No of calls from agent: 0
No of calls from temp agencies: 1
It started so well.
I sat on the front seat of the top of the bus. It was a lovely sunny day, I put one foot up on the sill and watched the world go by. And by and by. It was a long ride. Sir Peter Blake got on at Chiswick High Road. I peeked down the stairs behind me, he sat at the back of the bottom deck.
I got waylaid by Primark, thinking I'd better look at some sensible work type clothes. It was full of lovely kaftans and hippy skirts and the most un-worklike stuff you can imagine. I took down some stuff and then thought, brrr, wrong mission, put them all back and left the shop.
I went into an agency but already I was realising my mistake. I was nearly in central London, but not quite, and the journey time longer on the bus than the train into Waterloo. The jobs much more limited, the rates less.
Didn't have the contact addresses for the central agencies. Turnedabout and went home. Called into the local Government Job Centre out of curiosity. There was work for film extras, but you had to be over 60. Dumper truck driver was about the only job that paid my minimum asking price. The rest were disgusting. Really.
Back home I phoned my chosen agencies. A really poncy one that pays top rates and a media one I've worked for before. Just as well I didn't go into town, registering by e-mail is the way to go. Then they look at your cv and decide if they'll take it any further. So, the call came on my mobile.
'I'm having difficulty reading your cv.'
'Your CV, I can't read it.'
'IT'S IN THE WRONG ORDER!'
'Oh. I found your advertisement on secsinthecity and followed their CV guidelines. School first, then your first job and so on.'
'No no NO no no no, I can't read this, you have to work backwards. Resubmit it properly.'
That didn't take long. But then, maybe it was a test. So I was cute as pie and rewrote it.
Bye bye, thanks for visiting, come again soon.