So, eleven days in the city. I'm starting to feel like I actually live here. I even know my postcode by heart, which I managed to avoid for the whole six months I lived in Warwick. While I think the honeymoon period is still in full swing the weather's taken a hideous turn and so I've begun applying for work.
Boy is it difficult. 'Yes, we know,' I can hear you all say, job hunting is a dull, soul destroying activity undertaken only in the pursuit of eventual financial gain.' This has not passed me by, of course. I just mean the differences in applying for acting work and, well, pretty much everything else.
I think I've been a bit spoiled in recent years, as while singing and dancing (well, not really dancing, more moving my feet awkardly round the beat) in old peoples homes was exhausting and sometimes, usually after the residents' lunch, felt pointless, I was working for someone who knew exactly what I could and couldn't do- I didn't have to prove myself after the first tour. I don't mean in terms of ability; my dancing skills were constantly called into question. I mean that my professional demeanour was never an issue.
Because that's what I find so odd about so called desk jobs. Your ability to do the job seems to come second to 'are you the sort of person we want to work with?' This bothered me, as things I don't understand tend to, and brought out a competitive streak in me I didn't know I had. I wouldn't have minded not getting the job on grounds of lack of qualification. I have a degree in English and Theatre Studies and a Post Graduate Diploma in Acting. I am qualified for nothing. What upset me was the possibility of being turned down for a job, a means of financial gain and mark of social success, because they didn't like me. I didn't let it bother me for long, and instead of following my instinct and asking the interviewer outright, 'Is there a communal living element of this job I didn't spot in the ad? Will I, on gaining entry to this shining light of door-to-door sales be inducted into a secret cult, be tattooed and drink the blood of a still living chicken thereby sealing my entry into the secret world of the successful?' I instead was a total jellyfish and lied. Those who know me well would not have recognised the bubbly persona gurning and giggling across the interviewer's desk. They would have thought I had lost my mind. Maybe I had.
Far simpler was the audition for a band that night. They perform on average once a month. They wanted someone to replace their singer while she was on maternity leave. Basically they wanted someone to do exactly what she could do. Fair enough. So I got a lift with the keyboard player, learned a bit about the band, got there and the five of us girls who'd turned up sang our songs and went home. Bliss. So easy.
The difference for me is that in an audition, generally your professional conduct is taken for granted. There are certain ways of behaving on polite society and you will of course adhere to them, the question is will you do the exact job they want you to, right look, right voice, right style. It sounds personal but it isn't. Perhaps this comes from actors themselves, who in general want to be liked and enjoy having a wide circle of aquaintance. There is no need to question their ability to get on with their colleagues and bosses, as they will do whatever it takes to make friends, imsecure though that probably sounds. So I was surprised to discover that a sales company that specializes in recruiting young people didn't take this for granted at all. Maybe it was to see how well an applicant can express themselves, on reflection, but it all felt a little claustrophobic, like finding yourself cornered by a bore at a dull party. You don't really want to be there but there isn't much else on offer so you might as well play along till your bus comes.
The bad/good news was, my lie worked. They did like me. Everyone liked me. I made friends at the interview and at the subsequent open day where I pounded the pavement with one of the most determinedly positive people I've ever met (bear on mind when I say that most of my mates are actors and picture him again). Every door was an opportunity, in fact, doors were things to be maximised, though only at certain times of the day. My mind started to wander after the second lap and the process felt like Monsters Inc, with so many doors and targets, and the fact that my 'leader' was a six foot three rugby type. He liked me too. To be fair I liked him, it was hard not to. He's very, very nice, and not in an insipid way. I wasn't surprised to be offered the job after eight hours walking the pavements of an estate in north Bristol. I'd made a point of being exactly the person they wanted. We all liked each other. How lovely.
I didn't take it. I changed my mind yesterday morning. I don't regret it at all, even though I still feel I let down the nice people I met. But the problem was it was all a lie on my part, in a light hearted way. I'm not a young professional. My hair is untidy, I can't be arsed with cocktails, I don't want my life to revolve round the next holiday. And I still have a faint glow of hope in the next acting job, whenever that should arise.
I got a bar job. If you're in Bristol and you're watching one of the World Cup games, come down this weekend. I'll be there serving cider. Phew.
Boy is it difficult. 'Yes, we know,' I can hear you all say, job hunting is a dull, soul destroying activity undertaken only in the pursuit of eventual financial gain.' This has not passed me by, of course. I just mean the differences in applying for acting work and, well, pretty much everything else.
I think I've been a bit spoiled in recent years, as while singing and dancing (well, not really dancing, more moving my feet awkardly round the beat) in old peoples homes was exhausting and sometimes, usually after the residents' lunch, felt pointless, I was working for someone who knew exactly what I could and couldn't do- I didn't have to prove myself after the first tour. I don't mean in terms of ability; my dancing skills were constantly called into question. I mean that my professional demeanour was never an issue.
Because that's what I find so odd about so called desk jobs. Your ability to do the job seems to come second to 'are you the sort of person we want to work with?' This bothered me, as things I don't understand tend to, and brought out a competitive streak in me I didn't know I had. I wouldn't have minded not getting the job on grounds of lack of qualification. I have a degree in English and Theatre Studies and a Post Graduate Diploma in Acting. I am qualified for nothing. What upset me was the possibility of being turned down for a job, a means of financial gain and mark of social success, because they didn't like me. I didn't let it bother me for long, and instead of following my instinct and asking the interviewer outright, 'Is there a communal living element of this job I didn't spot in the ad? Will I, on gaining entry to this shining light of door-to-door sales be inducted into a secret cult, be tattooed and drink the blood of a still living chicken thereby sealing my entry into the secret world of the successful?' I instead was a total jellyfish and lied. Those who know me well would not have recognised the bubbly persona gurning and giggling across the interviewer's desk. They would have thought I had lost my mind. Maybe I had.
Far simpler was the audition for a band that night. They perform on average once a month. They wanted someone to replace their singer while she was on maternity leave. Basically they wanted someone to do exactly what she could do. Fair enough. So I got a lift with the keyboard player, learned a bit about the band, got there and the five of us girls who'd turned up sang our songs and went home. Bliss. So easy.
The difference for me is that in an audition, generally your professional conduct is taken for granted. There are certain ways of behaving on polite society and you will of course adhere to them, the question is will you do the exact job they want you to, right look, right voice, right style. It sounds personal but it isn't. Perhaps this comes from actors themselves, who in general want to be liked and enjoy having a wide circle of aquaintance. There is no need to question their ability to get on with their colleagues and bosses, as they will do whatever it takes to make friends, imsecure though that probably sounds. So I was surprised to discover that a sales company that specializes in recruiting young people didn't take this for granted at all. Maybe it was to see how well an applicant can express themselves, on reflection, but it all felt a little claustrophobic, like finding yourself cornered by a bore at a dull party. You don't really want to be there but there isn't much else on offer so you might as well play along till your bus comes.
The bad/good news was, my lie worked. They did like me. Everyone liked me. I made friends at the interview and at the subsequent open day where I pounded the pavement with one of the most determinedly positive people I've ever met (bear on mind when I say that most of my mates are actors and picture him again). Every door was an opportunity, in fact, doors were things to be maximised, though only at certain times of the day. My mind started to wander after the second lap and the process felt like Monsters Inc, with so many doors and targets, and the fact that my 'leader' was a six foot three rugby type. He liked me too. To be fair I liked him, it was hard not to. He's very, very nice, and not in an insipid way. I wasn't surprised to be offered the job after eight hours walking the pavements of an estate in north Bristol. I'd made a point of being exactly the person they wanted. We all liked each other. How lovely.
I didn't take it. I changed my mind yesterday morning. I don't regret it at all, even though I still feel I let down the nice people I met. But the problem was it was all a lie on my part, in a light hearted way. I'm not a young professional. My hair is untidy, I can't be arsed with cocktails, I don't want my life to revolve round the next holiday. And I still have a faint glow of hope in the next acting job, whenever that should arise.
I got a bar job. If you're in Bristol and you're watching one of the World Cup games, come down this weekend. I'll be there serving cider. Phew.
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