radical incompetents, which meant that I could have left a message saying that I had been abducted by aliens and was being cruelly dismembered on one of the moons of Jupiter and it wouldn't have made a blind bit of difference.

So even though, from their perspective, I had been AWOL for days before turning up late and out of the blue for a poxy 4 hour shift, they were still prepared to give me the benefit of the doubt.

In short, I had to make them fire me. The prospect of remaining actually paniced me because it would firstly mean another four hours of Old Lady hell, but it also would probably have forced me into leaving of my own accord. Unfortunately sacking is an essential first step on the road to jobseeker's allowance; resigning doesn't cut it unless there's a court case pending. Fortunately they asked me what I had been doing, so I told them about the job interview I had been preparing for

"Hang on a minute", my superviser said, and went off to get the HR manager.

The gravel voiced hatchet faced crone with whom I was eventually faced had obviously engaged in a vast number of these conversations. The patronising smile and firm demeanour told of someone ready for dissent, itching to crush her enemies beneath her sensible shoed heels. Her broad shoulders clearly carried the weight of many ruined lives and shattered dreams. She loved it.

As I was once again escorted from a premesis I could reflect on a job well done (getting sacked), and a princely 150 quid in the bank for a job badly done (erm... the job). Being fired still shears away a bit of your soul though, however it occurs.

Talking of jobs badly done, you're probably wondering what happened on the trip to Ireland. Well, possibly. Anyway, what happened is this:

Max

The blog posts you have written are not suitable and I am sure you can understand why.



Kind Regards,

I never even got my fiver. Philistines.

This isn't as easy as I thought

Today I really really tried to go and visit a recruitment agency. A big one this time, that hadn't closed down already. Although I still have enough money stashed to make it pointless signing on, a combination of mounting credit debts and the escalating need to be doing SOMETHING has taken its toll already. I'm not keen to actually get another job you see, but I would like to be seen to be doing something about it, for form's sake.

I wend to Reed's office, locally. Yup, actually visited them in person. There was a time when that was the only way. Their office was long and straight, with a row of seats opposite a row of young-ish girls at desks. They looked at me as if I wasn't wearing any clothes. Their horror was such I actually felt moved to check. I asked them if they might have any roles to suit someone of my particular transferable skills set. They looked bemused, then told me to go and register on their website. So much for that.

I had a back up plan anyway, because I had another job already. Working from home, selling media. The people I was working for seemed unbelievably excited that someone who had actually sold something before wanted to work for them. I managed to negotiate double the initial salary, which was still paltry but a definite improvement. I set up my little Skype headset, and looked at the list of leads they had provided me with.

The 'leads' consisted of a list of company names copied and pasted directly from the alphabetical listing of a conference website. The 'salary' was only payable when certain ridiculous conditions had been met. I'm not normally a quitter, but after 6 hours at this I had earned about one hour's pay. I had this horrible feeling I was being used. I was being used. I don't like that, so I quit.

Actually I didn't quit, I just ignored them until they wondered what the hell I was doing and called me. Then I quit.

Of course that would earn the title 'least time I've spend in a job ever' if I didn't already have that nailed down with a near unbeatable record. Five minutes, in case you were wondering. Although I didn't really view it as a proper job, largely because they didn't pay me anything, and were unlikely to ever pay me anything. If we're talking jobs I actually got money for, it's 3 hours - and they went as far as to fire me. But, hell, this isn't meant to be a history lesson.

Next time I'll try harder.

OK, let's all start again..

Right..

So if you read that last post you'll probably think me a liar - 'post again when he's sacked', he said. I hear you say. Or something.

Well, they sacked me. It was tragic really, mainly because I tried my best. I really wanted to do as I was told and play the game and be successful; well successful enough to apply for another credit card and transfer my balance, and maybe in 6 months time start looking for a mortgage...

Unfortunately it all ended in a massive personality clash. My boss was female and had clearly in the past busted her share of balls, plus whatever area of the female anatomy gets busted in a similar way. She was also heavily botoxed, so it was very hard to read her intentions. I thought she liked my waggish wit, rugged charm and questioning nature. Well, she didn't, I discovered. She assumed I was an ego looking for a place to land, and that I wanted to land on her face. That sort of assumption would have been amusing coming from someone who drove a Gold Lexus, if she wasn't handing me my P45.

Being sacked is horrible, however it happens. No matter how much you know you are right, or wronged, it's still a blow to the confidence. No matter how underpaid or miserable or just plain rubbish the job, you still feel annoyed.

I was very annoyed. My reaction to the news would have raised her eyebrows, had she been able to do so. I don't think anyone's spoken to her like that for a while. Didn't help though, because I'm still at home writing this.

I did, by the way, as promised, go to the little recruitment place at the end of the road. It had shut down. Damn credit crunch.

It's time to branch out.