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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

Job. Interview.

Two words that should never be put together in a sentence without being followed by some kind of primal howl of despair. I had my job interview today at lunchtime.

Clue number one that I wasn’t really taking it all very seriously: I sat in the foyer of the building teaching my mobile to swear again. Instead of sitting there going over my strengths, weaknesses, what I can bring to a team and what I look for in a job, I was sitting in the foyer with a message that read “fuck fuckers fucking cunt bastard wanker twat bitch shithead shit” before being rudely interrupted and ushered in to Meeting Room 4.

I was interviewed by the HR lady and a secretary from the department I’d be working for, which I think is a good sign, because it implies that they realise secretaries have working, functional brains, and not just a set of hands for typing and filing. They asked the usual bullshit questions, and I gave the usual bullshit answers, stopping only momentarily in my flow of bullshit to accidentally start answering a question honestly – the question was “what frustrates you?” – and completely lose my train of thought mid-sentence, so I ended up looking as eloquent as Tom Cruise when he’s stopped taking his Ritalin.

But I was all dressed up in disguise as a business lady cos Mrs Bishop made me buy a suit and a shirt and new shoes on Saturday, so they might have bought the unconvincing act. I’m not sure I want to work there – they were honest enough to say that one of the two partners I’d be working for gets a little “stressed” at times (which translates as turns in to a whining freak whenever work gets a little behind schedule) and that there’s “some filing” involved (meaning there’s a paper mountain the size of a family of goats already waiting for me). But it’s only for a six month contract, and it’s a very well air conditioned building which at this point is the most important thing in the world, and they seem to be willing to pay actual money rather than crusts or peanuts, so I’d have to say yes if I got offered it.

I don’t want to though. I want to spend my mornings sleeping, my afternoons reading books, shopping and decorating my room, my evenings drinking alcohol and my nights lying awake beside He Who Only… and prodding him every time it looks like he might be falling asleep (because that’s the best game ever invented by me, and I’ve invented some great games).

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