(This happens when I am 18 and working part-time in retail. I’m sure you can all guess why I want to get a different job, so I sign on with a temp agency to help me find a full-time admin position. The agency phones me, and we go through my details:)

Staff: “Okay, that’s you loaded onto the system. All I need is for you to come in and meet with one of our consultants.”

Me: “Sure, when can I come in?”

Staff: “How about the day after tomorrow?”

Me: “No problem. I’m available in the morning.”

Staff: “Okay, see you then. Bye!”

Me: “Wait! What time do I show up?”

Staff: “Oh, um… Some time around eleven should be fine.” *click*

(On the day of the meeting, I wear something nice and drive to the next town. I’m there by 10:30, so I decide to kill a bit of time. Various things hold me up, but I think, “No problem; they don’t have a slot booked for me.” It’s 11:15 by the time I get there, and I go to reception and tell them my name.)

Receptionist: “Oh, you’re down as a no-show, as your appointment has passed.”

Me: “Seriously? I wasn’t told what time to come here. The woman I spoke to was about to hang up before I managed to catch her. Then I was told, ‘around 11.’ It’s currently around 11.”

Receptionist: “I don’t know what to say.”

(We rescheduled for the next week, and I left in a foul mood. I made it an hour early the next week — because screw them, that’s why — and everything was fine. Even so, it was no surprise that they didn’t get me a job. A year and a half later, a consultant phoned me to tell me about an amazing opportunity for training and then a nine-to-five job. I put my name down, but he phoned me back a few days later to say I “didn’t make the cut with all the other applicants,” but that he’d keep looking for similar positions. I never heard from that agency again. By this time, I had been made redundant from my retail job, so I signed on with a second agency. They had me working a 36-hour contract six days after I met them.)

I am 17. I see a “Help Wanted” sign across the street from my high school. The shop is also across the street from a large university campus. I go in and ask for an application. This all proceeds as normal; the barista gives me an application and offers me a free drink.

The next day, I return to the coffee shop to turn in my completed application. The barista directs me to the manager and I turn my application in to him. While busy, he seems friendly enough, and offers to give me an interview at 4:00 pm the next day.

I show up the following day about ten minutes early. The manager is nowhere in sight, so I inform the barista that I am ready for him, and once again, I am offered a free drink. I sit in the coffee shop and wait for the manager to come.

And wait.

After an hour with no sign of the manager, I ask the barista if my interview has been cancelled. The barista, who seems to have forgotten I was there, yelps in surprise and tells me that the manager isn’t in. She then goes to the back and calls him. She returns and tells me that he stepped out to run some errands and should be back in about 20 minutes.

The manager finally arrives, and after getting directions from the barista, comes over to me with a stack of applications. He shuffles through the papers, finds my application, and skims over it. He looks up at me and says, “You’re in high school?”

I answer, “Yes.”

“Sorry, we’re actually only looking for college students right now, because they have more availability.” The manager then dismisses me before I even have the chance to explain that I only take classes in the morning.

(I am applying for a management position at a grocery store near me. They don’t have many requirements for the job, saying, “Some management experience may be required.” So, I go in, and they immediately say:)

Recruiter: “You’re not qualified for this position. You need at least ten years of experience in a management position.”

(I ask about the shift manager position, which is below what I am going for.)

Recruiter: “You need five years of management experience for that.”

(I’ve been out of college for a little over a year now. I’ve struggled to find a job that I’m qualified for, since most positions do require a lot of experience, and I’m working retail for now. However, in every other job description I’ve seen, it states exactly how much experience they want. The girl who was interviewing me, who wasn’t that much older than me, wasn’t rude, but she wasn’t polite either. They offered me a job as a store associate, but I turned it down. I would rather work where I am currently than work for a company like that.)

(I am a receptionist, and my job is to simultaneously greet people and answer a multi-phone line. I am on the phone answering a client’s question when a woman comes up to the counter.)

Me: *to the woman, covering the mouthpiece* “Hi! I’ll be right with you in one moment.”

Woman: “Application.”

Me: *again, covering the receiver, trying to hear the client on the line and also talk to this woman* “I’m sorry, one moment while I finish this call.”

Woman: *louder* “APPLICATION.”

Me: *losing my temper slightly* “Ma’am, I am ON THE PHONE! You need to wait a moment while I finish this call!”

(She then angrily stormed out. Gee, I wonder why she’s looking for work?)

This happened back in the mid 90s. I had recently graduated, and was now applying everywhere I could to get a job with my engineering degree. One such place was a government research establishment, and I was delighted to be granted an interview. It was on the other side of the country, and I was reliant on public transport, as I didn’t have a car. Also, as I was a poor ex-student, I couldn’t afford a new wardrobe. However, the suit I wore for my university interviews was still in good enough condition, so I wore that.

I had researched my connections thoroughly, and arrived in the area in plenty of time. After a pleasant stroll nearby, I arrived at the reception and security block about 15 minutes early. I signed in, and was told to take a seat as someone would be with me shortly.

As I went to sit down, I felt something give. I reached behind me, and could feel a tear in my trousers. I shot off to the toilet to inspect the damage, and was horrified to see that the tear started between my legs and went about half way up my backside!

I decided I needed help. I explained the problem to the receptionist, and asked her if she had any safety pins. She didn’t, but she was able to offer me some paper clips. I retrospect I should have asked to borrow a stapler, but my brain was in full panic mode. I gratefully accepted the paper clips and headed back to the toilet.

Whilst I couldn’t just clip my trousers together, I found that by unwinding the clips I could use them to wire my trousers closed. This now presented me with another problem – sitting down. Fortunately, when I did come to sit down, I found that the metal ended up in my, um, natural crevasse. It wasn’t too uncomfortable, but I was very much aware that I was being jabbed, and as a result my mind wasn’t fully on the interview.

During the tour of the facility, I was glad that the place wasn’t teeming with people, as I wasn’t entirely confident that the back panel of my jacket was covering everything I needed it to. So, I made sure that I was always walking by the side of, or just behind my guide, and I certainly never went up the stairs in front!

After the interview, my ordeal was far from over. Being a poor graduate, I had spent most of my money on the travel costs, and I did not have anything to spare for buying new trousers. So, it was a walk to the bus stop, followed by a bumpy bus ride — not ideal when having metal pressed in places that could lead to a stainless steel enema if the potholes got any worse — and then a lengthy train journey. After that, it was a trip on a very crowded underground ride through London. It was rush hour, which meant that I was stood up for the duration, much to my backside’s relief, but it did mean that my rear was now potentially at the eye-line of the seated passengers. I hope they got therapy afterwards.

Then it was one more train journey back to my hometown, and then a half-mile walk home. There, I received the love and sympathy one would expect from my parents, once they had finally stopped laughing.

I never did hear back about the job. I expect that the interviewers were either puzzled by how someone with an upper second-class honours degree could appear to be so vacant, or they were too traumatised by the visions they received. Whilst I don’t think I did give anyone a full moon, as my boxer shorts did remain intact, I suspect that some people received a partial lunar eclipse.

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