Realisation...

Well, that's it. A month of fruitless job hunting altogether. Last Thursday, i went to what seemed like the 71st part of the application process of working in a insurance call centre. To cut a long story short i actually applied for this job in June and i've been messed around with lost paperwork, re-shecduled interviews, etc-ever since. I was interviewed by some snotty woman, who, apart from being sniffy about me being a ex-car valeter, was dismayed that i could not recall the exact date i moved into my first house, eight years ago, likewise not knowing when exactly i started working for one firm in 2001, nor could i remember exactly when i was unemployed in 2000, who keeps records of these things?, i actually used to-up to about five years after the info was irrelevant, so no longer have it, and, apparently, due to some condition of working in Insurance, the FSA (Financial Services Authority) need the exact date and time you farted after eating chips and mushy peas on the way home from a shopping trip in town in Febuary 1997-obviously i couldn't provide that info, informed "Snotty" of this, who didn't like being told that piece of info, and i was informed that "none of our other candidates have this problem". Well, i was deeply disheartened not to be a walking dictionary of my life, and looking at the well presented, moneyed, young n' trendy staff in reception, i decided to axe my application therein.

I won't say "their loss", obviously, it's mine. But i've had a bit of a revelation, minor perhaps, but important to me. Perhaps i am going about this all wrong, i think one problem i have is that i've always dreamed of "leaving the factories", and i'm proud to say that by hook or by crook, i did that, firstly for a care home job, which lasted three weeks due to a major disagreement over training (i was f---ing the job up, and they wouldn't train me properly), and the Car Valeting, which thankfully did work, despite pitiful hours and wages. I've always wanted to hip, trendy and bright and moneyed, and i think that's always been a problem with me, because i live in a rented house, buy clothes from charity shops and drive a £500 Volvo.

Instead of fighting it, why don't i embrace it?. I couldn't work in another factory unless it was a really interesting job, but perhaps i could do something non-clerical, but still interesting-I've considered lorry driving, watch this space...