Job Applications: 4
I rolled out of bed at about 12, much later than usual and definitely not the sort of time I should be getting used to. Unemployment is no excuse for such behavior. Even bums like me need to make trips to Costcutter for Ross pizzas and beef Space Raiders before lunch time. However, this is not my usual getting up time. Due to the chronic insomnia that hangs over me like a simile that I’m too inarticulate to put together, I tend to fall asleep at stupid o’clock and awaken at barely-past-stupid before falling into the odd state of semi-consciousness that’s not quite as enjoyable or spiritually productive as lucid dreaming, but still manages to eat away time marginally quicker than full consciousness.
Today I decided to start keeping a log of my progress on the road to employment. Seeing as I have semi-realistic dreams of being a journalist, many people have encouraged me to write a blog as a means of whoring my writing skills unto the world. I feel kind of strange doing that though, particularly as I rarely read blogs myself. They mostly seem to be written by the kind of people who yammer on about some issue at a party, despite having very little idea of what they're actually talking about.
My blog won’t be like that, of course.
So how is my journey going so far? Well, if I were to employ my GCSE English skills I’d be inclined to use the following metaphor: Imagine you were obsessed with Formula 1 (I find this very hard to imagine, but stay with me). For years and years you watch the cars go round and round the track, (in my case, secretly hoping that there’ll be a crash or two to make it actually worth watching). You intently study how it all works - the mechanics of the cars, the tactics of the drivers… After 3 years of this you can fully intellectualise F1 in intricate detail.
Then an opportunity arises.
A genie (an entity which is known to frequent vehicle-based sporting events) offers you the chance to race in the British Grand Prix. Wow!, you think. Of course you’ll do it! So you chisel away at your ribcage so you can fit into the tiny cockpit (is that the word?), squeeze your way in and get ready to go. Everything in the car is in order: The steering wheel is sort of round, there are dials on the dashboard and there's a cup-holder that can endure forces of upwards of 4G. You put your foot on the accelerator and BANG! You flatten the guy with the chequered flag.
It was his last day before retirement.
Having spewed that nonsense onto the page, I’m not sure that the metaphor is actually relevant at all. Oh well, my point is this: You can spend three years at university learning the how’s and why’s of something, but in those three years the people with any sense will actually be out there *doing* it. Okay, so I actually do have some writing experience, both paid and unpaid, but even with severe C.V tinkering, I am well below the ‘3 years of editorial experience’ that the decent writing jobs seem to require.
After more than a month of fruitless searching, I have decided to lower the bar. I am now pretty much looking for *anything* writing-related. My dream of a desk job at Mixmag or Empire has evaporated. With unemployment at such a ridiculous level and with that greasy, smarmy Etonian pulling the strings at 10 Downing Street, 2010 is not a year for wishful thinking. It is a year for reluctant doing.
With that in mind, I have decided to start offering to amend the grammatical errors displayed in shop windows for a small fee.
So if you see any adverts for ‘fish and chip’s’ on your travels, do let me know.