Application of redundancy

Today, being the third Thursday in August, was GCSE results day. This year, being 2008, is therefore five whole years since it was all about me and my friends, ripping open our brown rectangular deal-breakers and facing the music regarding what lay within. I can still remember that day as clearly as ever, various friends littering the school hall, wanting to be together, but separate; revelling in each other's joy or providing support though each other's pain. We'd all be there for each other, regardless. I stood in the back right-hand corner of the room, in a little triangle formation with my two best friends tied to me by invisible diagonal strings, completing a perfect isosceles.

"I've passed Maths!"
"I've got AN A in Maths!!"
"Me too!"
"Haha, I think I've failed R.E.!"

There were hugs and tears, jumping up and down, smiling and celebrations. Almost everyone got what they wanted, and we talked our less fortunate friends through their options, too (it all worked out okay in the end.) It didn't matter. We were all off to Sixth Form, full of hopes and dreams and expectations. Vague imaginations of the similar ordeal on A-Level results day were put to one side, as we advanced one step closer to University and all that entailed. Halls of residence, three hour lectures and nine-pence Asda own brand noodles (just add water.) There'd be new friends and old friends, boyfriends and "special" friends, or as was my understanding of it, and it all seemed terrifying, but in the best possible way. All we wanted to do was enjoy ourselves; we had all the time in the world, right?

"So, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

I'd love to be a writer, or a journalist. I have vague flirtations with more sensible career options like publishing, and a part of me would love to teach, mainly because I still remember that amazing impact some of my teachers had on me, and I'd love to think I could, in turn, capture some of that enthusiasm and inspiration and bestow it onto others. But I don't know. Hell, a part of me still wants to be a rock star (musical talent pending.) All the way through school, I figured I'd work it out whilst I was at uni.

Uni came and uni went. I miss it a lot now it's over; you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone. I don't think I got as involved as I should have done, I think I wasted a lot of opportunities, not even necessarily on purpose. I had to work part-time alongside my studies to pay my rent, and spending twenty hours of my week in a bookshop didn't really leave a lot of time for practical work experience in between lectures and shifts, pints of Diesel and walking home through Sandyford at 5am with a traffic cone on my head. I'm not bitter, and I had a fantastic three years at university, but I guess, with hindsight, I should have gotten more involved. I think it was mainly a confidence thing, but that's no excuse. I guess I always just figured that my grades would get me through, secure me the job I wanted easily and life would be grand. But that's not quite how it works.

When you go through school with top marks, you're untouchable. In the real world, it doesn't count for shit. I see all of these kids in the Chronicle, jumping up and down celebrating their own 4 As at A-Level, their own GCSE constellations, bursting with stars as far as the eye can see. They remind me of me, so happy, expectant and proud of themselves. Pride with good reason, don't get me wrong - I'm so happy for every single person who had the courage to rip that envelope open, heart beating in their throat and blood pulsing in their ears and behind their eyes, especially those who got just what they wanted. Even more so those who exceeded their own expectations. I am happy for them, and proud of them... but it also makes me feel so, so sad. Five years later, what have I got to show for it? I look at these kids, swollen with pride, and it breaks my heart to think of how many of them will be in my position in fiv years time... how much potential is just going to get crushed under the weight of reality. You can't live in a dream world forever, and I know there's more to life that school (thank God!), but I guess I always thought it's count for at least something. Now? I look at my achievements, my qualifications, the letter A photocopied ten or eleven times, and I don't feel proud or superior. I know it doesn't put me in any sort of advantageous position. I just feel empty. And cheated. You work hard, you pass your exams and you get a good job (I don't necessarily equate 'good' with 'well paid'... to me 'good' is synonymous with 'enjoyable'.)

She's going to go far.
You've done amazingly well.
Congratulations.
Congratulations.
Congratulations.

All of the accolades fade away to nothing. My life support machine's gone flatline.
I know you meant well at the time, and at the time I believed you... but it doesn't mean anything any more.

The reality is this: I can't find a decent graduate job in this city, and I have far too dense a social network here to allow myself to think about leaving. It would be a very selfish thing to do, and probably not even something I'd want to. I love it here, the people are wonderful. Due to a lack of viable employment prospects, I am currently stuck in a degrading job that fails to motivate me in anyway whatsoever, where I work in constant fear of a berating at the hands of a monster constructed entirely of hormones and overdosed on power. I am sick to the back teeth of filling out application forms for jobs that I know I'll get no reply from, and it's starting to really grind me down. I am Joseph Heller and this is my very own Catch 22. I can't find a new job because I don't have any relevant experience for the limited opportunities that there are. I couldn't get said experience because I was always working to fund my way through university.

Work experience trumps work ethic every single time.

And I'm drowning in a sea of application forms, and not one single employer looks likely to throw me a rope. Take off your A-Level flotation device and your GCSE armbands, and you'll find out that you can't swim after all. My degree is the fucking Titanic.

Help me. Please.

I'm so adrift, I can't even write anymore. That is why I started this blog, and so far nothing I've written has been of any value - entertaining, informative, whatever. That's just a list of things it isn't. I need to step this up a notch, because I hate feeling useless and I loathe my self-redundancy. If no one wants to employ me, I guess I'll just have to work a zillion times harder at the writer thing.



Or marry rich (!)