So last week I wrote a BLOG which I at first thought was ALRIGHT then removed a few hours later because I thought it was NOT ALRIGHT. However other people have since told me they thought it was ALRIGHT and this leads me to believe that with a bit of effort I could perhaps haul it from being NOT ALRIGHT to being ALRIGHT. After all the first series of Blackadder was NOT ALRIGHT but then the second series was ALRIGHT. Although it’s worth remembering that Star Wars started off being ALRIGHT but then ended up being NOT ALRIGHT. So it’s Blackadder not Star Wars I’m aiming for which is a sentence I never thought I would write.
Anyway the point of this blog was meant to be to contribute some sort of meaningful insight into the on-going UK unemployment festival of 2013 that I was given complimentary tickets for at immigration and while I reserve the right to deviate, and in all probability later completely ignore that aim, I’m going to try to stick it out for a little while longer before I inevitably start talking about sex, biscuits and video games instead.
Part of my problem in finding employment is perhaps down to the fact that getting pro-actively involved with any aspect of this world increasingly feels to me like turning up to a party I don’t really want to go to because I’m not invited and it's full of twats. I convince myself that maybe the party will be okay because there’s beer, those crisp things I quite like and I saw some sort of attractive soft faced thing with long hair while I was outside staring through the window.
But once I’m there I discover that I’m only allowed one glass of beer, the crisps aren’t actually the ones I like and I only catch 22 (YES!) minutes of sleep before the soft faced person with long hair falls over the tear stained patch of carpet I’m lying on and does a big sick over me. I make my excuses and leave but I know I’ve got to come to the party again tomorrow night and the next day and the day after that because there are no other parties in the world and my house is on fire.
To bury this meandering and slightly pointless analogy and bring it back into some semblance of sense and reality: The only jobs available are really completely unsuitable for me and yet they’re the jobs I’m desperately applying for. I go into agencies asking them for sales jobs because I’m well aware that’s all they have and if I don’t ask for sales roles I’ll be told they don’t have anything for someone who isn’t committed to doing sales and good natured honest desperation isn’t one of the qualities they’re currently looking for.
So this notion bounces around in my head and occasionally bumps into the idea that I should ‘be myself’ and when that happens it says ‘That’s interesting because actually you’re expected to be someone else in order to survive or achieve anything,’ which then pulls me in two different directions at the same time which I’m pretty sure isn’t the key to being ALRIGHT.
So I compromise and try to be myself while making sure I stay within certain socially acceptable boundaries. This way if someone asks me to do something I don’t instantly reply that I’m far too busy plotting a movie in my head in which Buffy the Vampire Slayer can only be saved from certain death by licking a never ending stream of marzipan off Rihanna’s face. And while I am able to put on a suit for an interview I can draw the line at saying the words “Yes it has always been my dream to work in an administrative position” partly because I’m terrified it might be the truth but mainly because I’ve always suspected that particular path will end with me forcing my penis into a printer because that’s now the only way I can achieve orgasm.
The notion of ‘being yourself’ has always rather baffled me anyway. I mean I can happily be all seven dwarfs in an afternoon. Or grumpily. Or bashfully (Yes it’s a funny joke shut up). And what about ‘bettering yourself’? When I was 15 ‘being myself’ meant trying to see a pair of tits and wanking at any given opportunity. Actually not that much has changed BUT the point is I like to think I ‘bettered myself’ by discovering other things I can do with my time, just in case the police find me or the internet stops working.
And what do you do if two fundamental parts of ‘yourself’ clash? What if Falco invites me over to his house to play guitar but on the same night I’m meant to be going over to a friend’s house to spy on his neighbour getting undressed or look at some tits in a magazine?
Of course I'm joking and either option would be fine. Because I bettered myself. Tits now only control 95% of my life leaving me with an extra 5% free to dedicate towards other things like biscuits and video games instead.