I’ll never get a job. Not after last night. Merrill Lynch took me out for dinner at Jamie’s (my roommate; he’s livid) and I did not impress. My first mistake was dress code. Halloween or no, apparently my dead, run-over dog costume is ‘ill-considered and wildly offensive’. I borrowed a couple of ties and made-do, but I remained uncomfortable–the suit was scaled 1:6 so it weighed a fucking tonne. My second mistake was misjudging the handshake etiquette. I wanted them to see me as an assertive, employable type so I went straight in with a swinging neck punch. It was, to be fair, a solid hit, but conversation was awkward and stilted until they got up again. Stewart (the shorter one, but height doesn’t matter for the story) didn’t recover properly and his groaning for an ambulance was a real distraction during soup.

 I got a few pens from them though–good ones too: double click and it tells you how many hours until the next careers seminar. Two hours until one with Herbal Essences; it will be a bore as I’ve already been to it two year’ running but careers is literally the most important thing when you’re a young, free student, so I’ll be there.

Ted got an internship at Dulux, the lucky shit. He gets to work for them every day of summer, (weekdays inc.) and at the end they promise to read his CV for spelling errors. And I’m left with an Easter placement at the Mill Lane Cornershop which is a nightmare because I have to pay them an inconvenient $40 (U.S.) a day for the experience and the shop burnt down years ago so I’m getting very little insight indeed.

It’s not fair. I go to every lecture (today’s on the prickly issue of contract printing margins), and finish every essay on time (this week: ‘Law: the best Tekken character?’), but because Osborne has replaced every job with a yacht I’m screwed out there. Looks like I’m going to have to be a lawyer.

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