Children,
Animals & Laptops
By
Dominic Horton
My
quest to find gainful employment continues at a pace with varied
success. I have received a steady flow of “thanks but no
thanks” rejection emails regarding job applications and one was
even cruelly headed, “Your Job Application – Shortlist” only to
inform me in the body of the email that I had not made the shortlist.
But at least those employers have had the courtesy to reply to me as
the majority simply give you the cold shoulder after dispatching your
CV into the dustbin. Or the electronic equivalent of the dustbin,
whatever that is called. But a few days ago I at last had a
breakthrough when a pleasant woman from the BBC called to inform me,
to my delight, to invite me to an interview. After having a string of
bothersome PPI and ambulance chaser sales calls I nearly didn't pick
up the telephone as the number was unknown to me but a little voice
inside my head must have implored me to take the call and I am glad
that I did. There is no need to be concerned, if I am successful with
the BBC interview I won't be starring at you on your television
screen reading the news on Midlands Today like Alan
Towers in days of old.
 |
| Alan Towers on Midlands Today. |
The
last time I had an interview was nearly two decades ago when I was
offered a job with the bank that I was subsequently employed by for
many's the moon until being made redundant last year. The interview
was a bit of a sham as it only lasted fifteen minutes or so and I was
only presented with a few gentle questions. I knew that the brevity
of the interview meant that I had either definitely got the job or
definitely not got it, but I did not know which one of the two
outcomes would prevail.
Job interviews, first dates and exams all
often seem follow a set pattern – if you think you have done well
you usually fail and if you think you have done badly you usually
succeed. But the interview was so short that had I no time to succeed
or fail so I was totally in the dark about the outcome. At the time
there was a number of positions up for grabs and in hindsight the
bank simply wanted to fill them – basically if you could do joined
up writing and count to ten without using your fingers you were in.
Hunting
for a job is not what it used to be as everything now is done
electronically. When I was looking for a job in the 1990's before I
joined the bank one used to buy copies of The Express &
Star and The Evening Mail on a Thursday
evening and scour the jobs pages and put a circle of red ink around
any suitable opportunities. Then you had to either post off a CV
with a covering letter or telephone the employer for an application
form, which needed to be completed by hand, a dreadfully time
consuming business, especially for me as my hand writing is appalling
so I really had to take my time and concentrate on what I was doing.
I always used to complete the application forms bitterly as I knew
that despite my scribing efforts the chances were that the form would
end up being flippantly disposed off by an official of the employer.
 |
| Harry Gout, by request of Toby In-Tents. |
These
days you can upload your CV online and some job websites even have a
“one click” application procedure where they dispatch your
CV to the employer, so it really is child's play. Filling out
application forms online is less grueling than the paper
equivalent as you can at least cut and paste sections from previous
job applications and type face means that the aesthetic
appearance of applicants' forms is universal, so my illegible written
scribble doesn't disadvantage me.
Employers
seem to like persons who are constantly adding new strings to their
bows and are slaves to self improvement. To this end I recently
attended a drama therapy course and a self employment workshop, both
of which were free which gives you a clue as to the main reason as to
why I attended. I didn't real know what to expect from the drama
therapy session but I first perceived it as being “Drama? Therapy!”
as in “had a major life DRAMA? Don't worry, we'll give you
THERAPY!” But it didn't turn out to be a caper like that at all. In
drama therapy a person can express their problems by playing a role
like an actor. It's a bit like going to visit your doctor and saying,
“I want to help a close friend of mine because he's too embarrassed
to visit you as he's having difficulties getting an erection” when
it is you all along that is failing to rise to the occasion.
Christian,
the calm and friendly leader of the course, explained that
dramatherapy is a form of psychological therapy in which all of
the performance arts are utilised within the therapeutic
relationship. The course was interesting and enlightening but the
whale music that played in the background for the duration of the
evening, which was intended to permeate tranquility and
lead to a sense of serenity, didn't achieve its desired
effect on me as it got right on my thruppenies and I wanted
to sling the CD player out of the window. Whales should at least have
the decency to learn a basic three cord punk track if they want to
impose music upon our earholes.
 |
| Whale Music. |
The
first few speakers at the self employment workshop in Smethwick
proved to be useful and informative but then I was presented with two
young men from the High Street bank that I used to work for and they
got my goat without even trying. One of the bankers was slovenly –
unshaven, tie undone, wearing an ill-fitting shirt etc. - but he was
not a bad speaker, though not an entirely competent one,
and the other was smartly turned out with polished shoes, a
pressed suit and closely clipped hair, but he was an uninspiring and
less than competent orator. Between them the double act
didn't present a favourable impression of the bank and they wouldn't
make me rush to them to negotiate a loan to start up a business.
But
worse was to follow when an accountant stepped out for the next part
of the show and not wanting to break the stereotype of his profession
he was an unrestrained and relentless dullard. His suit was dull, his
tie was dull, his glasses were dull, his voice was dull, his slide
show was unremittingly dull. Even his hair was dull. The accountant
attempted a couple of “jokes” but no one even offered any
apologetic laughter as he had drained the room of any remaining
enthusiasm and life.
Just
as I was losing the will to live a chap called Andy burst onto the
stage and as much as a business advisor can be, he was a real showman
and he wrestled back the attentions of the audience before him.
Andy's confidence and vitality was such that he was completely
unfazed by being asked to speak for ten minutes longer than he had
planned, to make up for the schedule running ahead of time. This
reminded me of once being instructed to spontaneously entertain a
room full of guests for ten minutes at a wedding.
 |
Lord Reith, who will probably be rolling in his grave at the
prospect of me being interviewed by the BBC.
|
Harry
Gout bestowed the honour on our dear late friend The Imp and I of
being his Best Men at his wedding and to that end we had prepared the
customary speech. The Imp had previously been the Best Man for Lolly
and the Imp based his speech on old photographs that he had acquired
of Lolly, most of which were comedic, which he projected onto a wall
at the wedding venue. We decided to follow this tack for our speech
at Gout's wedding and after obtaining the necessary embarrassing
pictures of Gout we rehearsed the speech to death and all was fine
and dandy. That is until we actually came to perform the speech at
the wedding. The Imp and I took the stage but to The Imp's horror the
laptop computer, which we were to use to project the photographs
from, was refusing to work. The Imp whispered to me, “the laptop's
not working” but knowing that he was a right wind-up merchant I did
not believe him but after investigating the matter I found his word
to be true. As The Imp and I stood on the stage, with an increasingly
impatient crowd looking on, he muttered the immortal words to me, “I
will try and get the laptop to work, you entertain the crowd for ten
minutes.”
Not
having a short tap dance routine up my sleeve and being unable to
play the spoons I had to disappoint the audience and The Imp. In the
event we had to delay the speech to the evening by which time we
finally had got the laptop working – in a fashion – but by then
we were jibbering wrecks and the speech didn't reach the mirthful
heights that it should have done. If at the BBC interview I am asked,
“please tell me Mr Horton, what rule in life do you consider to be
the most important?” I will answer, “never work with children,
animals or laptops.”
©
Dominic Horton, June 2015.
Lowlife
is dedicated to the memory of the late Jonathan Rendall
Email:
lordhofr@gmail.com
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