Chapter three: resigned to a speedy resignation
Of the three days, this was by far the best...
9am-11am: Having decided upon the course of action most beneficial to my mental state, I entered the office of doom, emailed my editor the classic ‘we need to talk’ message and endured a brief wait, before going for a painful (but thankfully, fairly brief) conversation with him, in which I told him I wanted to leave.
11am-11.05am: I was instructed to speak to the editor in chief about my resignation. He came hunting for me - a big hulking man, who probably eats babies for breakfast. He barked me into his office and then made me participate in an even more painful conversation with him.
11.06-11.07am: He told me to get my stuff and leave.
11.07-11.09am: I got my stuff and left.
11.09- ongoing: Overcome by a feeling of euphoria, freedom and rebelliousness. Employment schemployment.
The only downside to the day's dealings? The realisation that I had left a well-stocked lunchbox in the office of doom's fridge. Proof you can't have your cake and eat it too.
The moral of the story? Just because it's pretty much IMPOSSIBLE to get a job in these cash-strapped, gloom and doom times, that doesn't mean you should settle for a job you hate. Don't give up on finding something better. I left a job after less than three days, found another in less than a month and love what I'm doing now. Also, don't take a job you don't think you'll like. If you know you're not interested before you accept an offer, it's highly unlikely you'll discover an interest in it once you've signed on the dotted line. I knew I'd hate the job discussed above but took it because I was sick of being broke, sick of living at home, sick of borrowing money from long-suffering parents. If you've battled on this far, you can battle on a bit longer. Wait for something you actually want to do and keep yourself busy with other stuff in the meantime, anything, as long as you keep writing and don't take on a job that sucks up your soul, chews it up a bit, shreds it into little pieces and then spits it in to the gutter. Not to be over dramatic or anything.
Monday 29 June 2009
WHY I QUIT A NEW JOB AFTER 2.2 DAYS – A TRUE TALE IN 3 CHAPTERS
Chapter two: shouting, students and 3000,000 unanswered questions
Day two saw a rise in both my productivity and heart-rate...
9am-10.57am (and then 10.57-11am): After a morning of reading incomprehensible emails, I had a news meeting from 10.30-10.57am (timings are crucial here, as you will see). At 10.57am, my editor said, "Sarah, write about the Moot in Vienna, it’s an easy one for you. Call the Head of the International Blah Blah Blah in the Middle-East and Africa and interview the team of students from Tunisia who are there competing. Just ask them about a few questions - how it’s going, what their hopes are etc. I said you'd call him at 11. It's 11 now. Call him. "
11am- the end of time: I had a minute to look at a Wikipedia entry on this competition. I had no idea. I then had to call this guy (in my silent office, by my silent desk of silent colleagues) and conduct an interview. The guys I spoke to had thick Tunisian accents. The phone kept cutting out. They asked me to repeat things. They asked me to shout. I shouted. It was awful.
The end of time – the end of dignity: I had to call them back sometime later (I lost track of time and my memory is still a little hazy from the PTSD) and repeat the entire process. Room still silent. Phone line still laughably (if this had been happening to another person, in another life) baaaad. Told by my editor to write up article by 4pm. No lunch break. Got it to him at 3.45pm, having spent the day in a manic, non-stop mode (I only realized this later in the day, when I heard myself actually GOBBLING instead of eating like a human being). Semi-happy with what I thought was a fairly decent first attempt.
The end of dignity – the end of my tether: My editor went away, read it, then got me to sit next to him as he fired about 3000,000 questions at me. The conversation went like so:
Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. In a silent room.
The end of my tether – 6.39pm: I was then told to revise the article. No positive comments. I stayed til 6.50pm, again, everyone else had gone, just my magazine team there. In a rare moment of social outreach earlier that day, some guy had sent me an email inviting me to a welcome lunch. I replied saying I couldn't because I had a telephone interview, but could meet tomorrow. Another member of my magazine team emailed a reply saying I wouldn't be able to do lunch tomorrow because of briefings and put (I quote): 'very soon you will realise you only have a life on Tues and Thursdays.' I was there on Tues and I saw no sign of life, neither did I feel like I had one.
7.23pm: Missed my train home, bought a gigantic bar of Dairy Milk which I don’t even like, contemplated buying a Maccy D’s cheeseburger and decided to jump in front of a train. Cue five minutes looking around for a train to jump in front of. Owing to our shitty public transport system, they were all late/out of service/AWOL, meaning I had to accept extended time on the planet and the prospect of another tomorrow.
Day two saw a rise in both my productivity and heart-rate...
9am-10.57am (and then 10.57-11am): After a morning of reading incomprehensible emails, I had a news meeting from 10.30-10.57am (timings are crucial here, as you will see). At 10.57am, my editor said, "Sarah, write about the Moot in Vienna, it’s an easy one for you. Call the Head of the International Blah Blah Blah in the Middle-East and Africa and interview the team of students from Tunisia who are there competing. Just ask them about a few questions - how it’s going, what their hopes are etc. I said you'd call him at 11. It's 11 now. Call him. "
11am- the end of time: I had a minute to look at a Wikipedia entry on this competition. I had no idea. I then had to call this guy (in my silent office, by my silent desk of silent colleagues) and conduct an interview. The guys I spoke to had thick Tunisian accents. The phone kept cutting out. They asked me to repeat things. They asked me to shout. I shouted. It was awful.
The end of time – the end of dignity: I had to call them back sometime later (I lost track of time and my memory is still a little hazy from the PTSD) and repeat the entire process. Room still silent. Phone line still laughably (if this had been happening to another person, in another life) baaaad. Told by my editor to write up article by 4pm. No lunch break. Got it to him at 3.45pm, having spent the day in a manic, non-stop mode (I only realized this later in the day, when I heard myself actually GOBBLING instead of eating like a human being). Semi-happy with what I thought was a fairly decent first attempt.
The end of dignity – the end of my tether: My editor went away, read it, then got me to sit next to him as he fired about 3000,000 questions at me. The conversation went like so:
Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. Editor: What did they say about X? Me: I didn't ask them that. In a silent room.
The end of my tether – 6.39pm: I was then told to revise the article. No positive comments. I stayed til 6.50pm, again, everyone else had gone, just my magazine team there. In a rare moment of social outreach earlier that day, some guy had sent me an email inviting me to a welcome lunch. I replied saying I couldn't because I had a telephone interview, but could meet tomorrow. Another member of my magazine team emailed a reply saying I wouldn't be able to do lunch tomorrow because of briefings and put (I quote): 'very soon you will realise you only have a life on Tues and Thursdays.' I was there on Tues and I saw no sign of life, neither did I feel like I had one.
7.23pm: Missed my train home, bought a gigantic bar of Dairy Milk which I don’t even like, contemplated buying a Maccy D’s cheeseburger and decided to jump in front of a train. Cue five minutes looking around for a train to jump in front of. Owing to our shitty public transport system, they were all late/out of service/AWOL, meaning I had to accept extended time on the planet and the prospect of another tomorrow.
WHY I QUIT A NEW JOB AFTER 2.2 DAYS – A TRUE TALE IN 3 CHAPTERS
Chapter one: Silence, boredom and lumber prices
Day one - a lesson in human endurance and office-based despair...
9am-all day: Listening to the deafening, deathly, oppressive silence. I think I counted four words spoken in eight hours. Make that three actually - I think one was a sneeze.
12pm-5pm: Battling panic attacks about losing my vision, after attempting to read about arbitration. Stuff so dull I swear the words actually started leaping off the page, jumping, swimming and blurring before my bamboozled eyes.
12.05pm, 3.52pm, 4.07pm: Jumping in my (death-trap) chair at the rare sound of talking, only to slump back into a dazed depression as the words turned to lumber prices, expropriation, the ICSID, derivatives and, well I don’t even know what.
5pm-5.40pm: Watching the rest of the office trickle out between 5pm and 5.30pm, whilst my team continued to slave away over at their computers, having started before 9am. At least I was prepared for this (my editor had told me in a meeting that morning that: 'For some reason, our team always stay on later than everyone else.’) Hooray. I love being on the team that stays on unpaid later than everyone else.
6.30pm: Sent home 'early' because my colleague was too busy to show me the thing I was waiting to watch, which I’d already been shown earlier.
6.45-8pm: Train ride home. Notable only for my mood of doom and gloom and my sudden insight into suicidal and psychotic mental states. I didn’t even do pre-dinner food porn on the way home. That’s saying something.
Day one - a lesson in human endurance and office-based despair...
9am-all day: Listening to the deafening, deathly, oppressive silence. I think I counted four words spoken in eight hours. Make that three actually - I think one was a sneeze.
12pm-5pm: Battling panic attacks about losing my vision, after attempting to read about arbitration. Stuff so dull I swear the words actually started leaping off the page, jumping, swimming and blurring before my bamboozled eyes.
12.05pm, 3.52pm, 4.07pm: Jumping in my (death-trap) chair at the rare sound of talking, only to slump back into a dazed depression as the words turned to lumber prices, expropriation, the ICSID, derivatives and, well I don’t even know what.
5pm-5.40pm: Watching the rest of the office trickle out between 5pm and 5.30pm, whilst my team continued to slave away over at their computers, having started before 9am. At least I was prepared for this (my editor had told me in a meeting that morning that: 'For some reason, our team always stay on later than everyone else.’) Hooray. I love being on the team that stays on unpaid later than everyone else.
6.30pm: Sent home 'early' because my colleague was too busy to show me the thing I was waiting to watch, which I’d already been shown earlier.
6.45-8pm: Train ride home. Notable only for my mood of doom and gloom and my sudden insight into suicidal and psychotic mental states. I didn’t even do pre-dinner food porn on the way home. That’s saying something.
Saturday 20 June 2009
Friday 19 June 2009
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Thursday 21 May 2009
A postcard from the Albany restaurant
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Delicious French feasting. If you can be bothered to trek to St Albans.
http://www.itchylondon.co.uk/article.cfm/11/41/7167/London-City-Guide/article/The-Albany
Tuesday 5 May 2009
Murmurs from Mr & Mrs Smith...
I'd like to start by saying, quite simply, that Mr & Mrs Smith rocks.
Assorted murmurs assembled so far:
http://www.mrandmrssmith.com/luxury-hotels/australia/hobart/
http://www.mrandmrssmith.com/new-hotels
http://www.mrandmrssmith.com/competition
http://www.mrandmrssmith.com/luxury-hotels/united-kingdom/london/the-marylebone-hotel/
Wednesday 22 April 2009
Copy writing project No.2: virginmedia.com
This is the most exciting project I've ever been involved in. The end result is the work I'm most proud of. The campaign, with virginmedia.com, involved creating a city style guide for Copenhagen and Malmö, Sweden. I visited both cities with a photographer and stylist for three days and spent this time interviewing the locals, visiting various bars, clubs, restaurants, cafes and hotels and spending time with representatives from the Danish and Swedish tourist boards.
After the trip, I wrote up all the interviews I'd conducted and reviews of the nightspots we visited, along with bar, eats and hotel listings and various general information pages e.g. daytime activities, local area, festivals, on the local area, how to get there, etc. I was responsible for all the copy produced; a one in a million opportunity. The campaign's aim? To get people to see Copenhagen and Malmö as great destinations for a clubbing city break - the ideal location for stag dos, girly mini-breaks etc.
Thank you Chomoi and Annie. I couldn't have cooked up a more exciting, more rewarding and at times, more challenging (!) campaign.
http://www.virginmedia.com/vmsp/oresund/
Tuesday 21 April 2009
For curry lovers...
Image copyright of Chomoi Picho-OwinyThe best curry house in Holborn:
http://www.itchylondon.co.uk/article.cfm/11/41/7037/London-City-Guide/article/HASON-RAJA
http://www.itchylondon.co.uk/article.cfm/11/41/7037/London-City-Guide/article/HASON-RAJA
Thursday 9 April 2009
For 1940's fun...
Boogy on down to the sweet sound of air raid sirens:
http://www.itchylondon.co.uk/article.cfm/11/39/6944/London-City-Guide/article/Blitz-Party-
Monday 30 March 2009
The Ballad of Bromley Jobcentre Plus
Bromley Jobcentre, how I shan't miss thee,
Bromley Jobcentre, thank Christ you are history
For now the holy grail has come my way
At last, a journalism job that doth pay
We've shared some good times, you and I, you and I
So as I depart thee, I'll try not to cry
Your fat-bellied workers who never pick up the phone
God knows, when they leave work, they go home alone
How I'll miss their pimples, their wrinkles, their scowls
Their over-done make-up laid on with trowels
Bromley Jobcentre, I shan't miss thee, oh no, no indeed
As I leave your cheap surrounds, my heart it don't bleed
But I shall not forsake thee, oh no, no, not I
I will keep my claims booklet eternally close by
For in these hard times one can't be too sure
Permanent employment it just ain't for sure
And my fellow spongers, my chavtastic friends
Wave goodbye with your fag, as our journey now ends.
Bromley Jobcentre, I shan't miss thee,
Thank Christ you are history
For now the holy grail has come my way
At last, a journalism job that doth pay.
For musos...
A new competition to find the best in unsigned talent...
http://www.itchylondon.co.uk/article.cfm/11/39/6788/London-City-Guide/article/The-Peoples-Music-Awards
Copy writing project No. 1
Lucky enough to write the copy for a very talented photographer, Laura Beveridge. Check it! (and her sensitive portrait pics) online:
http://www.laurabeveridge.com/about.htm
Photographs copyright of Laura Beveridge Photography 2009©
For pre-train feasting...
Eat at The Phoenix and catch the late train...
http://www.itchylondon.co.uk/article.cfm/11/41/6713/London-City-Guide/article/The-Phoenix-SW1
For hip hop heads...
Laughably biased depiction of legendary rhymer B.I.G...
http://www.itchybath.co.uk/article.cfm?id=6583&cityid=1§ion=35
http://www.itchybath.co.uk/article.cfm?id=6583&cityid=1§ion=35
For dim sum addicts...
Less is not more. More is more.
http://www.itchylondon.co.uk/review.cfm/11/208821/London-City-Guide/review/New-World
http://www.itchylondon.co.uk/review.cfm/11/208821/London-City-Guide/review/New-World
A perfect place to while away the weekend...
A beautiful West London pub serving up mammoth roasts...
http://www.itchylondon.co.uk/review.cfm/11/208982/London-City-Guide/review/Paradise-By-Way-of-Kensal-Green
http://www.itchylondon.co.uk/review.cfm/11/208982/London-City-Guide/review/Paradise-By-Way-of-Kensal-Green
For lovers of Italian food...
Delicious Italian grub on the cheap and in sexy surrounds...
http://www.itchylondon.co.uk/review.cfm/11/209009/London-City-Guide/review/Princi
http://www.itchylondon.co.uk/review.cfm/11/209009/London-City-Guide/review/Princi
For the brave at heart and style conscious...
A terrifying way of acquiring new garms...
http://www.itchylondon.co.uk/article.cfm/11/44/6779/London-City-Guide/article/Swishing-or-Squishing
For chocolate lovers...
Review of scrumptious hot chocolate and macaroons...
http://www.itchylondon.co.uk/article.cfm/11/41/6782/London-City-Guide/article/Apostrophe
Wednesday 25 February 2009
London Fashion Week: Romeo Pires
So, the other day I was lucky enough to get press tickets to my first ever fashion show. Pretty sweet (daaahling). The off-schedule London Fashion Week show was organised by Vauxhall Fashion Scout. The designers are an Anglo-Brazilian duo called Romeo Pires and the show's theme was 'Summer Holiday'. According to the press release, the inspiration for the collection was the 'backwardness' of Brits going abroad in the cold winter months. Hmmmmmm, seems pretty straightforward to me. My camera didn't work (bloody typical) so these images come courtesy of the designer's official photographer, Christopher Dadey.
This was fashion at its finest - ridiculous, impractical, beautiful, ugly, innovative, pretentious, artistic, breathtaking - all at once.
Have a squiz at the pics and make up your own mind. Should you have nothing better to do, take a gander at my tips on attending a fashion show... http://www.itchylondon.co.uk/article.cfm?id=6650&cityid=11§ion=44
This was fashion at its finest - ridiculous, impractical, beautiful, ugly, innovative, pretentious, artistic, breathtaking - all at once.
Have a squiz at the pics and make up your own mind. Should you have nothing better to do, take a gander at my tips on attending a fashion show... http://www.itchylondon.co.uk/article.cfm?id=6650&cityid=11§ion=44
Monday 19 January 2009
Feeling Doleful
Today I made my fortnightly pilgrimage to my local job centre to sign on. Other than the accompanying dip in self-worth, these trips are generally uneventful (and that's the way I like it - who knows what kind of ruccus could occur if all us no-hopers decided to riot? Actually that could be fun - note to self: start job seeker ruccus).
But today was different from the norm. I was shaken from my characteristic sleepy ennui by a terrifying moment of clarity: I HAVE SPENT TOO LONG ON THE DOLE! The trigger for this realisation? One of the job centre's 'personal advisors' called out 'Mr Yunice?' to the assembled motley crew of dole bludgers waiting to sign on. 'I know that name from somewhere!' I thought to myself, racking my brains for an image of the aforementioned Mr Yunice - a family friend or school mate fallen on hard times perhaps? A be-tracksuited chav scuttled into sight and after recognising his pimply face, I realised where I knew him from - THE JOB CENTRE!!!!!!! Being on second-name terms with my fellow spongers just takes the biscuit and is further proof of what I already know - I NEED to get a job and fast.
Until this magical day comes, I will continue to don my Job Centre Uniform every two weeks. My job centre uniform is a highly important element in my trips to the centre, it helps me to get into character. It is composed of the following elements: baggy grey tracksuit, pyjama top, baggy jumper, old trainers topped with a trampy parka coat with fake fur hood. The hood is important, it must be worn up and erect over the head for as long as possible to achieve a cheap thrill and sense of danger.
Wearing a hood may not seem dangerous to job centre virgins but they would be wrong - the wearing of hoods inside the job centre is banned and probably illegal. Wearing one is therefore a mini rebellion and a means of baiting the burly job centre bouncers, who will inevitably trundle over and tell the hooded hoodlum 'No hoods allowed in here mate' (my job centre uniform is a little de-feminising I must admit). I find this anti-hood rule baffling; have these bouncers forgotten we're all supposed to hug a hoody??
Maybe one dole-day I will learn Mr Yunice's first name. Maybe one dole-day I will initiate some kind of verbal interaction between myself and my fellow freeloaders, rather than us all pretending to be invisible both to ourselves and to each other in a pathetic attempt to cling on to dignity. We can swap signing-on stories or discuss the terrible local jobs offered up by the job search machines (apparently the scientific term for these hunks of crap is: vacancy search terminals). Speaking of which, here's a round up of some of today's local jobs spawned up by a flirt with the terminals (I cannot promise you that these roles are still vacant, any interested party should contact their local job centre. Helpful link: http://www.jobcentreplus.gov.uk/JCP/index.html):
LOVELY LOCAL JOBS COURTESY OF MY LOVELY LOCAL JOB CENTRE*
1) Gutter cleaner
2) Santa Claus (I have a hunch this is a system error and the role may no longer be active)
3) Anti-social Behaviour Officer ("No, you cannot stay in and watch the entire box-set of Family Guy" shouted the Anti-Social Behaviour Officer to the poor couch potato)
4) Scissor lift operator (I find this mildly funny as I have no idea what it means)
5) Urgent leaflet distributor (not sure whether the post was meant to read Urgent - Leaflet distributor needed or whether you will be dealing with highly important political leaflets but given it involves working for my crummy local area, I would hazard a bet it's the former)
* Unlike journo jobs, these are paid roles and by paid I mean actual money, not magic beans.
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