I'd watched the finale of Lost in the same week that I finished my degree, and I felt that both ended on a rather flat note. With University, I sort of expected to leap from the exam room cheering, throwing something in the air and French-kissing a long-term object of my affection. Being an exciting, life-changing moment, she would kiss back, instead of her usual retort involving an elbow and a bruised testicle.
But no, due to me finishing the exam a little early, I sort of shuffled loudly out the room, stubbing my toe against someone's bag and hobbling down towards the students union for a pint. No euphoria, no huge rush of understanding or insight. It was like waiting to hear bad news. Like a lurching, irritable little poke in the side. "Oy! Don't forgot you did shit in that exam" - oh yea, the poke in the side has a voice.
What followed was a week of drinking, tactical and not-so-tactical chundering, waking up early with hangovers and falling asleep in the sun. Again, it seemed like my normal university habits, nothing new, nothing different. I had no doubt that a musical montage was required, but knew no way of making such a thing, My other plan, to write a 'bucket list' of things I wanted to do in Newcastle before I left, ended up looking like the map for a particularly debauchorous night out and a sad shopping list of girls I still fancied. Don't even get me started on the scrapbook I wanted to make.
Meanwhile, a good friend at University shared some good news to the world/his facebook this week, as he has got onto a proper good graduate scheme at News Of The World. Everyone was really chuffed for Dave (32 people liked his status - impressive, no?) as he's really hard working and enthusiastic about what he does, and it shows. But his step into the golden light of employment cast a shadow upon my own progress.
A piece of paper on my wall has all the hastily scribbled names and posititions of jobs I've applied for. One by one, they get crossed off (a bit like Jacob's Cave, no?) either because I get a no, or the job turns out to be awful *cough DV8*. And, like many others, I spend any free time hastily scouring the internet for work. I have a gaggle of websites, either company owned or multi-platform that I tirelessl look at each day, wondering if that dream job has cropped up or they need someone with a sub-par degree and a superiority complex. Turns out Bauer Media have hundreds of jobs going in that department (zing).
The longer this scrutinising job search goes, the lower my expectations go. I applied for a job at Kiss Radio (covering letter: 'I am a HUGE fan of Kiss Radio. JLS, NDubz, those other shit bands. I dig that'), I even checked out a position for Features Writer at Metal Directory, a magazine about metal (the substance, not the music). Unfortunately, when I saw the specificiations - 'must demonstrate a passion for non-ferrous metal' I had to turn away. I'm a ferrous man, me.
And then I saw a job that instantly applied for. Did I like the look of it? Not at all. But it was a job, and with mounting desperation, I knew that I needed to reach out and take a bold more. After seeing a proper journo friend's first job was at a caravan magazine, it made me realise that we can't expect to screw our eyes shut, make a wish and turn up in a great job - especially in the career field that I want to go in. There's going to be years of miserable pitching, leaping off beautiful architecture and then writing about it, and maybe even the odd paycheque.
So I applied for this job, and in doing so, realised just how far I was willing to reach out to earn enough to eat cheap bread.
I applied for a job.
As features writer.
For a black lifestyle magazine.
o_0
Why, you ask?
I don't know. I sent the email off, with CV attached, examples of my work, a good cover letter, and as soon as I clicked send, I realised that this was perhaps a low point in my all-too-short-career. I mean, I don't have a chance, and if I did, why would I think this was a good idea? Within five minutes of sending the email, I got an automated response:
"Thank you for your application. We will be in touch shortly"
This is going to be one of those thing's that haunts me, I know it. I wondered what other pitfalls journalists face when trying to claw their way to a rung on the ladder (see previous post). Instead of the list of job rejections/applications, I now have a new list on my wall. On a sheet of A4 paper states the following:
Thou Shalt Not:
1: Try and get a job at a Black Lifestyle magazine.
I guess I'll fill in the rest as I go along.
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