Finding Work in the UK

I have now tried looking for work twice in England. Moreover, in both instances, "try" would be a very liberal interpretation of the word. Nevertheless, in both instances I have unsuccessfully turned down a good job that I was keenly interested in doing.

It seems I have inadvertently adopted the "no thanks" method of getting work in the UK as a matter of course. I'm not sure this sort of approach is for those who are in desperate need of work today, but it has so far served me well.

In 1999, Ange and I had just decided to explore different countries for a time and I wandered into Southampton to meet up with my friend Erika. We were at the pub and she was telling me about her job working at an internet company. She also mentioned that they were looking for people. I'm not entirely sure why, but I asked Erika to mention me to the owners. I clearly didn't want a job. I was right in the midst of 11 month treck around Europe. I had just ditched the motorcycle and was about to activate my Eurorail pass and head south with my mate Pete Charles Turner. Pete was in the last few days of a marathon work schedule designed to maximise cash before hitting the road. I was looking for something to do. So, why not interview for a job I didn't want?

So I walked in with the confident swagger of someone who was leaving for Paris in a couple of days. We chatted. They likde me. I liked them. Maybe it was my cavalier attidude? Maybe it was the fact I had the audacity to show up in hiking boots, cargos and a ripped shirt (It was only a very small rip, and, indeed, it was chosen not for its rip but rather because it had collar and it was clean: a combination no other shirt in my pack could offer). Regardless, they phoned my friend the next day to have me phone them back (I had no phone, or fixed address for that matter). I gave John a call and he offered me the job. Now I had a problem. How do I explain that I wasn't really serious and that I had just wasted an hour of their time? I sputtered. I waffled. I explained that I liked the idea of the job, but the timing was bad. I had, for example, no phone or address. For that matter I didn't have a clean collared shirt without a rip in it. I was clearly in no situation to begin work anytime soon. I also had plans to go to Paris, Madrid, Rome, Athens, Istanbul, Berlin and Prague. So, I turned it down. But, as I turned it down, I mentioned that I'd be rolling back through Sotuhampton in January if there was work then... it was like an olive branch. I was saying, "I like you enough that I do want to work for you, but not so much that I want to work for you now." Understandably, they thought it probably not so likely that they would have something to suit my schedule.

I walked away content. We were friends and I was doing what I wanted to do. The only thing is that 5 weeks later I am sitting on the beach in Greece waiting for a turn on the hostel computer. It comes free, I brush the sand off my feet and sit down to send out mass email update (they were cool then). Happily, there is an email from Erika. I open it and let out a gasp. Erika writes: "I was just speaking with John and he said to me that you're starting with 24-seven [the company] in January. Is that true?" Erika had provided John's email and I emailed him asking what he was thinking. He was thinking that I start the first working day in January. How very convenient, I thought, as I slipped on my sandals, picked up a beer for Ange and I and wandered back out onto the beach to tell Ange that I had just been hired in Southampton right about the time we would be running out of money.

The above is, of course, one of those stories you have when you're 23 and frittering around Europe. Yet, it somehow bears a striking similarity to what has just happened to me here in England again. Only this time, I am serious. There's Anna now! We do real jobs and take things moderately seriously. Let me explain:

In this very blog, I told you about me turning down the job at Oxford Brookes University. I had applied for the job from Canada. It was one of only a couple (yes, it was actually 2) of jobs I bothered to apply for in advance. You know, the stress of leaving and what. My dad had to send the forms back for me as I was unable to actually fill them out in time to respond myself. I was then mildly surprised to get an interview, being that it was surely the only application from Canada, using some obscure British address with a "care of" in the title.

The interview fell on the perfect day, since Ange had not yet started her job and could mind Anna. This little convenience should not be underestimated since we know noone here and I would have otherwise had to take her to the interview! Ange and I discussed me working at length. It was clear. I didn't want to work until the new year. If I did get the job, it was too soon and Anna deserved to have someone home with her. So, I knew that before I went in, I would have to turn it down if I got it. Well, the old cavalier attitude probably made an appearance again. In fairness to me, I was dressed appropriately this time around. I even borrowed an iron and quickly ironed my shirt, tie and suit on the kitchen table the night before.

The phone call came just hours later. The job was mine. Only, I knew I couldn't reasonably take it with a January start date. I deflected. I waffled. I sputtered. The timing was bad. I mentioned January... which went over poorly. I explained that child care was difficult to sort out in a new country (which it is!) and that we couldn't possibly get something before January (which, it turns out, is entirely true as well for the places we'd actually send Anna). I found myself saying it again: "I like you enough that I do want to work for you, but not so much that I want to work for you now."

My adventure on this horizon was hanging out with Anna. And heck, we might still end up in Paris or Madrid or Berlin, though probably not Istanbul if it likely to be the same hostel as Ange and I stayed in. Besides, we were still of no fixed address, I couldn't even remember my mobile number if someone asked me, and my suits and work clothes were still madly jammed into my trunk and would take days to iron on the kitchen table. It was not to be. We amicably parted, me thowing out the olive branch that if they had something in the new year I would be interested in chatting again.

A week later, I am preparing dinner with a glass of wine in hand and the phone rings. It was Oxford Brookes. The second-choice person hadn't accepted because her work had counter-offered or something. I was being re-offered the job. I have to be honest, I didn't know what to say. "A January start?" Yep. It appears so. As before, it appears to have fallen together very nicely indeed. To be fair, I will go in a few times before Christmas so that I can hit the ground running in January, but otherwise, it is exactly what I was after and I'm very excited about the job itself!

One of my friends here calls me "jammy." In this instance, and the one where I got the job in Southampton, I accept it. There is clearly an element of jamminess. I also don't think that even in the current UK job market that the "no thanks" method of accpeting jobs is always your best course of action. However, what I can say is that I am not going to anymore interviews here where there is no likelihood of me starting the job on offer within three months of the interview.