Jobs, Jobs, Jobs, Or, Rather, The Lack of Them
Can a day be any less stimulating than one that contains a visit to the dentist and a visit to a job agency?
Didn’t think so. But then I get home to see Smiler giving his farewell performance at the Labour Party shindig up the East Lancs in Manchester. ‘We have changed Britain’ he said, beaming like only Blair can beam. They were the first words I heard him utter as I arrived home and, after my day, I was not for disagreeing with him. He’s clearly changed Britain. Changed it for the worst. My dentist managed to get another hundred pounds from me, chatting to his colleage about the half-hour’s work he plans for this afternoon before heading out to the golf course. I was then informed at the job agency that despite my countless qualifications, the best I could hope for is telesales or ‘data entry’. Apparently doctorates count for very little in the North West, though the woman was pleasant enough as she pushed the dagger into my heart. She seemed genuinely apologetic as I went snivelling through the door, though I don’t think she would have batted an eyelid if I’d given her the go ahead and asked her to measure me up for a headset. I wouldn’t mind but I thought all those jobs were going to India. What would become of me if I changed my life to live in a call centre then I lost my job because of out sourcing? I wonder if my qualifications would mean anything in India?