C.V.

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December 13, 2017 by Jason Phillips

 

The CV: the universal practice of filling a sheet of paper with lies to impress someone who might swap some of your life with some money.  They sit back in their big swivel chair and skim through all of our lies and decide who to bring in to interview. At the interview they are looking for the most obedient slave who would give the least amount of trouble and do as they are told. Over and over ’til they keel over.

Surely Henry Ford or someone round the time of the industrial revolution invented this shit. ill give you just enough to pay to live and buy some shit if you give up every waking hour and be our machine!

But real robots are now taking over. And there’s less and less work. It’s harder and harder to impress them, and because there’s so many of us fighting for the dwindling jobs they can pay us less. Or give us less favourable terms. If you dont want it, there’s someone else outside ready to bite their arm off.

I’ve had 39 jobs. Every single one of them has been shit. Being the cog in some bastard’s machine depresses me. But we got bills to pay. Big bills. My rent has doubled since i moved into my flat. My council tax is £140 a fucking month. I sometimes feel like sticking my head in the deep fat fryer.

I was offered some more casual work recently, after my market job came to an abrupt end, it was only 12 hours a week but it paid enough to keep the wolves from sending another eviction notice. A local record shop and a local hostel were advertising for casual work, both asked me to pen a CV.

Wow. A cv. First one id written in 20 years: i thought id better get my GCSEs on there. An E in Home Economics that’ll show em. My email address. Um, some of the things i have been up to the last few years?

I wrote a book. I walked a lot. I watered plants. I shovelled shit. I lost the plot. I roughed it in a squat in Marseille for a few months. I worked in a kitchen (and got sacked after one day, but still), I sold lots of scarves. Im currently Mistletoe Man in Cardiff. Ive made lots of weird music. Ive learned to drum. Ive Djed around the place. Ive laid around a lot. wanking. And reading. Ive read loads. Fed my brain. Wanked some more. Gissa Job?

I left school in 1993, disappointed my parents with my exam results, and completely dropped out of everything.

My dad took me to Llanwern steelworks where I completed a test and was fast tracked for an interview. My bro had been working there for last 5 years and dad had been there 9. I had a career ahead of me. He took me for a drive around the place. It was a mass of chimneys and shit. Yellow cancerous smoke and fat depressed men. It was a dystopian homoerotic fuck up. Where were the girls? Where was the music. I said ‘no fucking chance’, and my mam cried. I took lots of mushrooms and went to raves in the woods. Cue a wasted youth of riding the raven of danger. Facing it doing it trying it. And not listening to anybody! I went off the fuckin rails. I still tried to keep down shit jobs to pay my way but ultimately fell apart and got into fuck loads of debt and made laods of mistakes. Ive been in debt up to my eye balls because of this life style. Ive had bad habits. Ive broken more of them. Ive got out of debt. Ive learned. Im older now – wiser? Or just different? I still want adventure.

I handed in my CV (minus the flagellation). I didnt hear anything back. Who the fuck would want to employ a me? I wouldn’t. So I keep doing new projects. New adventures. Most dont work, or dont pay. Move on. Next. Keep at it. Im still poor. I work the minimum hours per week possible to keep the landlady from having a seizure. I keep all the rest of the time I can for my projects. I love making shit. One day, one of these fucking ridiculous projects might pay me something. If not, well i’m a scarf selling wanker til I die.

 

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