It’s 3.41pm on the Tuesday after the bank holiday. I’m sitting alone in the office listening to last Friday’s Annie Mac show. It’s the usual mix of body-juddering wobbliness, wince-inducing ‘funky’ nonsense and the latest tracks from the current ‘in’ sub-genre (the ridiculously-named ‘moombahton’).
Doesn’t sound too bad, does it; listening to patchily-good music without interference from your co-workers. But this luxury is the one nugget of joy in an otherwise soul-destroying cesspool of stress, frustration and spirit-crushing boredom.
Welcome to Graduation: One Year On.
I knew it was going to be like this, at least at the beginning. Even with a decent admin background and some minor journalistic achievements behind me, I was expecting to spend a few months photocopying spreadsheets and pretending to give two shits about dog shampooing or rice importation. But a whole year after graduating? That really takes the piss. In fact, it takes all kinds of bodily fluids that could possibly convey the negativity of an especially frustrating situation. Maybe not that bodily fluid. That would be disgusting.
There have been some small glimpses of hope. The six job interviews, for example. Well, the two that I a) was genuinely interested in and b) wasn’t put forward for on merit of the amazing barcode-scanning abilities that I have displayed in my current temp role.
The last interview went very well. For the first time in my life I didn’t end up waffling complete nonsense after forgetting what the question was, nor did I resort to pretending that my one weakness was ‘being a perfectionist’.
But a couple of days after the interview I was informed that I had been unsuccessful. I tried to think of the positives, but other than not (audibly) crying or exploding during the interview, my frustrated brain struggled to come up with anything.
That was a few weeks ago and I haven’t had a response from any application since. Even with huge improvements to my CV it seems that I just don’t have what recruiters are looking for in this highly competitive industry.
If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing again and again but expecting a different result, it’s time for me to shake some of the madness out of my brainium. I need to get the fuck out of this cycle of applying, getting nowhere, getting pissed off and trying again. Fuck journalism, fuck London, fuck Britain and fuck gratuitous swearing. There must be something out there in this vast planet that I’m qualified for and would actually enjoying doing. I don’t care where I have to go; all I need is the money to get there. And a bit more for a place to live. And maybe some for a visa. And a few hundred to get out of my phone contract…
…Maybe insanity is underrated.