Recruitment Agencies...

The world wide web seems very much awash with these things. I have nothing against them personally, but thoroughly understand why employers in many instances wish to have precious little to do with these insidious wormy little shits. Well, they are by-and-large.

I had my latest brush with one last night. ‘Melv’, it sounded like his name was Melv. But, as I couldn’t quite wrap my lugs around his drawn-out nasally east Lahndahn accent as it crackled down the phone, sounding in equal measure a cross between a right-owd-cockernee knee’s up Jamie Oliver and Roland Rat fused into one, so I couldn’t really be sure. But sod it – we’ll go with Melv.

Anyway, once I’d got my bearings, and only after ‘Melv’ had kindly informed me that he was calling from Creative Personnel to let me know that it was “MY LUCKY DAY…” , and; “DO I HAVE THREE LITTLE WORDS THAT WILL BE MUSIC TO YOUR EARS…”

In fairness, add a little bit of Celebrity Master Chef ‘LOUD’ to the Jamie Oliver and Roland Rat concoction and you’ve pretty much got the gist. But all this wasn’t before he decided to bamboozle me first by asking after the weather situation in Her Majesty’s northern reaches. With an expression of withered disdain I replied that if you’ll just bear with me I’ll go over to the window and have a look for you. It was much as it is now - somewhat inclement and overcast with a stiff breeze and a touch of rain in the air. So I told him that, whilst all the while wondering if he would either a) Just get on with it…or b) Just fuck the fuck off and leave me alone. I then had the tenacity to suggest that perhaps it was an economic forecast he actually required, and if so it was a little murkier still. Cue fake laughter and the distinct impression that he made the jokes round here and not some jobless northern monkey that he’d deigned to let me speak to. Cheers Melv, my lucky day indeed.


Recruitment agencies are by-and-large the double glazing salesmen of this particular decade; When they bite, they shake and grip you tighter and tighter and just do not let go of you until somehow how find yourself waking in the morning of the day you start ‘YOUR NEW DREAM JOB’ in East fuckin’ Clagthorpe or somewhere of equal desperation, wondering quite how you let yourself be manipulated into such a situation.

Melv, as it turned was fairly easy to fob off due to the timing of his call:

Me: my voice the equivalent of bumping into someone in the street who you can’t be arsed speaking to, but its already too late they’ve seen you, and yes, you really must catch up and go for that pint , whilst all the while your trying to edge away “…erm – Listen. Melv. Thanks for your call anyway, but I’m just about to go out for dinner and…”

Melv: “er, yeah, ok right – anywhere nice? I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you a call tomorrow first thing right and we’ll take this further”.

Me: “That sounds just great Melv, I’ll look forward to hearing your voice…bye”.