From University to Unemployment; The Bubble Bursts

Two and a half monotonous months have now passed since I took my first step into the big and scary adult world. The event that marked the end of my care-free, 'twenteen' existence and gave rise to the next, significantly more somber (not to mention sober), chapter of my life was, of course, my graduation.  No longer sheltered from cruel reality by my trustworthy student suit of armour (purely metaphorical, I am not part of a battle re-enactment society), I realised that on shedding my 'lazy couch potato/ student' title, it had been replaced with a new 'lazy couch potato' moniker, but one that suddenly sounded a lot less desirable. That's right everyone, I am now officially *gulp* unemployed.

Feeling vulnerable and exposed, and surrounded by a precariously constructed mountain of archaic books that no longer seemed relevant to anything in real life (Ever been asked about Dickens' views on prostitution in a job interview? Thought not...), it dawned on me that I could no longer continue to bury my head in the sand. A landslide was fast approaching, and it wasn't the Dickens-based hardbacks. The landslide I'm referring to is  the crippling force of student debt, maxed-out overdraft and any other expenses that may have amounted over a less-than-frugal three years at university. So with impending doom right around the corner, and an increasingly purposeless existence rearing it's depressing head, I booted up my laptop and printed an entire forest's worth of CV's, fueled with the intention of getting in with the grown-ups. In other words: I was determined to find a job that was not, unlike my previous vocational experiences, adorned with a conspicuous bright red name badge and an embarrassing cap. First stop: the job agency. Unfortunately, my visit was not as fruitful as I had hoped...

Freshly printed CV's in hand (the second batch, I accidentally covered the first lot in a nursery-style finger painting courtesy of my foundation) I headed confidently to the job agency. Pushing the door handle with conviction, I was ready to make an unforgettable entrance that screamed 'Hire me or regret it!' (silently, of course, rowdy sociopaths don't tend to entice potential employers.) The door didn't budge. I pulled. Still no hint of movement. I looked to the right and saw the doorbell with a sign just a minute too late. 'Great' I thought, 'incompetent and can't read, straight out of the textbook for good first impressions.' The lady inside looked at me with dismay, her facial expression resembling that of an owner who had just come home to see her dog sitting next to a chewed up sofa. She buzzed me in and I babbled my apologies in a pathetic manner, in the same way that the dog probably would have sheepishly whimpered as she picked up the sofa stuffing. Looking over my CV, she seemed fairly impressed, although I'm sure it was in a sympathetic way, as not to say:

'You've spent three years at university and you're about as employable as a monkey on a typewriter.'

 At least the monkey could probably touch type...

'Dear Briony, I'm sorry to inform you that your application was unsuccessful on this occasion, as the other candidate,
Miss Orang. A. Tan, was considered more suitable for the role. Yours Sincerely, Mr  C. H. Imp (HR Department)'

After asking a few generic questions, she then went on to ask if I could drive. I answered in the negative, wondering whether my lack of pink license would effect my job prospects, or whether she had just asked in order to laugh at mental images of me at a bus stop in the pouring rain at 6 AM, getting splashed by colossal puddles  as I negotiated my way into the office for another day of filing my soul away into a selection of grey cabinets. Probably the latter. And then that was it. Questions over, she smiled and told me she'd be in touch if anything came up, although there was hardly anything going at the moment. With that, I thanked her and made my exit (after yet again indulging in a push-pull tango with the door like a gerbil failing a learned behaviour experiment.)

'Oh rats! I just can't seem to figure this thing out...'

Since that fateful meeting, I've signed up for several other recruitment agencies, not to mention the plethora of online applications I've made over various different recruitment websites. And yet I've been about as successful as a monk in the Geordie Shore house. So where exactly am I going wrong? Am I being too fussy? Admittedly I did turn down a second interview with a building society, but only because the first interview left me feeling as though I had suffered a run in with a dementor; completely soulless. I'm sure certain there are plenty of other people in my position, feeling like they have been dropped from the uni bubble and left down shit creek without a paddle. But then again, this is the real world now - it's all about discovering how to make the best of your paddle-less situation without expecting a life boat to speed to your rescue. It's tough, but it will get easier. At least, I hope it does. Until then, I'm off to rewrite my CV for the billionth time. And practice my entrance. Because nothing says 'Hire me' like being able to correctly suss out how to open a door first time round.