Star Employee!

Future employers take note! I am a star!


I received an excited email from the staffing agency I have been working for exclaiming the fact that my employer said I did an excellent job last week. It may just be for waitressing but it proves that even in the world of black and white uniform where we must all look and act the same I apparently was someone who stood out on the job. Phew, I was beginning to feel down-heartened that I would spend the rest of my limbo years flitting from job to job and never actually gaining any idea of whether or not I was of any use to the world at all.

Not that my aim is to work in this kind of job forever, but it's always nice to be noticed. Now I just need to get the same notice in my other parallel existence.

My time at the Daily Mail turned out to be exciting, and they are having me back to cover the lady who was showing me the ropes for her holidays in a few weeks time. Time to prove I am indeed a star in the office as well as the banquet hall me thinks. Now, I know that I should be paid for this, at least a temp wage, but I'm just not positive whether they will 100% be sorting this out. Definitely need to email her towards the end of the week (so I'm at the top of her mountain of emails when she returns) to make sure I will get at least something. As far as I'm aware, people don't work for free in this country. Oh, except we do.

When I say the Mail was exciting I mean two events stuck out for me. Firstly, upon calling Paul Smith's PR company to inquire as to whether they might email me a high res image of a cream jug (I know what you're thinking...how exciting!), I got the curt response of "Did you say you're from the Daily Mail?" Errrm, yes. "Oh, we don't actually deal with the Daily Mail any more, we don't feel they represent our image". Oh dear. Paul Smith really does not like the Mail.

Secondly, a group of angry protesters, mostly about my age stormed into the main courtyard, somehow managing to get past the burly security guard and the electronic doors. There was not a single person in the building who wasn't up from their desk and peering down from every floor to see what all the racket was. Unfortunately for the protesters, no one could actually hear or see what they were protesting about. After a bit of a scuffle with the security (or what looked like all two of them anyway), the police arrived and escorted them out. Turns out they were Syrians protesting about the media's silence on the plight of the Kurdish people. Funny how the mood of the office improved ten fold after this little disturbance. I hope the newsroom took note of their issues.

Parallel Universes

It appears that my graduate limbo has split into two parallel universes, both of which I simultaneously inhabit and neither of which are alike in any way. Universe number one consists of me generally running round with a heavy tray (which has already increased the size of my biceps), polishing plates and glasses in a steamy kitchen and smiling graciously at very very drunk middle-aged men who insist on breathing their Veuve-Cliquot champagne breath right up my nose. While this job is earning me a wage, it is so minimal it might as well be a minus wage. For my shift at Claridges (one day I will walk through the FRONT door!) I had to buy a pencil skirt, tie, shirt and heeled shoes. They may well have been from Matalan but they also accumulated to £30, almost the exact amount I earned for the five hour shift.

Even the people hiring me think that I'm mental to do this job. Sergei, the suave Russian head of the waiting staff at Claridges was both overly pleased and astounded to have met a real English person working there, at one of the most English establishments in London! Now, I had a great time meeting all my fellow waiters and waitresses, but it did leave me wondering why on earth I was the only English person working there? Why are   foreigners having to take these low-paid jobs in hotels and what are all the other English people of my age and situation doing instead?

Perhaps they are simply settling for one universe? My parallel existence number two is very different.Today I completed my first day at the Daily Mail with the Weekend Magazine. The description my supervisor gave me was that basically I would be 'doing all the shopping for the magazine'... yipee! What girl wouldn't want to shop for a job? And, I got to walk in through the front door, well, the visitors section of the front door but let's not dwell on that. My day consisted of reading through every big British newspaper available (by the way there's a lot of them) in order to try and suss out what exactly was hot and what exactly was not for the barometer column and then internet shopping for quirky corkscrews. I never dreamt that a corkscrew would take up an entire evening of my life but it did, and the result was surprisingly satisfying. Plus I got shown round the store room where they keep all the products they have been sent from PR companies:- Hotel Chocolat choccies, Laura Ashley Wallpaper, expensive wines and so much more.

I think if I had to sum up my two parallel universes it would be by their respective cupboards. A treasure trove of freebies in comparison to a kitchen clearing room which is full of cold food, broken glass and tiredness.