I can barely remember the tripe I sputtered on my first day at the Observer but it was something along the lines of: “Hi, my name is Keumars, and I can do words.” Evidently not very well. But, you see, I hadn’t thought that far ahead having barely figured out how to reach King’s Place in the first instance, and working out my body language when approaching the security desk.
In fact, I had barely figured out how to dress myself, a task that would not typically faze a six-year-old, as I tried on a variety of shirt-tie combinations before settling for an outfit that made me look like a 16-year-old indie kid expressing what he or she believes to be “irony”. Yes, on my first day at a place of work I could well-be capable of killing a man to secure a future at I cut the figure of an overdressed, tie-donning work/experience nonce; wearing an oversized shirt and baggy trousers with a top button fully-fastened in 25-degree-plus heat. No, I didn’t cycle in, why do you ask?
I suppose it’s rather fitting that in my first official week post-university I’m being granted the privilege of working in what could well be close to the ideal environment – only to face being spat straight back into an eternal cycle of ploughing through fruitless job applications, and drinking a-little-too-much coffee. The Observer is, in fact, so cool that it makes every other workplace that has ever been graced with my bumbling presence seem as if populated with an assortment of middle-aged teachers, grape-juice-in-hand, trying to fit in at a Year 9 school disco. And the trendy folk over at Tech Monthly made the regular Guardianites seem like characters hand-picked from the mind of Armando Ianucci.
Like you, I do not yet fully understand the purpose of this weekly (yes, weekly) pseudo-column I’ve spontaneously decided to hack together, conveniently having commissioned, written,edited, sub-edited, published, and hosted it myself. If you’re still a student, then perhaps these words may convey a bit of a warning. If you’re a cog already firmly embedded in the media machine, then perhaps they might provide some amusement; the desperate wails of yet another industry-hopeful barely clinging on to the remnants of his former student media success.
If, however, you find yourself unemployed – as I now do myself – then it may come across (as it almost definitely is) the tired ramblings of a fellow job seeker.
Well, I have little more to say at the moment. Come on England, #SaveULU, etc, etc.