Here’s a thing. As human beings we’re all deserving of our fundamental rights, fiercely protecting and cherishing our primary values. We need food and drink to clog our gullets, clothes to conceal our repulsive lard-rolls, and shelter from the unpredictable British elements. Unfortunately, along the way, some economical Nazi decided that we, regardless of background, need to pay for these most basic of comforts. Paying for stuff means earning money, which means having a job.
Most saliently, having a job means finding a job. There’s quite a few of them out there. If you have the relevant qualifications you can become a teacher. Or an astronaut. Or one of those people who do things with computers, and/or wires.
Indeed, if you are academically challenged there are a variety of menial positions to ensure that everybody, no matter what their mental or physical capability, can contribute to society in a fair and vital manner.
I fall in the middle ground. I am intelligent, confidently fluent in my mother tongue, and educated to degree level. A dazzlingly diamondy candidate protruding from the coal-face of employability.
But there is a problem.
Due to some slipshod baboonery by the shinily-foreheaded governmental cogs, there are a far greater number of people looking for jobs than there currently are vacancies available to fill. This has resulted in an unsettling degree of compromise by those looking to hire. For the aforementioned ‘menial’ openings (I accept ‘menial’ may seem a condescending term, but it is meant with all due jealous respect), companies are looking to take on candidates of a skill set identical to those outlined in the job description, and not a drop of talent more. For these roles, they so helpfully inform me, I am over qualified. Okay, no problem.
So I’ll just apply to something where my degree will be admired and embraced with open thighs. However, these are specialist positions, and highly competitive. For these I am under qualified.
Fair enough. I’ll just get a job in a shop, gain experience, work my way up to a more senior position, then I’ll be ready to take on the world. “Sorry”, they spit: “You must have at least 2 years retail experience”. Now I am inexperienced. Too inexperienced for even the most junior role.
I was watching a documentary recently about a London jail, focussing on the many of its inmates who are repeat offenders. One such character, probably called Big Ron, or Gristles or something, had undergone rehabilitation, and was now on his way out, away from a life of crime (having being sent to prison on merely 24 separate occasions), into the free world, where the justice system had helpfully set him up with a place to live, and a full-time job.
Yes. You read correctly. Our government had given a sodding criminal a job, presumably as a reward for him deciding to finally behave just before his 25th conviction.
So where does that leave us law-abiding middle-of-the-roaders? Obviously the only option for the masses of respectable and unemployed citizens is to go out looting and raping, safe in the knowledge that our prisons are, as well as housing scores of murderers and paedophiles, operating a side-venture as Her Majesty’s Recruitment Agency.
Since this was published the wonderful story of Adam Pacitti has emerged – he spent his last £500 on a billboard to advertise himself to potential employers. Very cunning. Very cunning indeed. A lazy approach might be to simply name check him in a blog post, hoping that people searching for his story will stumble across this piece and offer me a job. But I’d never do that, oh no.