An interview

A last desperate lunge for the job market or a poor excuse for an afternoon out of the office at A4E, depending on your point of view.

With a supercillious old bag at Holland and Barret (the peddle fake medicines). I don't think I impressed. Certainly it was over quick enough. I think I spent longer waiting for her to finish with the last woman than I spent in there myself. Those two seemed rather friendly. I believe she said she was impressed.

Probably not a good sign, the quick interview. If I was an employer they're all be quick. Weed out the idiots and the smarms. Pick the best of the rest, or more likely one of the several who could do the job. Not the case with other people who are employers, though. They seem to want to prattle on with their interviewees.

I'd rather gouge my eyes out than become some drivelling idiot. Derren Brown was on not long ago, the master of conjuring, applied psychology and showmanship. He made some lad more outgoing, or that's how it was portrayed. Meant to be good for him. I couldn't help thinking "you've turned him into a cunt". Suddenly won't shut up. An obnoxious fool.

Seemed like she was just going through the motions anyway. Didn't even take one look at me before deciding I wasn't right. Just read me some questions from a bit of paper. The rubbish A4E tell you about interviews didn't come in handy. Eye contact, no she was looking at a bit of paper. Although I'm not big on it anyway, and no-one else should be. Don't look at her tits. not a problem. Something about what to do the week before, the night before, so on. Only had two hours notice. Anyone'd think A4E wasn't tremendously useful. But I now have only one and a half days to go, as Friday is half length. And, better, I'm not going tomorrow as we can have one day off (technically two half-days) and I'd be a mug not to take it.

I've never been enthusiastic about interviews. There seems to be some sort of code which my rough brand of honesty doesn't fit in with. Same with application forms. You get certain questions. When have you made something better? Odd question. What does good customer service mean to you? Well, smacking customers doesn't do it, certainly. Why do you want to work for our company? Well, I understand you pay money in exchange for labour and was hoping to partake of this transaction. I actually used that answer on one form, one of the many forms they've had me traipsing around after (I've got burst blisters on both feet now, and it hurts). Funnily enough they're the only ones I've heard back from. I didn't get the job. Honesty's the best policy my arse.

I'm sure there are correct answers to these questions, "correct" not meaning true, in this instance. I picture cold war era men in trenchcoats making a rendezvous in a park. "The owl flies at midnight." "But his face turns towards the dawn." And a little brown envelope takes the microfilm into foreign hands.

Well, I'm assuming I didn't get the job. Seems likely. If I don't hear I didn't get it, apparently. Not holding my breath. Not on the edge of my seat. A waste of my time, the whole thing.

Can't say I'm overly upset. Do I want to be whoring myself to the highest bidder? Do I want to be working on commission where the job is to convince the gullible folk of the health-food and supplement crowd that these fake medicines can make them better?

I have a certain respect for herbal remedies, I remember how aspirin and artemesinin came about and how few have been tested. But the place peddles soya milk, a highly toxic substance full of oestrogene imitating chemicals. They have many a shelf of vitamin tablets, worthless profit centres. More than one shelf of "lady care", evidently for the hormonally troubled.

So, quite pleased. And I got most of an afternoon away from A4E. All in all not a bad deal.