Overqualified
Euphoria settles as I release my essays into the lecturer’s damp palms. I am free, no more staring at a blank screen; the summer has begun.
Later, as my loan dwindles into insignificance, I realise I need a catalyst to encourage the pennies to breed.
I find myself staring at the door of a recruitment agency. I enter and a bell twinkles. Last summer, I was registered within three minutes but this year they have changed the registration process in order to ensure that I am right for them…. and they are right for me.
The form, which is longer than Bleak House, asks for a five-year employment and education history. Was my sixth-form tutor Ms. Mannering or Mainwaring? They want her phone number too! Yes, I always keep that handy!
‘No gaps’ she says, when I return my form to the agency assistant. I give summer 2004 a glance. I think it involved sunbathing and a book! I write ‘preparation for degree’. Next, I am led to a computer to complete a Maths, English and an I.C.T (information communications technology) skills test.
‘What job is this for?’, I ask. Last year I spent weeks sticking Cds into plastic wallets.
‘Filing,’ she smirks.
I look down at my registration form and see that I have mentioned I am awaiting a B.A. in English Literature. Does that not prove I know my alphabet? I begin inserting capital letters.
I am proud of my education; it will be a passport to an interesting career. But, in this stifling place, it is meaningless. The agency is doubtful I will get work! After all, I am not qualified in I.C.T or warehousing.
I leave the Recruitment Agency deflated. I go home and pick up a book: after all, I am qualified to read.
Written by Rachel Bloomfield.
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