Day 18: One step forward, two steps back

This is the first blog I’ve written whilst in a slightly inebriated state, so I apologise now for any spelling mistakes, grammatical errors and any general drunken ramblings that may follow.  It’s been a long and difficult week and I don’t feel at all guilty for spending the last few hours in the bath feeling sorry for myself, with only Peroni and his Nastro Azzuro brothers as company.

Anybody reading who’s had an arduous, protracted or stressful week at work may already be thinking to themselves “A hard week? …get real sunshine” :But please allow me to explain.

I’ll be the very first to admit that I haven’t been up and out of bed at 6:45 every morning this week like most of the people in the country, nor have I sat in rush-hour traffic as school kids flick V’s at me from the back of double-decker's.  I haven’t had to crunch numbers, put up with the office bore or have a temperamental boss breathing down my neck, pushing me to meet deadlines.  Physical exertion, shift-work and the pressure to meet expectations have not been part of my ‘working’ week.  But Lord, how I miss it.

The emotional roller coaster of being out of work exhausts you mentally in ways that are incomparable to the ‘regular’ trials and tribulations of ‘regular’ life.  It’s hard.  It sucks. And I hate every minute of it. All of this can be exemplified in the time-span of just 30 short minutes today, where an out-of-the-blue victory was immediately succeeded by a morale-obliterating defeat.

Before I go any further, I feel a real need to express the magnitude of guilt that has troubled me throughout this week.  In the life of an eternal job-jump-jockey like myself, it’s been a fairly self-indulgent five days, considering I'm a bloke who currently finds himself out of work.

·    On Monday, I bought a brand new laptop, spunking a huge amount of my crisis cash.  Guilt Factor: 10

·    On Tuesday, whilst awaiting the arrival of my hardware, I spent a couple of hours getting sweaty during a work-out, when perhaps I should have been searching for jobs?  Guilt Factor: 4

·    On Tuesday and Wednesday, I spent the best part of twenty hours reconfiguring my iTunes, when perhaps I should have been searching for jobs?  Guilt Factor: 8

·    On Thursday, I spent an hour at Turf Moor, meeting the new Burnley Manager, when perhaps I could have been searching for work?  Guilt Factor: 5

·    Throughout the week, I’ve also watched half-a-dozen episodes from my ‘Friends’ boxed-set.  (I especially like the episodes that contain the occasional expletive; it makes me feel like I’m getting one up on the regular Sunday afternoon T4 crowd!).  Whilst giggling at Joey’s sandwich fetishes and enjoying the sight of Rachel's ever-impressive beauty, I perhaps should have been searching for jobs? Guilt Factor: 5

·    Today, I drove all the way to Garstang to visit my grandparents.  I was treated to a full English breakfast whilst enjoying the love of my family in cosy surroundings and didn’t even switch my computer on all day long. Guilt Factor: 2

It’s hugely important to try and put all my day-to-day experiences, feelings and emotions into context at this time.  However, two tiny pips within a half-hour segment of today pretty much summed-up the fruits of my last four week’s labour.  It was a case of one step forward and two steps back, in its simplest form.

I’ve learned over recent years that there’s usually a pattern in job application appraising etiquette.  If you’ve been successful in an interview, you tend to get a phone call.  Likewise, if you’ve been selected for interview, you also tend to get a phone call.  Bad news usually comes in the form of writing or even more so - it doesn't arrive at all.  Today, I tasted the sweet and bitter sides from the same source.

Followers of this blog may recall that I signed-up to the BBC website last week, with high hopes of landing a job at the new Media City in Manchester.  I applied for an entry-level support-staff job and completed the relevant online application forms.  Given that it’s been my most inactive week so far, imagine my joy when I received an e-mail today from BBC North.  It read that I’d been successful in the first stage of my application process and that they would like to consider me for an Administration role.  It’s not the most glamorous job-title of I appreciate - but it’s in a sector that I have a huge interest in.  This news only represented baby-steps though, as I was then invited to complete a series of online tests to help verify my suitability for the roles. 

(NB: I began these four online tests at around 5:30 this evening and they weren't complete until almost two and half hours later - hence the reason for the slightly later blog publication this evening!).

Within 20 minutes, I was picking up tonight’s tea in th’Asda (you know, the one near th’Argos and th’Ice Arena?) and I checked my phone once again.  Imagine my delight when I received a second e-mail with the address name.name@bowkerbmw.com in the ‘From’ field.  For whatever reason, supermarket Wi-Fi might not be the most sophisticated, and the content of the e-mail was reluctant to load up.

I danced around the aisles holding my phone aloft, dangling it over the cooked meats counter and directing it toward the dairy produce cooler, urging it to kick-in.  After what seemed like an eternity, the words appeared.

“Thank you for your recent application, blah, blah, blah”.  …Then those words that sink your heart in the space of a micro-second …”Unfortunately on this occasion, your application has been unsuccessful”.

Rejection.  Again.  “But it’s just ONE job” you tell yourself.  “If it’s not meant to be, it’s not meant to be”.  Fair enough.

But it represents so much more than that; I really quite fancied this job and felt it was well within my grasp.  The job description and sector genuinely excited me and I had high hopes that my skills and previous experience would at least secure me an interview.  I even went to the additional length of hand-delivering my application in person, in order to create some kind of 'extra-special' first impression.  Now I just feel a bit of a knob.

Rather stupidly on my part, I’d created a mental picture of already being a few steps up the ladder towards landing this job, purely because I felt my skills were matched the requirements advertised.  But by climbing up a ladder that I had no right to be on, I’ve now had a painful fall back down to the bottom.

The problem now, is that as soon as I saw those words, self-doubt began to creep in like never before.  How can you possibly go about with a smile on your face, keep ploughing on through the job applications and ‘talk yourself up’, when you can’t even manage to get an interview for a job you’re clearly capable of doing? 

Albeit on paper, you lay yourself out bare and profess how keen you are to do the job and be a representative of the company.  A person you’ve never even met, nor are you likely to, simply skims over your history and makes an instant decision without ever meeting the real person behind the words.  It’s soul-destroying and the fact that I’ve been here so many times before doesn’t make it any easier.

In fact, it’s an instant reminder of how long these processes take and how many more of these sinking feelings I’m likely to experience over the coming weeks (or even months :-( ).

And all this is without even making it anywhere near a boardroom!

On Tuesday, I ‘signed-on’ and I have previously been critical of the Job Centre Plus service. But I must hold my hands up and thank them for their efforts this week.  Following a meeting with a ‘Job-Match Consultant’, I’ve received three phone calls regarding positions that might be "right up my street" (although two of the calls were regarding the same job).  I registered my interest for both vacancies with the agencies involved, so I must say at this point, fair play to the Job Centre staff for that.

But I go back to the lowly feeling of desperation you feel whilst you sit waiting on the green sofa’s of the Job Centre to see your advisor.  I have no social standing or right of any special treatment over anyone else in that place, nor do I expect it.  But you can’t help but feel at your lowest ebb whilst in that place.  I don’t wish to appear rude, harsh, or judgemental, but the gentleman I sat next to in the waiting area on Tuesday really did smell.

I’m not saying that he ‘stunk’, or he ‘absolutely hummed’.  I’m not suggesting that he was a ‘dole-dosser’ or a ‘benefit-scrounger’ either.  But it was half past nine in the morning and he had the essence of stale body odour.  At that time, I’m guessing that he hadn’t had a long day or that he'd arrived straight from a work-out.  Instead, it’s my ball-park guess that he probably didn’t have a shower before he put his jim-jam’s on the night before and that he got up at the last minute for his appointment that morning.  He probably didn’t have a shower again and put on yesterday’s clothes before hot-footing it down to the job centre.

Again, I’m not suggesting for one single moment that I am any ‘better’ than this gentleman.  Indeed, I was there for the very same reason that he was.

But what I will reiterate is, that being in these places really does bring you down to your lowest possible level.  Your feel sheepish and slightly embarrassed to be there.  You feel ashamed in case anyone you know drives by as you enter and leave the building.  You speak to Advisers who, with the best will in the world would love to help, but have hundreds of others like you to see that very week.

Your confidence is battered.  Your self-esteem reaches and all-time low and you wonder how long it will be before you can stand up again and feel proud to be a man.

And then, however many weeks later it might be, you manage to somehow land that golden interview for the headline job you’d absolutely give your right bollock to land.

How on earth are you supposed to stand up tall, feel a million dollars in your sharpest suit and confidently stride into an interview when you’ve had so much damage done to your self-confidence?

This 'rant' is all about the outcome of one job application.  Just one.  But this is the reality of your work-life coming to a sudden and abrupt end.  Being told that 'the end is nigh' is the easy bit.  Leaving your desk and work colleagues behind for the last time is a walk in the park.  ...But being told time after time that “on this occasion, your application has not been successful” is when the bull mastiff really comes up and bites you firmly on the arse.  And it hurts.

I’m off for another Peroni.  Enjoy your hard-earned drinks too.

Bless you all,

Jason