Ahhh... That heady time when you're asked to provide samples
of work to audition for a new job. They have come to you, from a
recommendation, or because they’re fans of your work. You start looking through
your back catalogue for suitable samples.
All of a sudden, all you can see are mistakes. Nothing you
have, NOTHING seems good enough. Through tears, you put together the samples,
provide the links. You write the email. You rewrite it. You delete the samples.
You put them back in again. You re-read the original request over and over and
over and over. You research the company, pouring over the internet, agonising over
the names and bios, seeing the amazing people they’ve worked with before. You
rage, you weep, you slop some unspeakable ...things... together in a festering email, convinced throughout that
all you'll get back is justifiable derision and understandable contempt. That's
if they bother replying at all, and you wouldn't blame them if they didn’t.
You hit 'Send', then immediately regret it with every fibre
of your being. Oh dear gods, what were you thinking?! You sent them… that?! That
obsolete piece of utter cobblers?! That pustule of a word pile, that bubo of a
story?! You pointed them at that game
on iOS?! Oh for f… Sure, it’s got over 600 five star reviews, but come on. You
know he’ll see that one written by the lunatic Christian fundamentalist. You
know he’ll see you for the immoral, Godless heathen you are. He’ll know,
precious. He’ll see, oh yessss, he’ll see.
You need better samples! Got to write better samples!! Ummm…
Ummmm… OH GOD, YOU’VE DRIED! It’s over. You’re finished. The well is empty. The
river is fished out. The seas of your imagination are barren and lifeless.
>sob< You might as well burn your PC and go get a job as a cashier. No.
No, as a shelf stacker on the night shift. You’ll work so hard that they won’t
need anyone else. It’ll be just you. Just you and the boxes of cereal. The
tiger, the monkey; your silent judges, smiling but stern, justly unmoved by
your plight.
Pathetic. Self-deluding.
You could email something else.
Yeah. You should’ve sent that other thing. You could mail it
now.
No.
No, then you’ll look weak. Uncertain. Confused.
Unprofessional. Better they work that out for themselves. Because they will.
They won’t even have to open the email. They’ll know just from the title. ‘Requested
samples’ Jesus fuck, what did you think you were doing?! ‘Requested samples’…
Fuck’s sake. ‘Samples as requested’ is obviously
what you should have said. It’s what anyone else would’ve said. Anyone not a
complete vomit-brain. It’s what a professional would’ve done. You know, a
professional. One of those thing’s you’re not.
Sure, yeah, you’ve been doing this for the better part of
twenty years, but you’ve been found out now. You always knew this would happen.
You’ve been waiting. Every day, you’ve expected the blow to come, the hammer to
fall. Well, here it is. Pucker up, boy. Time to kiss it all…
Oh, cool. They replied. Samples received. Looking forward to
reading them.
Groovy.
Phew.
Panic over.
…
They’re just being kind. Aren’t they?
Yeah.
Bollocks…
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