Chapter 15
Although the interview with Mrs Drummond was a cringe worthy expose of my lack of maturity and knowledge, I certainly learnt a lot from the chain smoking, frog throated, trout lipped warhorse. I mean, she was a ball breaker of the highest proportions and we weren’t likely to meet for afternoon tea anytime soon but she made me see that first impressions meant a great deal and if I was planning on doing something, whatever it was, then I should do it properly. Her influence was probably why I lost forty pounds of my not so hard earned cash a few days after meeting her.
I decided it might be prudent to get help with my CV so I checked Google, where else, just to see what I could come up with. Of course, me being me, instead of immediately doing it I got distracted and logged on to www.getmehitched.com instead, although I needn’t have bothered because there weren’t any messages in my inbox from women looking for a slightly podgy, mediocre looking man with no job. I knew my empty inbox wasn’t just because my profile was about as dull as dish water but I changed it regardless, more out of superstition than anything else, and then scanned the list of available women in my area only to realise I was flogging a dead horse. There were about three who matched my criteria but they were all teachers and, if I were to believe James, teachers weren’t to be messed with because although they were great in the sack they, without exception, would go loco on you after only a couple of dates. I wasn’t keen on having a dead pig’s head delivered to my front door and being forced to change my phone number every five minutes so I decided against contacting anyone in the teaching profession.
I must admit, it was rather odd trying to choose a potential date without having a picture to go by but maybe that was a good thing. No one puts anything less than their best picture on the internet so it only ever leads to disappointment. If they’re about a six out of ten online then they’re more likely to be about a three or four in real life, two stone heavier and ten years older.
After mulling over Victoria’s self-obsessed profile for all of two minutes, wondering whether or not she was worth another shot I eventually slapped myself around the chops and got round to the job in hand, attempting to turn my CV from a shabby, convoluted three page mess into a more refined two page phenomenon with the help of www.CVexperts.net, who informed me that for the economically repugnant sum of £39.99 they would guarantee an interview within the month. I’d already managed one with my self-made crappy CV so their guarantee didn’t seem overly tempting until I spotted the punch line ‘job of your dreams,’ which is where I got suckered in. I’m a chump when it comes to punch lines but who doesn’t want the job of their dreams or at least one they don’t despise so I set about inputting my details in the hope of a minor miracle. I merely had to answer a few questions, tap a few buttons, upload my current CV, not to mention my bank details, and they would then use their God given talent to provide me with a new one fit for a King.
What actually came back, a day later, was two pages worth of bull. In the returning email they informed me they had ‘embellished’ a few things; ‘as is common practice on CV’s’. I wasn’t sure if they were bonkers or I was because, in my mind, lines like ‘world beating organisational skills’ and ‘gold star leadership qualities’ were only suitable to people who actually had such skills and qualities. They had even included, under the abilities heading, that I was ‘guaranteed to add value across the business going forward.’ I had never uttered corporate mush like that in my entire life and wasn’t about to start. Their service was a sham of the highest proportions so I decided to grow some balls, stand up for my rights and complain in the form of a harshly written email.
I informed them that although the layout and presentation was of a good quality the content was somewhat misleading and inaccurate and I deemed the £39.99 a quite large figure for what I perceived to be a fairly generic CV. I asked that they refund me my money as a result of my discontent but largely because I was unlikely to use the CV in any of my forthcoming applications.
It all sounded rather convincing, or so I thought. I had been somewhat eloquent in my email, more so than if I had spoken to them on the phone so I expected at least a partial refund. Fair enough, a full one was a tad hopeful but twenty quid wasn’t out of the realms of possibility. However, three whole days later, their Customer Service response was a predictable one, referencing their terms and conditions which stated that, under no circumstances, were refunds given and reminding me that I had been asked to accept these terms and conditions when making the payment.
Bloomin’ terms and conditions, they always catch you out. Who has time to read through eighteen pages of encryption, deciphering their legal codes? You needed a law degree just to understand a single sentence.
£39.99 may not have seem a lot to some people, and granted, I was on a tax free wage, but eighteen grand a year isn’t a King’s ransom by any means. Like most people, I still wanted value for money, so I replied demanding they refund my money or I would go to trading standards and complain like a snitch.
Their second reply was somewhat insulting, informing me that it was my prerogative to do so and attaching the contact details of the trading standards. I was amazed by how, as a potential customer, I was probably their best friend but as soon as my money was in their bank and they’d fobbed me off with any old rubbish they discarded me like a used toothbrush but that’s the way of the world these days, people only like you if they can get something from you.
Still, I can be stubborn on occasion and was sort of resolute in fighting my corner (what else did I have to do with my time) so wrote off to trading standards who, in turn, told me a reply would be forthcoming within the next six weeks. When it did come however, ten weeks later and without any kind of helpful advice, I had forgotten about the whole debacle and couldn’t be bothered to pursue the matter. Even agencies set up to help the common man don’t give a damn unless it benefits them and I figured continuing the fight would only lead to frustration and grey hairs.
Most of the time you can’t rely on anyone in this world but yourself.
So, I wrote that damn CV all on my own, using the CV experts layout but, by and large, telling the truth with the content. I made sure I could justify whatever I put down so there was no mention of ‘gold star leadership qualities’ or ‘world beating organisational skills’, it was more along the lines of eager to learn, had a proven track record of achievement both academically and professionally and had grown as a person so much that I was ready to take the next step, although I still wasn’t entirely convinced what the next step was.
A month went by before I actually had a formal response to any of my applications. I must have sent three dozen and followed every one of them up with a phone call but was often told the position had either been filled by a stronger candidate or they were still sifting through CV’s and would get back to me in due course, probably whilst they were lighting a match to my application. In the mean time I had to go back and see Margery a couple of times but she was about as much use as a sperm donor shooting blanks and was only too delighted to see I was doing my own work just so she didn’t have to do.
It was a painstaking process and although I was lucky not to worry too much about finances, the constant stream of rejection and boredom had my confidence waning to a level that surprised even me. If it hadn’t been for the loin tingling increase in texts from Jess I may have gone slightly loopy but I’ll tell you about that in a short while, one thing at a time hey.
Luckily, on the very day that I rose from my bed at three in the afternoon, I received an email from SBL Marketing Limited in response to an application I had made for an Assistant Marketing Executive. The title sounded rather grand but it was basic entry level stuff, with a package to fit the role but, nevertheless, it was something I actually wanted to do and money wasn’t my driving motivator, although that’s easy to say when you have £15,867 in the bank.
To my relief, I had been offered an interview later that w
eek, and was kindly informed that the process would be a mixture of competency based questions and an informal discussion about my previous employment and little old me. I was to meet with two people, one from HR and one from Marketing, whilst the whole thing would last no more than an hour. I was told, in italics, to ‘come prepared’. Basically, I wasn’t to waste their or my time so, for the next several days, I duly set out to adhere to their demands and swatted like a son-of-a-bitch. I studied the company, practiced and memorised answers to the competency based questions and achieved all of this whilst in my boxer shorts but I did make sure that, come the day, I had a suit to wear. Fair enough, it was my Dad’s suit but we were roughly the same size and it fitted like a rather large glove so I felt ready for action, ready to go, which is why it was a nuisance to find, on the morning of the interview, that I was a nervous and shambolic wreck, similar to when I was evilly bullied by The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo that night in Glasgow.
As you well know by now, I’m often nervous but not always to the extent where my heart races like a cheetah’s. I was barely out the shower and sweat was oozing from my pores. My clothes clung to my skin like a leech. Nerves were one thing but this felt as though I was losing control, as if my heart would explode at any given moment but I was determined to do well at that interview, regardless of my exploding heart issues. I didn’t want to let the company, my parents and, most importantly, myself down so I rushed to the kitchen and glugged back three large mouthfuls of James’s horrific tasting whisky. Then, I drove to the interview an hour early, sat in a nearby pub and ordered three pints of lager in quick succession. All this was on an empty stomach so by the time I was shown into the interview room I was half cut, if truth be told, and only the two hastily purchased packets of polo mints disguised the smell of alcohol on my breath. Still, there was only a modicum of perspiration so my binge drinking was actually worthwhile for once.
When Rachel, the girl from HR, entered the room the drink must have done the trick because I was actually fairly relaxed which was a pleasant surprise. She was quickly followed by the chap from Marketing, this sweet old man with a great big silver beard and wiry silver hair who instantly reminded me of Gandalf from Lord of the Rings. He was a sharp dresser this Gandalf, I’d say that about him. He wore a three piece suit with a pearly white handkerchief in his breast pocket and a dark platinum tie pin so I was sort of thankful to have made an effort with my appearance because first impressions clearly meant something to this chap.
Rachel wasn’t as snazzy a dresser as Gandalf but she was no bag of nails either. She had a simple knee length black dress on with a white slash across the front and plain black tights. Her hair was tied back into a pony tail but not out of laziness; I could tell care and attention had been taken on the design. She was pretty good looking girl as well, I mean not in a way which gave me an instant stiffy, more the girl next door - your parents would like her - kind of look but I didn’t have time to pay too much attention to her because I was concentrating as hard as I could on their questions whilst trying not to burp a cloud of whisky and hops in their face.
Rachel mostly sat there studiously taking notes as Gandalf calmly led the way. I caught a glimpse of her staring at me a couple of times but I figured she was either fixated by what I was saying or was contemplating having me take a breath test. It didn’t seem to faze me though. Usually, if a woman is desperate enough to look in my direction I become all embarrassed, go bright red and begin to excessively sweat but with half a dozen drinks down me, I kind of welcomed the attention.
In all honesty, I preferred directing most of the conversation to Gandalf. It’s not that Rachel was boring or anything, because she wasn’t, but he had this kind of telepathic control over my psyche and I didn’t want to break that by mulling over what type of knickers she had on.
To begin with, he asked me to talk through my CV which I did with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. I hadn’t achieved a great deal in life and what I had wasn’t jaw dropping by any means so it took all of about two minutes to run through but at least I did it with a smile on my face. I tried to justify some of the decisions I’d made in the past and also harboured on a bit about wanting a chance to get into something I was passionate about and could get my teeth into but the old man simply smiled throughout so it was difficult to figure out if I’d made an early impression on him or not.
After I’d given him the full blown warts-and-all-story of my quite tedious CV and career ambitions, I was ready for the competency questions but he decided to throw a curve ball in my direction instead by asking whether or not I had a girlfriend. He was probably trying to test my ability to think on my feet and, I have to admit, it wasn’t something I often had to answer especially in such a formal setting. Once, my Great Aunt Jean asked me at a family party but she was a nosey old cow whom, for reasons unknown, began searching my Facebook account on her iPhone before rather judgingly enquiring to my relationship status when she couldn’t get an answer from the World Wide Web. I regretfully told her that I was single which, much to my dismay but the amusement of sniggering cousins, led to dear Great Aunt Jean wondering if that meant I was one of those ‘Gays.’ I never did much care for that wrinkly old bat.
When Gandalf popped the question my initial reaction was to get all flustered and turn crimson but, like I said, I had half a dozen potent drinks swimming around my system so the embarrassment kind of got lost in the alcoholic haze and, feeling brave, I told him that I didn’t have a woman in my life because I was keeping my options open in case I met anyone in my new role as SBL’s Assistant Marketing Executive. A brief few seconds passed whilst they pondered whether or not I was stupid or just a complete arsehole but eventually they happily chuckled along and I was able to let out a sigh of relief before Gandalf continued.
“Okay Terence, take your time with this one. Can you tell me the last time you were tasked with solving a problem and how you went about it? Feel free to give examples from your work or your personal life,” he warmly asked.
I’d learnt my lesson from the awful experience with Mrs Drummond so had carried out preparation for my second attempt with, what was for me, meticulous detail. Mrs Drummond had been given a vague, non-descript stare which had immediately wrote off any chance I had with her but I knew Gandalf would be looking for me to answer in a specific manner. I had to give structure to my response and separate it into four individual sections; laying out the situation, commenting on the task in hand, identifying my actions in the task and then, finally, providing the results, focusing on my personal success. Apparently, it was known in the recruitment industry as STAR but was simply a means to an end for me.
“Well, I’ll give you an example from work if I may? Recently, it became apparent to the management at Clays that quite a few departments were over spending in several areas and err, wanted this to be addressed, especially in the tough economic climate we are in, you know.” Without thinking I threw in a high-brow statement about the economy which I’m sure bored the pants off the two of them but it padded out my answer. Usually, if I tried to talk about something I knew very little of I became painfully unstuck, more often than not if someone actually dared to ask a question about it, but Gandalf and Rachel didn’t seem to care so I continued, relieved.
“I was tasked with looking at my team as a whole and searching for ways where we could save money and then asked to present the results back to the head of the department with justifiable figures. Err…the way I did it was to list every task my team carried out and then brain storm…or blue sky thinking; whatever is politically correct these days, I never do know. Err…where was I? Yes, I brain stormed ideas with the rest of the team, deciding where we could reduce our costs. I could have done this myself but I figured that seven heads were better than one, you know, and didn’t want to miss out on anything I hadn’t previously thought of so asked the others for help. From the session it was clear there were areas which could be targeted
so I set about looking into the procedures involved with each one and the cost implications of this and err…as a result…well I’ll take the first one for example shall I, where we were running a report which printed 200 pages of A4 paper each day. We needed the information from it but didn’t necessarily need it to be in paper form. The thing was no one had ever asked if it was possible to run it paperless so I contacted the software provider who said they could do it but for a small fee. Then….err…excuse me,” I quickly drank some water as I lost my train of thought before thankfully picking it up again a few seconds later, “then…err…well it was just the matter of clicking a button but the great thing about it was that the IT department swallowed up the whole cost from the system provider. As a result we made thousands of pounds of savings and I presented this to the head of the department who issued me with a reward of excellence for my endeavours.”
It was all pretty mundane stuff. I gabbled through the majority of it and it wasn’t the most fluent of answers but it did the job. I also noticed that I had a tendency to say ‘you know’ at the end of a sentence when I was talking in an interview. I don’t know why; nerves I guess, but even though I knew I was doing so, it didn’t stop me from saying it, you know. I reckon they got the jist though; I’d been given a task and I produced results, end of story really. Fair enough, I lied about some of it but it was only a small degree of creative licence. I did lead the task but there was barely anyone in the company who cared about it. I never had to deliver the findings to the head of the department, rather just send an email, and we only made about a £60 saving instead of thousands but who was going to tell them otherwise?
The ironic thing about the whole episode was that I actually did win an award for it. It put some noses out of joint I can assure you but they gave me a £100 prize for my efforts. Imagine that, the department saved £60 on paper but then gave me £100 for doing so. Doesn’t make sense does it?
“Okay, thank you for that Terence, that was a very concise answer,” Gandalf said as friendly as ever. He didn’t need to say it but nice people say nice things when they don’t need to. He carried on with similar questions afterwards and I gave him similar answers, all involving me as some hot shot administrator. Where I could, I tried to show him I had a creative side too because, after all, I reckoned I would need one to work in Marketing, especially with someone who wore a three piece suit with a hanky in the breast pocket but we largely got through the interview in a serene and fluent manner. I did wonder if the comfort of the interview was a bad sign, I mean he never really questioned what I told him and Rachel scribbled away frantically without uttering another word but what could I do about it at the time.
He left after about forty minutes but before he did he asked one final question.
“How badly do you want this job Terence?”
For some reason, I hadn’t planned for that question. I’d practiced the competency based answers, what to say about my CV, I even knew about the two dead brothers who started the firm back in the 1930s but it never dawned on me I’d be asked how badly I wanted the job, which was surprising really because it’s probably one of the most important questions of all. I kind of thought it might have been evident in all my answers but apparently it wasn’t and I could hardly sit there mute. I also didn’t want to give him a typical generic answer about it being a ‘great opportunity’ or that ‘Marketing was in my blood’ or anything just as cheesy because he wouldn’t remember me if I had, so instead I said the first memorable thing that came to mind.
“I would give my left testicle to work for you,” I told him and then immediately wished I hadn’t because the shock on his face was very telling indeed. Rachel, who was sipping water at the time, spat it all over the desk and droplets of it managed to find their way into Gandalf’s beard. I would have been far more embarrassed if I hadn’t been so damn tipsy.
“Well…” he said, “we’ve certainly never heard that answer before have we Rachel,” turning to her for acknowledgment before taking his pristinely ironed handkerchief out and gently patting down his face.
“No, no, I don’t believe so,” she said pointing at his beard mouthing, “I’m sorry.”
“Never mind. Anyway, thank you Terence for coming in today. I’ll leave Rachel to show you out,” he informed me before rising, firmly shaking my hand and walking out the door, still dabbing his chin.
I immediately apologised to Rachel for what had happened, stressing that I really wanted the job but had been nervous and felt I had to say something clever to impress them which, sadly, had gone horribly wrong. She didn’t seem to care though and found it all rather amusing which was some comfort. I wasn’t sure Gandalf felt the same way but only time would tell.
On departing Rachel shook my hand but kept hold of it for a few seconds longer than I would have been comfortable with and told me that she hoped to see me again soon. It meant nothing to me at the time, solely because my emotions were shot to pieces and all I could think about was the interview and whether or not I’d blown it but later down the line it would make sense. I didn’t know it but that interview would pretty much change my life.