Scum Of The Earth

My readers have most probably got a notion that I have skewed opinions of the people around me. People have assumed that I'm overly nice to drug dealers and Sinn Fein(?), yet have no time for local models, Enda Kenny, or Dan and Becs. And yerragh, I won't argue with yis on that one. I'm not in the mood. Assume what you will. Meh.

I'll lay this one down for you right this moment in the aeons, though.

I

hate

recruitment

consultants.

They should be rounded up and fed to Kerry mountain goats, nibbled at tenaciously but slowly, exposed to the elements, shivering with the onset of hypothermia while they meet their cuddy end. Oh yes. Lined up on the boreens, blindfolded, before a boy racer convention. Pickled in a vat of malt vinegar. Recruitment consultants are absolute wastes of my oxygen.

Lo,

You all know that The Swearing Gentleman is still searching for that elusive job - a hotel senior duty manager / front office manager position that pays more than Meals On Duty!!! and a packet of crisps. Now, the vast majority of hotels have HR Managers (and we all know how much I hate HR managers), so I don't understand for the life of me why they feel the need to put their recruitment requirements, worries and woes onto the saggy shoulders of an agency made up entirely of bimbos who couldn't finish their Business 101 diplomas and lisping lotharios who want to shag such bimbos. What I do know is this; neither recruitment agents or HR Managers are able to do the job they're paid to do, and both feed off each other like cannibalistic bluebottles.

Here's how it goes.

1 - You spot an attractive job online/in the paper. It states that there's excellent salary on offer, lots of room for advancement, training, lots to sink your teeth into. Wonderful. You see that it's advertised on behalf of "our client", and although inwardly you're folding in on yourself, you turn that smile upside down and you ring up Chloe @ WretchedRecruitment.

2 - "Have you registered?" says Chloe @ WretchedRecruitment. "You have to register with us through our website! OOh, then send me your C.V. I'll call you right back!" You register, send the CV, and wait. You crack open a beer. You wait a bit more.

3 - The next day you phone again, because you kinda need a job and would like to interview. "Can I speak to Chloe?" A fella with an impenetrable accent tells you that Chloe's not there, but he'll deal with your application. "Send me your CV!" he says. "My name's Gavin and I love my job!"

4- This guy rings you back. "Yup, HorrendousHotel would like to interview you! How does Friday sound?" Excellent. You go along on Friday and meet a lovely HR Manager called Sinead, who has a snappy suit bursting at the seams and brand new teeth. She interviews you for an hour and a half. She finishes with a tour of the building. She touches your arm when she talks and flicks her hair and tells you what days off you'll have. "I have a couple of other people to talk to," she says, "But I'll call you tomorrow to organise an interview with the GM! Lovely to meet you!"

5 - You wait. You wait for a whole week. You crack open the whiskey. You try to call Sinead, but the receptionist sounds confused and tells you Sinead's on holidays. You try to phone Gavin, but WretchedRecruitment have never heard of him. "Have you spoken to Chloe?" I did try, you say. "I'll get Chloe to call you. Chloe's da bomb!"

6 - You wait. You've just cracked open the battery acid when you get a text message from Chloe @ WretchedRecruitment. Horendus Hotel taught intevew went well, v positive. Have job here for janitor positin, want dat? Did HorrendousHotel really like me? Yis, v positove, liek I said.

7 - Two weeks, two phonecalls and two jumbled text messages later, you receive a letter from HorrendousHotel. "We've decided not to take your application further, you reject!" it crows. You crack open the spinal fluid and wipe your tears away. There'll be other jobs. You try to phone Chloe to ask her about the janitors position. Some fella with an impenetrable accent tells you she's dead. "Have you registered with us?" he gurgles. "Send me your CV and I'll call you back, liek, rite away!"

And on a completely unrelated note, because I'm pissed off and beginning to cry with the misery of it all and I need an ould distracting, here's something for Annie Rhiannon, she of the soft curls and bounciness.


It's the cheekbones, Annie. The cheekbones and the poshness and the watery eyes and the fact that my sister-in-law says he's really up himself and Disco Pigs and The Wind That Shook The Barley and the cheekbones.