Tomorrow, I must hustle for a job. There was a scene in a series, Auf
Wiedersehen, about English builders in Germany where one of the main
characters says aggressively to everyone he meets, “Gi us a job!”, followed by,
“I can do that, and then “Gi us a job!” repeated. Well, thought I’d try that approach tomorrow. I’m far too shy, it will do me good. Face to face, it’ll be harder for them to
say no. Mind you, face to face, it will
be harder to hear them say, “Sod off!”
The thing about most small islands, in my experience, is that jobs are
rare and when available naturally go to the locals.
On Rhodes in Greece, I tried for a job in a hotel. My appointment with the personal manager
went something like this.
Me, a bit nervous, knock on the door of a swanky
office. He grunts from inside and I
take that as an invitation to enter. I
walk in to find a middle-aged man picking his nose and talking on his phone while
seated behind a desk that should have belonged to the president of some Middle
Eastern oil state. At least he can
multitask. There was a running gag
about a certain American president who was reputedly unable to walk and chew
gum at the same time. Anyway, he
gestures with his phone for me to come in, while continuing to mine for
gold.
I approach his desk and decide I’m not going to
shake his hand. Then, I compromise, if
he offers me the nose picking hand I’ll demur, but if it is the phone hand I’ll
go for it. Then, it occurs to me, what
if he is an ambidextrous nose picker and I’ve arrived at the tail end of an
orgy of nose picking all morning with both hands? I decide it will be safer not to go for a handshake at all.
Approaching his desk, I make sure I am not
close enough for a handshake. That
feels much safer. I needn’t have
worried Mr Manager of Personnel is still talking on the phone and drilling a
second shaft with his little pinkie. I
have a young nephew, who, when speaking on his mobile begins pacing up and down
the room as if in a walking race. One
of my sons, who will remain nameless, will talk on the phone while scratching
his ass. Perhaps, we all have these little
oddities when we are using the phone and only notice other peoples and not our
own perversities. Poor guy, perhaps
nose picking is his phone thing, suddenly he hangs up and says in Greek,
“Well, what?”
Understanding him but not able to speak Greek in
response I explain in English that I’ve come about a job they’ve
advertised. He leans back into his
mammoth chair and gives the Greek no, which consists of a clicking noise made
with the tongue against the top of the mouth followed by a quick nod back of
the head. Well, that’s a pretty clear
no. I thank him; Anglo-Saxon civility
is as pernicious as nose picking. It’s
programmed in.
Leaving the office, I
feel like I am in a different skit from the two Ronnie’s where one of them goes in to ask for a pay increase only
to be rejected and humiliated. As he
leaves the same office, he is transformed into a schoolboy and his suit has
changed into a school uniform complete with shorts and a cap. He is so small he cannot even reach the
handle to get out. A wonderful image
capturing all the vulnerability and feeling of smallness of the occasion.
Later on, I’m talking to a friend who knows
everyone on the island. I describe my
encounter and he explains that the personnel manager is the hotel owner’s
cousin. That is why he got the
job. And then in dark tones, as if this
explains everything, “from one of the villages” waving his hand as if to some
dark tribal outback.
I am taken back to another conversation about the island
being like a dog’s dish and no one likes to see another dog at the dish. Especially, a foreign looking dog’s head. It just means there’s less to go
around. So, I enter the fray with
little illusion and a great deal of misgiving.
There are times when one really has to ask just how much rejection can a
person take? Can one overdose on
it? Does it do irreparable damage to
one’s self-esteem? To do what one loves
and get paid for it is light upon light.
If writing could earn me money, I’d be in clover but the reality is
these stories that are pouring out of me at present are a displacement
activity. You and I know I need to be
out earning a living. How does one
reach mid fifties and be so useless at the basics of life? Practice and perseverance, that’s how. I have long perfected the art of putting off
what needs to be done. No more,
tomorrow I’ll bite the bullet, but tonight I’ll have a big bun and some
chocolate. Challenging day ahead after
all!
