Amongst the many wonderful aspects which there are in being back in the U.K, there are three situations I have directly encountered which I am dying to exposé as being a little bit ridiculous, upsetting or downright insane.
The first thing that I encountered happened during my brief sojourn in Manchester on my initial way home from Switzerland. It occurred in the train station in Manchester, after a delightful day with my three best friends. There I was, feasting on a delicious snack from Burger King (when I say snack, I mean a full meal...) with my pal. After some literal finger licking, we went to get a train and said 'We'd better throw away our rubbish in the bin.' Oh how naive we were. No bins. Nada. Not a single bin or bin like place. We spent a bewildering five minutes racing around saying "Seriously? Where have all the bins gone?" Well...apparently it's a legitimate thing. Apparently it is too much of a security risk to have bins...in case somebody plants a bomb. I'm pretty sure there haven't been any actual cases of bin bombs in Manchester train station so this preventative measure seems a bit premature. What about the serious issue which is littering?? Being generally outstanding citizens, Hannah and I carried our rubbish home with us until there was a bin available. I imagine the vast majority of people would not have this instinct. So what happens to all of their rubbish?? Dear train stations, please give us a bin. Just one would do the trick!
The second thing I wanted to exposé is false advertising in jobs. As most of you will be aware, I have been desperately seeking a job since my return. My average day involves me applying to several jobs. Each time I send off my CV and my sweetly written Covering Letter, I send a little wish up to those bright stars in the sky that maybe this time I might be lucky. I have even been practicing my own dance routine and rendition of Barbara Streisand's version of 'I'm The Greatest Star' which I hope might prove just the ticket should I ever be lucky enough to get an interview.The issue I have is one that I learnt the hard way. I applied to several jobs in marketing which promised a high success rate for enthusiastic, confident, ambitious people. Which I thought, by george, I was. They said they used modern methods of advertising, rather than tv or radio. Of course, all I picked up from this was the word advertising and I thought 'I'd love to do that!' So I went along with high hopes, and for once I was in demand for interviews. I guess that should have been my first clue that something wasn't quite right. I went to three interviews in two days, feeling super grown up in my business wear, finding places in the big city, catching the train, clacking down streets in high heels. Within hours of each interview, I was contacted to say they all wanted me for the second stage. Happy days, I thought.
The second stage was a full day 'in the industry'. This sounded very exciting to me. I went along bright and early on Monday morning to the first one. I was introduced to my 'partner.' who would be supervising me and seeing if I was suitable. We hitched a ride in the car with the other interviewee and his partner. I asked 'What exactly is it we will be doing today?' and my partner replied 'Meeting some clients.' I thought this meant we were going into a company and making a presentation. It didn't. We pulled up in a housing estate and proceeded to wander from door to door pedalling wears....for EIGHT HOURS!!! It was raining. It was cold. I was wearing high heels. Nobody wanted to buy anything. I asked my partner 'Do we get a salary for this or is it entirely based on commission.'He grinned and enthused 'Entirely commission of course!' I was meant to finish at 7pm. We worked until after 8. I missed my train home and even then I was meant to be getting reviewed back at the office. I cried on the train home. No way could I work for commission knowing that if I didn't sell a product- I wouldn't make any money in a week! How could someone survive that?? Especially in the recession.
I knew I had two more 'days in the industry' lined up the next two days. I decided not to be a pessimist so gave the second day a chance. It quickly became apparent when I got paired with a partner again what was going on. I walked with them all to the train station where they had to catch a train to sell...I got on a train back home and said "This isn't for me. I'm not confident enough for this." In my head I added, I didn't get into 10,000 pounds of debt at university so that I would struggle to provide money to feed myself from a day to day basis.
So a word of warning, if a job seems too good to be true...it is.
The third and final thing I want to exposé is the flag protests in Belfast. I love my country. I always have. We are an intelligent, interesting, dynamic, eclectic mix of people in Northern Ireland. Many of us are cultured and talented and proud. Some are beautiful or hilarious or inspiring. But some are just horrific. What started off as a complete piss take has turned into an even bigger one. Our economy, our business, our people are all missing out because of a severely unhinged minority, claiming to be doing the just thing. If they really cared about Ulster, I wonder, would they want to risk ripping it apart by protesting, and injuring police officers (who, by the way, have no correlation with the lesser seen Union Jack) or by, irony of all ironies, BURNING THE UNION JACK!!!! The very flag they are insisting that they are protecting...they're burning it! On the street! Wearing balaclavas.
It really truly sickens me to see our little country being destroyed by a malicious minority. Neither side has clean hands in this debacle. But why are things reverting to the dark days of a few decades ago? Particularly when most of the protestors are younger than me and therefore definitely were not alive during the Troubles.I join the rest of the sane majority of this lovely, beautiful country in hoping and wishing desperately that somehow, anyhow, this whole flag thing is laid to rest. Immediately.
