Dearth of a Salesman

Ladies, gentlemen, other. I am no longer a statistic.

This morning, I was phoned by Sky, and told my interview had been successful, so therefore I'll now be able to put "Murdoch Henchman" on my CV. After 4 months of desperately trying to get work, and suffering at the hands of the Department of Work and Pensions, and the spiteful cunts at HMV who wouldn't let me get on with my life, I'm finally getting out of the doldrums. As you can imagine, I'm extremely happy I got the job, and you'll probably realise how much when you know what I had to go through.

It's based in Cardiff Gate, which is a fucking nightmare to get to at the best of times, more so if you don't drive, like poor bastards such as myself who rely on public transport. In trying to work out my route there, I consulted the Wikipedia of map resources, Traveline. Here's the final part of the journey route they provided:

The green line from the bottom of the map is my route. The yellow square is where I had to get off the bus, by Asda. The white line along the red line is where I had to walk. Fairly standard stuff, no? Well, the red line's a dual carriageway. And it was snowing its arse off.

I had no choice. In my finery (well, my interview suit, black shirt, white tie; I looked like a nightclub bouncer who'd been kidnapped and left for dead at the roadside), I made my way along the dual carriageway, no trace of a pavement, just a muddy verge. Several police cars sped past. Luckily for me, there seemed to have been an assault or an armed siege somewhere, so I was small fry in comparison. To the sub-human scum that caused whatever horrific event made me 'not worth it', I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Anyway, after half an hour of nearly getting killed 3 times, I reached a pavement. Now I was lost. The map told me to go past a hotel. I saw a hotel. I went past it. I ended up in a Welcome Break services. I asked for directions, and was told to go past the other hotel that wasn't on the map, and that I couldn't see through snow-blasted eyes.

I finally made it there with minutes to spare. I joined my fellow applicants in the lobby, and immediately felt overdressed and fucking ancient. I was tired, freezing, in strange surroundings and, by comparison, old. That must've been what it feels like to be an elderly woman who can't pay her gas bill.

Moving on, part of the interview involved a maths test and a spelling test, which had to be done in 10 minutes. As I started the maths section, the left hand side of my face starting to spasm. I couldn't control the corner of my mouth or my eyelid. "Fuck," I thought, "I'm having a stroke." Seriously, having a stroke was the last thing I needed. It was actually neuralgia-related, brought on by the freezing weather I had to endure. I knew that it affected some of my answers, and I'm usually okay with mental arithmetic. At that point, I completely forgot the concept of numbers and the manipulation thereof. Spelling test, though: piece of piss.

After the interview, I left the building, and was happy to see a bus stop. I was less happy when I saw there wasn't a bus for a few hours. I spent the best part of an hour trying to find alternative routes back to Asda, which involved looking suspicious behind a nursery. Again, that was the last thing I needed. However, every conceivable path back to civilisation was fenced off. I had no choice.

Walking back down the dual carriageway was even more treacherous than before, since the traffic was heavier and heading directly for me. There seemed to be more bushes forcing me to walk directly onto the road this time around, too. Thankfully, it had stopped snowing. Mercifully, it had started pissing down with rain instead. I eventually made it home, wondering what I would do on a daily basis if they did offer me the job.

As it turns out, there's a free bus that goes there. So that's nice to know after the fact.

This comes months after losing my job with HMV and its bullying management (check back through December's blog posts to read the full story - it's the blog called Clusterfuck). If you ever get a job with HMV and you have kids, don't tell them. They'll hold your career back and promote fucking teenagers with no experience over you. The way they operate is wholeheartedly illegal and discriminatory, but if you question it, they'll make stuff up about positions not being available, or something about your performance. They only allow arrogant braggarts and bullies reach management level. I could tell you some nasty stories about some of them, but that's for another time. Stay tuned.

After losing my job, I had to start signing on. Extremely humiliating, and no matter how hard you genuinely try to find work, you're treated the same as the lazy bastards who've never worked in their lives and have no intention of doing so. Last month, after being unemployed for 3 months and having applied for what must've been upwards of 300 jobs, the DWP contacted me, telling me that they'd contacted HMV asking for details on my departure. They told them that I was "dismissed due to not opening the store on time, causing potential loss to the company". Since they're not allowed to give that (extremely biased and one-sided) version of events to possible employers, they shouldn't be allowed to give it to the DWP, particularly as they did not consult my version of events. Anyway, based solely on what my twisted, beaver-faced former manager told them, they stopped my JobSeeker's Allowance immediately with no warning. It did not matter to them that I have two young children, nor that I was actively seeking work (with plenty of proof to back it up). We were left solely with my wife's income, which just about covers mortgage and bills. I appealed straight away, pleading poverty and starvation, amongst many other reasonable things, and I'm still waiting. So, I went from being dole scum to being just scum. I was told I could apply for a hardship allowance, which I did. I'm still waiting for that too. They still expected me to sign on, which I did. They then expected me to sign on weekly instead of fortnightly. I enquired how I was supposed to get to job interviews, and even to get to the Job Centre, with no JSA to pay for travel. I was told to apply for a hardship allowance. I could see I was getting nowhere. They're supposed to be there to help you, but they treat you as if you're on a production line. You're not an individual, you're a statistic, and family people like myself are treated abominably. Some people know how to work the system (if anybody from the DWP is reading this, I will be more than happy to provide the identity of two benefits cheats I know who work the system very well). The lesson appears to be: never, ever tell the truth, or you'll get chewed up and spat out.

After I was told I had the Sky job this morning, I had a phone interview with AA. I didn't get it, possibly because I told them I was looking forward to working with drunks.

Not really.

The real reason is this. The interviewer asked me about my previous employment, and was keen to know why I left. I felt compelled to tell the truth. I told her about the bullying, and she seemed genuinely sympathetic. I told her about the way I'd been treated by HMV, but it wasn't reflective of my entire time with the company. I genuinely used to love my job, and had seven successful years with them, and I made them a lot of money. She asked the official reason for my departure, so I told her. She terminated the interview, telling me that it wasn't their policy to employ people who've been dismissed from a job. Idiots.

I suppose I'm an idiot for being too honest. My wife thought so when I told her.

Still, I've got a job now. Fuck you, AA. Fuck you, DWP. And, most especially, a wholehearted fuck you, HMV. I've got Murdoch Henchman on my CV after you now, and you can't hurt me or my family any more.

There. I feel better now.