“I just needed to see
you face to face to see what your attitude was to opportunities in the future.”
The young lady glanced at me from across her desk. Above her head, proudly displayed on the magnolia-painted wall of the boot-cupboard office, was the agency’s somewhat vacuous motto: ‘People are Precious’.
The girl was almost young enough to be my grand-daughter. She was dark, pretty and disturbingly serious.
“Only you haven’t really been that co-operative since we had you on our books.”
She studied her notes. I remained silent.
“I mean, three weeks ago, you turned down a perfectly good opportunity.”
“I should think I did – it was inLeicester .”
“You said you were willing to work anywhere.”
“I meant anywhere within reason.”
“What’s wrong with Leiciester?”
“What’s wrong with it? It would be easier if you asked me what was right with it. I went there for an interview once, at Sketchley’s the dry cleaners. They wanted somebody to run their central stores. I had my lunch in the city. It was a desperate place. I told the director of human resources I wouldn’t be seen dead there.”
“When was this?”
“1985”.
“Don’t you think it’s changed since then?”
“Wallsend hasn’t, so why should it?”
She studied her notes again.
“And then, last week, you turned down a job that was right up your street – a six-month project with a housing association that had no procurement staff and was desperate for someone with your qualifications and experience to drive an IT procurement and to mentor the project team. It was extremely well paid. Can you tell me why you turned it down?”
“Because it was inWolverhampton .”
“Wolverhampton is in the very heart ofEngland Edinburgh
“I went there once, for a business conference. It turned out to be even worse thanLeicester .”
“When was this?”
“1986”.
“That's an awfully long time ago. I have to say that I don’t think that you are trying that hard to find new opportunities.”
It occurred to me then that she hadn’t even been born when my adventures in those two Midland cities had taken place. I suddenly felt very old, and very, very tired. I did my best to remain bullish.
“Listen. Until you’ve spent months living in fly-blown budget hotels with stained bedsheets, windows that won’t open and the noise of all-night buses keeping you awake, living off Tesco meal deals and raw carrots, and talking to yourself all the time because you’re lonelier than a desert coyote, don’t lecture me about turning down good opportunities miles from home.”
She closed her file sharply.
“Am I to understand that you are only interested in local opportunities?”
“That’s correct. Not only that, I would prefer a part-time opportunity and nothing longer than four months.”
“Are you really seriously interested in working again? I mean, you haven’t done anything since last August, and, at your age, well, most of our clients have had enough by now and retired.”
“I only want to work because I don’t want the highlight of my day to be watching the bin lorry coming down the street or looking out of the French windows to see a cascade of blossom falling from the maple tree in the garden and covering the patio in what looks like green snow.”
“Well, Mr Hardwick, we’ll see what we can do. We’ve got your details on file, and we’ll amend the database to take into account the conversation we’ve just had but, quite frankly, since you insist on turning down perfectly good opportunities, I’m not sure that there is very much we can do to help you.”
She was only echoing the sentiments that I suspected myself, so I was hardly deflated by her comments.
I shook hands with her and drifted out onto Rose Steet. I had forgotten how busyEdinburgh
I came to the reluctant conclusion then that after eight months in the wilderness of the East Lothian countryside, I was no more fit to resume work than to becomeEngland
The young lady glanced at me from across her desk. Above her head, proudly displayed on the magnolia-painted wall of the boot-cupboard office, was the agency’s somewhat vacuous motto: ‘People are Precious’.
The girl was almost young enough to be my grand-daughter. She was dark, pretty and disturbingly serious.
“Only you haven’t really been that co-operative since we had you on our books.”
She studied her notes. I remained silent.
“I mean, three weeks ago, you turned down a perfectly good opportunity.”
“I should think I did – it was in
“You said you were willing to work anywhere.”
“I meant anywhere within reason.”
“What’s wrong with Leiciester?”
“What’s wrong with it? It would be easier if you asked me what was right with it. I went there for an interview once, at Sketchley’s the dry cleaners. They wanted somebody to run their central stores. I had my lunch in the city. It was a desperate place. I told the director of human resources I wouldn’t be seen dead there.”
“When was this?”
“1985”.
“Don’t you think it’s changed since then?”
“Wallsend hasn’t, so why should it?”
She studied her notes again.
“And then, last week, you turned down a job that was right up your street – a six-month project with a housing association that had no procurement staff and was desperate for someone with your qualifications and experience to drive an IT procurement and to mentor the project team. It was extremely well paid. Can you tell me why you turned it down?”
“Because it was in
“Wolverhampton is in the very heart of
“I went there once, for a business conference. It turned out to be even worse than
“When was this?”
“1986”.
“That's an awfully long time ago. I have to say that I don’t think that you are trying that hard to find new opportunities.”
“Listen. Until you’ve spent months living in fly-blown budget hotels with stained bedsheets, windows that won’t open and the noise of all-night buses keeping you awake, living off Tesco meal deals and raw carrots, and talking to yourself all the time because you’re lonelier than a desert coyote, don’t lecture me about turning down good opportunities miles from home.”
She closed her file sharply.
“Am I to understand that you are only interested in local opportunities?”
“That’s correct. Not only that, I would prefer a part-time opportunity and nothing longer than four months.”
“Are you really seriously interested in working again? I mean, you haven’t done anything since last August, and, at your age, well, most of our clients have had enough by now and retired.”
“I only want to work because I don’t want the highlight of my day to be watching the bin lorry coming down the street or looking out of the French windows to see a cascade of blossom falling from the maple tree in the garden and covering the patio in what looks like green snow.”
“Well, Mr Hardwick, we’ll see what we can do. We’ve got your details on file, and we’ll amend the database to take into account the conversation we’ve just had but, quite frankly, since you insist on turning down perfectly good opportunities, I’m not sure that there is very much we can do to help you.”
She was only echoing the sentiments that I suspected myself, so I was hardly deflated by her comments.
I shook hands with her and drifted out onto Rose Steet. I had forgotten how busy
I came to the reluctant conclusion then that after eight months in the wilderness of the East Lothian countryside, I was no more fit to resume work than to become
