Adventures In Mundanity

Once again, I've plundered the hypothetical depths of the overdraft. This adventure into nothingness comes courtesy of the humble property-owning agency from whom I sought shelter in exchange for money I'll be paying back for the rest of my life and possibly an extra seven years after my own personal oblivion.

The situation plays out thus: in order for me to live in this house for another year (and when I say "year" I use the term loosely to mean "Academic year" which everyone knows is just a fancy way of saying "seven months"), our friendly neighbourhood owners have requested a deposit that's not really a deposit since it's non-returnable. Think of it as more insurance to keep my name, my life and several Earthly possessions (that is to say all of them) shackled unto this place and not have it flogged on to other students looking for some kind of shelter. Naturally, myself and fellow tennants were given prior notice that this would need to be paid, but no prior notice of a "deadline date" as it were. Cue Saturday morning where the wee letter sits on the wee mat at the front door and says we have until Monday to meet their insurance demands. Okay, that sounds a lot more dramatic than it actually should be, but the point I'm attempting to get across (rather lazily) is that given just two days notice, I'm now fresh out of money and will to live.

For the record, when queried on the short notice, it turns out a bit of bad luck, honest human error and a mischievious pixie (probably) were to blame for not giving us (or any other student renting property from them) the appropriate notice, so I can't chastise them too much for it. I'm not badmouthing the company I let this room from, just having a good ol' moan and gripe at an undesirable situation. Translation: if you're reading this and happen to be affiliated with my homeowners, PLEASE DON'T KICK ME OUT!!!

Anyway, with the loan company's money all gone, I'm now burying myself comfortably into the bank's lovely little safety net. Comfortable, yes, but worrying also. If I stay here too long, I fear mesh patterns embedding themselves into my skin and tattooing me with "I don't have my own money, I'm living off other means, I'm scum, berate me!" It is because of this, I've had to, for the first time in over three years, go out to find a job. Now me, sweet innocent me, has been trundling along in fairy-head mode where everything is fine and dandy, things will definitely work out the way I imagine them with no problems or complications at all and life will float on by with the greatest of ease and calm and splendour on the song of a bluebird and cool summer breeze. In case you weren't sure, that laboured metaphor was supposed to tell you that after working for the three years in the same retail outlet, my familiarity and experience within the store would grant me easy, if not instant access to a different branch of the same store chain. After all, they like me so much back home, how could I possibly fail?

I enter; copies of CV in bag, confidence in my head, certainty in my heart, a pocketful of dreams and Paramore (or something) on the iPod. Nothing can bring me down! My luck continues, the first staff member of this particular branch that I come across is a young woman, a friendly looking young woman, dressed in what I know to be the uniform blouse of one in a supervisory position in this particular store chain. I approach.

"Excuse me? Hi. I wonder if you could tell me if you currently have any part-time job vacancies?"
Almost instantly my polite and smiley, confidence driven question is answered: "No."

Aha, a stumbling block. One might have expected such a thing. No matter.

"Could I hand you a CV just in case anything opens up?" I offer, knowing that upon viewing, she'll realise that I would be more than capable to fill the space left by the next victim of a brutal sacking. Again, my discoursal adversary greets my humble polite offer with a syllable: "No."

It's a weird kind of exchange. The answers to my queries are negative, but they're accompanied with a smile; the kind of smile one must always maintain in the retail business, else risk execution. Alas, the optimism-house sort of smile paired up the rejection of my employment query seemed to mock me. This woman was mocking me. This woman stood there and went "nyeh-nyeh-neh-nyeh-nyeh", stuck her thumb to her nose, wiggled the rest of her fingers in front of her face, blew a raspberry at me with just the right amount of spit-flecks and essentially said "I have a job and you don't! This is my job, you can't have it, it's mine! So nyehh" all with a simple smile.

Somewhere in the deepest recesses of my brain, I had anticipated this, or an event similar, in which I might require multiple copies of a CV. It just meant that, rather than cast the majority aside after my place was definitely secured in my first choice of employment, I would have to wander the town and offer my part-time retail services elsewhere. But as it happens, nobody wanted me. I don't think it was anything personal, nobody wanted anyone! Eventually, a whole three places felt some kind of sympathy and took a specially printed sheet of A4 off me with the vague promise of keeping my words in their offices, you know, "just in case anything opens up."

Basically, in almost 1,000 words, I just told you how I'm failing to make an independent living at the moment, but since many people are doing that these days I don't see how my adventures in mundanity are any more significant. Let's take you for example. If you've made it this far, you've just read all this. Your life must be even worse.

Just something to think about.