Can I borrow your pot? Also, do you mind if I piss in it?

I’m going to level with you guys. I still haven’t found a job yet. Accessorize got back to me, offering a four-hour contract. Four hours a week. That earns me about £26. What can I do with £26? Good question I hear you ask. The possibilities are endless, including:

– Nothing.

Right now, I am dirt poor. If I changed my name to Penny, I would have one penny to my name. But being poor has helped me gain a few skills. Writing this post, I have mastered how to make a small Americano last three hours in Café Nero. God, let me tell you how to make an Americano last in the bedroom. (Am I right ladies? I have very little sex.)

What the actual fuck can I do with £26? Even If you times that by 1000 that still doesn’t make up the cost of my student loan. I’d have to work for the next millennia. ALL I WANT IS A PAIR OF STAN SMITHS FOR MY POOR-PERSON FEET TO FEEL A SENSE OF WORTH FOR FIVE MINUTES. I would have to work for three days over three consecutive weeks to earn enough money. How long did Jesus work in the desert for? I don’t know but HE PROBABLY HAD NICE SHOES.

So, I went on two more interviews yesterday*. The first interview was in Jack Wills. I got up ten minutes beforehand to give the website a quick Google to learn their ethos regarding Britishness, which ironically mostly involves relying on other countries for their merchandise (Post-colonialism***)

The interview involved going into a tiny room and being asked questions like if I was a fan of the Jack Wills aesthetic. I said yes and commended their great job on pink and blue, one of the rare combinations a superhero hasn’t already trademarked. One question I always look forward to is “how would your friends describe you in three words?” because it relies on the kind assumption I have more than one friend. Sadly, the answer is not “hire her now”.

I then headed to my second interview. This took place in a bookshop that I won’t name. This interview, by the way, was absolutely and needlessly terrifying for no apparent reason. I felt like I was interviewing for Oxford. It was like being Waterstones boarded for information, which if I had known, would have willingly given up faster than a graduate gives up dreams. What if she asks me to list the main themes of The Master and the Margarita**?

I thought Margarita was a type of cheese.

Also, The Master and the Margarita? what’s next, Tequila Mockingbird? Hahahahahahahaha we’re all having fun aren’t we

She really grilled me hard on what books were big at the moment, to which I had very little to respond with because I don’t have the money to go into a bookshop right now, and even if I did have the money, I wouldn’t be spending it buying all along the watchtower by Harper fucking Lee in a bloody bookshop that’s for goddamn certain. I’ve spent my entire student life avoiding buying literature. I’ll be damned if I’m going to be spending it on something I can’t display proudly like a ripe red baboons arse in mating season. That season, coincidentally, occurs in my world between the months always and having sex.

How absolutely fucking gutting that three years at university has taught me that although I can talk a 2,1 about books in a seminar that probably cost me about £200 to attend, if a customer actually asked me my opinion on Pilgrims Progress, I’m probably not good enough to talk £6.50 an hour about them.

I have heard back from neither interview, and I will be in Accessorise from 12-4 in Sutton on Saturday earning the half of one half of a pair of shoes.


*To any potential employers are reading this; I have put this in for character purposes only. I’ve only been to one interview: yours. Also, I absolutely probably did spend three years at W H Smiths leaning absolutely top notch customer service skills, seriously, just ask any one of my references, including my aunt and/or Bronwen’s mum.

**The Master and The Margarita is interestingly, not the tipsy, reluctant, nervous prequel to 50 shades of grey, as it sounds like it should be.

*** Look this is clever isn’t it aren’t I clever

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