Sofas and Success

My subtitle – soon to be previous subtitle – ‘Being unsuccessful is worth talking about’ appears to be subject to change.

I’ve been busy, things have been turbulent to say the least and I had been sleeping on the sofa of a kind friend for a few nights. If busy means spending my days daydreaming and drinking. I just couldn’t help myself alright? I was born a mortal unlike those with power of will.

I can’t write properly anyway because I can achieve no sense of peace writing in the only room available with two rabbits making enough noise to fasten a tight rope around my weary chest and an utterly adorable shit stain Tasmanian devil incarnate cat. Who I hate and love dearly, equally.

Though I made a point of saying hate first

But I’ll try blast this out, I can hardly remember where I was but I’ll re-read it, hold on, he’s darting around again. He’s settled, cleaning himself next to me. I have a good theory that he gets very irritable just before the young chap has to poo. An overwhelming lapse of excrement excitement perhaps?

Or unjustifiably strange behaviour? He plays fetch too.

THE ARTICLE/ESSAY/POINT – BEGINS HERE

A recap – I was sofa surfing, still jobless – things are looking up.

During what I can only call an abysmal shot at getting some ‘space’ and ‘thinking things through’, (everything is a cliché) I was just existing, life was minimal and it was very good. I made residence on the sofa two days prior to a job interview, My CV guide may have actually been a good guide after all. I never quite got down to going through the cover letter but don’t fret buttercups. It is coming. Uncle Pleb is gonna save you. (?)

The interview couldn’t have gone better in my opinion, unlike my first copywriting interview (which was brutal). I think this for a good number of reasons. I turned up early, we were laughing a lot, we were talking for just under an hour, shooting the fucking breeze.

One thing that did occur, was that I was asked to tell a joke. It annoyed me. I almost expected it, but all my anger went straight to my jaw, motherfucker dropping this on me? I laughed and told him that I was quite annoyed, in good fashion and I couldn’t because I hated one liners. (Not mentioning the tectonic pressure I was under). But then he threw another curve ball. Batter up!

“Sing a line from a song”

No chance I’m getting a second strike. I squint my eyes, literally clench my first and rock my head.

“What’ll you do when you get lonely,

And nobody’s waiting by your side?”

Layla by Eric Clapton.

Why? Why that song? I really tried to sing it well too.

Thinking about it now, I’m extremely embarrassed.

Anyway, it’s a good possibility I am naive and delusional. But I was able to answer all the questions confidently and get to know the two co-owners of the company pretty well.

Since the meeting I’ve received an email detailing a good entry salary and great commission bonuses. If the point of the job is to make sales and yet receive commission on top of a salary it seems like a win – win right? Fuck yeah it is.

I won’t go into what it was for, just yet, because lo and behold the minute I get back to my sofa and begin eating sandwich ham (£1.39 for 500 grams, fucking steal) out the packet, my phone rings.

RINGA-DINGA-LING-DONG

“Hello?”

“Hello is this Mr.Mitchell? … Oh good it’s BirdFromRecruitmentAgency, we have your CV and you applied for another job, marketing, but we just got something in that looks perfect for you”

She had buttered my balls seconds; I’m so desperate for work that if she had told me to swing my dick to blow out candles for £5.69 an hour I would have done it. It doesn’t sound like a bad job though eh?

“We recently got in a job for HobbyCraft…” A well known chain for arts and crafts megastores “…and they are looking for a copywriter with basic SEO, basic HTML and a real flare with words…”

Holy smokes I cracked out a nut there and then, weak at the knees, hungry and dying for a cigarette. The mess between my thighs can remain there now, let me soak the ooze up.

Wow, a writing job, for me? But why now?

Oh cruel fate, how dare you put me in a great, life enhancing position! How dare two great job prospects fall into place on one day for me! I was never ever meant to succeed! Do you not see the sofa? Do you not see the sofa!? If it is blood you want then take it, take me now!

It pays well too actually, bloody handy that. This one isn’t quite in the bag. I don’t have a flare with words, especially ones for pencils and fucking paper. I know nothing about product copy. They are apparently willing to train which is again, pretty great.

So she wanted to send my details forward.

“Would this be something you would like?”

“Obviously” said the obnoxious twat.

“Wonderful, have you had any interviews recently?”

“Yes and it’s going very well”

“Great, where? … Never heard of them well anyway, don’t sign any contracts anytime soon, this could be yours”.

And that is when it all hit me. A little too good to be true, my emotions dulled and reality settled in. I was basically on the phone for about six to ten minutes letting a stranger know that I would be happy for them to send my CV to a prospective employer. Nothing more.

She doesn’t want me to sign any contracts because well, she was selling me a job. She’s a recruitment agent, she wants commission baby! She needs that good money sugar!

There is a great doubt in my head that I will get the interview let alone the job. Or either. I’m setting myself up for classic disappointment. Another phone interview tomorrow is keeping spirits high.

Things are going terribly in my personal life, but my la-la land of newfound optimism everything is looking up. Right?

….Right?

I managed to finish this piece of shit writing. Cheers for reading all the way through, it’s awful I know.