Beau Peep Notice Board
Beau Peep Notice Board => Outpourings => Topic started by: Redundant on February 17, 2017, 05:54:54 PM
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...continue to astound me. As you may recall, I managed to make myself redundant [in the literal sense] from a great job, back in May 2016. I took a few months off to take advantage of the summer weather and got a great deal of landscape gardening done, repairs, new builds etc. Then a slightly extended holiday in September, surprisingly [at least on this board] not to Portugal but to Crete. Since then I have been actively [and occasionally inactively] "looking for work".
Naturally, given my slightly dented view on humanity as a whole, I had to make things a little more difficult for myself. I could almost certainly have gotten a job in the "Corporate Service Industry", an industry I have, to my sorrow, previously endured. The "Corporate Service Industry" can be likened in some ways to the vulture, the major difference being that the carcass doesn't necessarily have to be dead before the "Corporate Service Industry" tucks in. It is, in a nutshell, more parasitic than even lawyers or accountants.
So "Corporate Service Providers" are out [in case you hadn't guessed]. I have been put forward for a number of other jobs by employment agencies, and have submitted myself to number of other employment opportunities, but so far, despite coming close on a number of occasions, I have been, as it were, largely [completely] unsuccessful.
As it happens, this week has seen a flurry of both "normal" applications and one slightly bizarre one, so naturally the bizarre one is the one I have an interview for on Monday. Much of the role is very similar to my recent past, working largely alone, managing a company [or two], bookkeeping, etc. So I find myself about to interview for the role of Personal Assistant seemingly on the sole basis that if it's good enough for Robert De Niro it's good enough for me [Film "The Intern" 2015].
As an atheist I am strictly forbidden to look up to the sky and ask the question "Why me?" [heavenly deities are seriously frowned upon in the atheistic world] so I'll settle for remaining astounded at the vagaries of... The highlights of Monday's episode [if there are any] will follow...
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So, let me see if I have this right: you're auditioning to play the part of Robert DeNiro in the remake of The Intern?
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So, let me see if I have this right: you're auditioning to play the part of Robert DeNiro in the remake of The Intern?
No, no, no! The main point was I became a vagaryian, which, now I see it typed, looks faintly vulgar, so I may be come a vulgarian as well.
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From the planet Vagar?
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An update of sorts. I so wish there was something amusing to say at this point... Nope...nada...I got nothing... If this thing manages to stumble on I may update again, but I really don't recommend anyone reaching for the champers just yet.
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Perhaps they're looking for someone who looks more like Robert DeNiro.
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Perhaps they're looking for someone who looks more like Robert DeNiro.
Robert De Niro is 5' 9", I am 5'9", Robert De Niro was born in August, I was born in August, Robert De Niro has a beard and I have a beard, the resemblance is therefore uncanny.
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Robert De Niro is 5' 9", I am 5'9", Robert De Niro was born in August, I was born in August, Robert De Niro has a beard and I have a beard, the resemblance is therefore uncanny.
But that still means you're competing with every other August-born 5' 9" bloke with a beard.
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Rules me out. I'm an aquarium.
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I'm an aquarium.
There's something fishy about that joke.
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My birth sign is Cancer. In Astrology, there are all sorts of glorious, melodic categories like Aquarius, Virgo and Pisces. Because I was born in late June, I have been assigned the name of a horrific, life-taking disease. There are no birth signs called "Measles" or "Mumps"---you go straight from the likes of the gentle-sounding Gemini to the stark horror of Cancer.
This has always seemed unfair to me.
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Could be worse, Roger - could be named after crabs...
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My birth sign was a huge urgent arrow pointing in the opposite direction of astrological nonsense.
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To be fair, Roger has a point, it's not a good one, or even relevant but it's a point. Statistically those born under the Cancer star sign are as likely to develop Mumps as anyone born under any other star sign, quite interesting I am sure you'll agree.
Now if I may actually swing this topic around to it's original point...
The likelihood of my becoming a Personal Assistant is fading rapidly with the passage of time, I suspect my lack of resemblance to Mr De Niro notwithstanding, that I have in fact failed yet another interview. Naturally I am disappointed, however not that disappointed, in reality I concede I am not really Personal Assistant material, I know too many swear words and am likely to use them when asked to "go and buy a kettle for my wife."
But as one door closes another door opens, an engineering company may be my salvation, albeit in a non engineering way. I pointed out in my e-mail regarding an Office Administrators position that I did have an engineering background, I may have failed to mention that it is so far in the background you'd need an archeologist to find it. We await with baited breathe... Meanwhile feel free to once more hijack this topic to discuss Roger's unfortunate arrival timing et al.
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To be fair, Roger has a point, it's not a good one, or even relevant but it's a point.
He'll be pleased to hear that.
Meanwhile feel free to once more hijack this topic to discuss Roger's unfortunate arrival timing et al.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bm-sdMw1tTs
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Os6raCCmAFk
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Red, I apologise for hijacking the thread but, in my defence, it had already drifted towards birth dates and star signs. Needless to say, I fervently hope you get the job of your dreams or, if not, something that is both satisfying and rewarding. As someone who has been recently made unemployed, I sympathise!
Mince took you up on your offer to "feel free to once more hijack this topic" and, I must admit, came up with an amusing contribution. Even in its original form, Mary Poppins scared the crap out of me. A strange film.
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No worries Roger, every thread gets hijacked by everyone, including me, I just like to harp on about it! The job of my dreams doesn't exist sadly, and if it did it would be illegal in most of Europe I would imagine. I have to admit that I wandered back into Corporate Service about a month ago, I lasted a day...new record for me I think. Something will turn up I am sure, I am equally sure my wife will have a Greek holiday booked the day after.
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Had to add to this, it's turning out to be a weird week. Yesterday I did the shortest and strangest interview in my entire career, a couple of "hello, nice to meet you"'s, a "That's a spectacular view" and a very brief resume of my career so far, five minutes later and I was out the door wondering if any of it was real.
Today another interview, only this one lasted two hours and twenty minutes, and I now know everything about my potential employer apart from his shoe size [it just never came up in his monologue].
I am hoping to round off the week being interviewed for a job that doesn't exist...
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Red, your story about a brief interview reminded me of a similar situation that happened to me about 20 years ago. Out of nowhere, I got a phone call from Kelvin McKenzie, who was then the editor of The Sun. He explained that they had been discussing comic strips and that our Beau Peep strip had been favourably mentioned and would I be interested in moving from The Star. I explained that I was going to be in London in a few weeks time and would be happy to meet up and discuss any potential business. His response was that they wanted things to be sorted out as quickly as possible. The Sun would fly me down from Dundee two days later and put me up in the Waldorf hotel for a couple of nights while the negotiations took place. Um, okay, I said.
When I arrived in McKenzie's office, we spent about 30 seconds discussing the weather before he asked me how much The Star paid for Beau Peep. He listened as I told him the money involved---which, trust me, wasn't huge---before announcing that it was more than The Sun was willing to pay. His next question was "Do you know anyone else who could do a strip for us?"
The interview lasted about 5 minutes. I'd been given return flights from Dundee to London and put up in the Waldorf hotel for two nights to discuss something that could have been resolved in ten seconds over the phone.
Ah, those were the days.
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Roger, they probably also just wanted a few cool nights in the hotel.
Red, shoe size is important in an employer. I made the mistake of not finding out and had to work for Big Foot for several years. Eventually I got myself fired for saying things like "Squatch'ya gonna do?" and playing Hop Squatch. His main problem was that he just didn't believe in himself. I tried cheering him up by telling him he was the reigning world champion at Hide and Seek but overall the experience was abominable.
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I too, believe that shoe size will come to be important...just not yeti.
(*coat*)
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Bartender, I'll have a pint of whatever those two ^ ^ have been drinking.
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I've no idea if Roger went through the same interview process as me when he joined DC Thomson & Co. Ltd (purveyors of fine journalism, including the UK's leading children's comics back then), but it certainly remains one of the more bizarre mornings of my life, and that's saying something. It was akin to speed-dating, long before that was a thing, where it felt to me like I was being interviewed by everyone in the company, one after the other, as they filed in and out of the small Office Of Interrogation, asking me a myriad of questions ranging from pertinent journalistic themes, to "What football team do you support?" (that was Podgy Whiner, Roger). I later found out that all these people were either editors or their deputies, sizing me up for the assorted office junior vacancies, and I like to think they all met up in a big room afterwards and fought to near death over who was getting me. Although I suspect it was more a case of drawing straws to see who had to take me (it was 'The Beano').
The most bizarre bit though was the timed multiple-choice questionnaire, delivered to me, and invigilated, by the intimidating (but lovely) head typist, Big Nancy. Memory perhaps plays tricks, but it must have been at least 200 pages long, with questions even more varied than the sea of faces that preceded them that day. I've forgotten what most of them were, but the one that sticks in my memory, word for word (because I read it several times, after my spontaneous guffaw prompted Nancy to remark, "Ah - you've reached that one!") was this...
If you spotted a two-year-old child alone in the street, would you:
a) Ignore it.
b) Ask its name and address.
c) Take it to the nearest police station.
d) If it was a nice one, take it home and keep it.
Imagine the dilemma over that one (and a number of others that were like it) when you knew you were being interviewed for a humorous publication.
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Bartender, I'll have a pint of whatever those two ^ ^ have been drinking.
Me too! I also had a couple of weird "trips" in my time, including a five day visit to New York, many moons ago. I went fully prepared for five days of meetings/work, spent a total of about an hour in the actual office and was told to "Go and enjoy New York" which I proceeded to do, very successfully.
I e-mailed the agency that sent me for the "prolonged" interview, who told me I got off quite lightly with only two hours & twenty minutes as the client was "a bit of a talker". I wrote back and indicated that the absence of any warning of same before the interview constituted an act of betrayal and that revenge would surely follow.
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The most bizarre bit though was the timed multiple-choice questionnaire, delivered to me, and invigilated, by the intimidating (but lovely) head typist, Big Nancy. Memory perhaps plays tricks, but it must have been at least 200 pages long, with questions even more varied than the sea of faces that preceded them that day. I've forgotten what most of them were, but the one that sticks in my memory, word for word (because I read it several times, after my spontaneous guffaw prompted Nancy to remark, "Ah - you've reached that one!") was this...
If you spotted a two-year-old child alone in the street, would you:
a) Ignore it.
b) Ask its name and address.
c) Take it to the nearest police station.
d) If it was a nice one, take it home and keep it.
;D ;D ;D Lord knows what the terrible twosome will develop from that one...gentlemen start your keyboards.
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The most bizarre bit though was the timed multiple-choice questionnaire, delivered to me, and invigilated, by the intimidating (but lovely) head typist, Big Nancy. Memory perhaps plays tricks, but it must have been at least 200 pages long, with questions even more varied than the sea of faces that preceded them that day. I've forgotten what most of them were, but the one that sticks in my memory, word for word (because I read it several times, after my spontaneous guffaw prompted Nancy to remark, "Ah - you've reached that one!") was this...
If you spotted a two-year-old child alone in the street, would you:
a) Ignore it.
b) Ask its name and address.
c) Take it to the nearest police station.
d) If it was a nice one, take it home and keep it.
;D ;D ;D Lord knows what the terrible twosome will develop from that one...gentlemen start your keyboards.
Now, it doesn't say whether the child came with a receipt or not, so for me that rules out d), since you couldn't return it.
For c), you would be putting it in lost property. 6 months later, you can claim it as your own if no one else has claimed in the interim. At this point, please refer to d).
In the case of b)....if it's clever enough at 2yrs to know it's name and address, just bung it a taxi fare.
This leaves a)...always the best policy. It's good parenting. Honest !!
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