OK – delayed again (which probably doesn’t help towards my place in the blog competition (why does everything have to be a competition, what happened to ‘don’t phone, it’s just for fun’?)) – it really has been a busy week though – I’ve been to Edinburgh (awesome) and the theatre (Hungarian cabaret) and bikram (twice) and the pub, so forgive me.
The topic this week is jobs. Not just any job though, the kind of jobs that we wannabe creatives have when we’re not being creative. Now I am lucky enough to have a fairly soul destroying, guilt inducing, part-time job in legal, in a bank in Canary Wharf. I have done my time however – previous jobs have included but are not limited to (see I can do the law thing) promoting a plant growing granule system, and a job doing Indian head massage in bars on a ‘pay what you think it’s worth’ basis to pervy men who thought the offer ‘you can massage my other head if you like’ was a) original and b) tempting.
I have only been turned down for two jobs in my life. The first was Sainsburys, where I offered to work any shift, day or night, but was failed on the personality test. I don’t know what that says about me. The second was Harrods. A lot of out of work actors work on the shop floor as agency staff because it’s flexible and reasonably well paid. I attended the group interview where we were told we were lucky to have got to that stage and if we didn’t spend an hour on grooming each morning we might as well leave. An hour? Well I couldn’t just leave. So I duly took my pen and paper and began to write down all the make-up we would be expected to wear every day. Tell me, why would you colour in your eyebrows with a pencil if they’re already a bit on the bushy side? I think they would answer that you are to pluck the unruly hairs and draw them on in a neat line. However, I would counter that eyebrows have a biological point – to keep shit out of your eyes – the bushier the better as far as evolution’s concerned. A pencil line won’t do that. Ask Darwin. Anyway, we then had to stand up and say why we would be an asset to the company. I said that I was friendly and personable with a sense of humour and good time-keeping. The next girl said that she loved make up and had a diploma in it. So did the next. A pattern was emerging. I wasn’t asked back for the next round (there are three).
My very good friend did get accepted. She is glamorous and petite with foundation and lipstick and beautifully sculpted eyebrows. She also has a first in English, an MA in Musical Theatre and can play the shit out of the fiddle. In addition she has a lovely head of curly blonde hair. Everyone is jealous about it. Except Harrods. She arrived at work, having spent her allotted hour on grooming, with pearls in her ears and round her neck and regulation high heels on and was reprimanded, and sent, during paid time, into a side room to straighten her hair. Humiliating. There was another beautiful mixed race model in there doing the same thing. They both said to each other in beautiful unison – ‘why aren’t you allowed curly hair?’. Yay for the bank. I never thought I’d say that. The moral of the story is – don’t shop at, or work at Harrods. They’re hair Nazis. If you’re reading this though you probably won’t pass the grooming test anyway, and you certainly can’t afford to be a customer, so you have learned nothing.
Jeepers.
I had some jelly beans from there once. Nazi jelly beans. Mind you, I did have some communist toffee so they kind of balanced each other out.