My Life on a Plate

Give Us a Job

Below is a sample of the questions I was asked yesterday at my interview, to assess my ability to return to work -

1. What time do you pour a first drink of wine?

2. Can you manage to get dressed in the morning?

3. Do you answer the door when the bell rings?

4. Where did you get that suntan?

5. Do you throw things when you get angry?

Now, I admit to not being the sharpest crayon in the box but I fail to see the relevance of any of those innane questions. A thousand gift points to anyone who can.

So am I to conclude that had I turned up to the interview totally rat-arsed, pale as a ghost and naked, then proceeded to throw the questioner's computer out of the window, I would have been declared unfit to work? Damn, hindsight is a wonderful thing.

I suspect I'll receive notification by next week that I'm fit to be employed for the four years before I reach pensionable age, God willing. I'll then officially become a Jobseeker and need another interview to decide what sort of work I'm best suited to. I've already planned my response when I'm asked.

I want a job sitting behind a desk with a computer, looking down my nose at everyone and asking them totally ridiculous, bizarre questions.

Excuse me, I don't seem to be able to take off this sarcastic head this week. Maybe I should send for Toolwoman to perform some intricate technical operation to remove it.

Which reminds me -

HAPPY BIRTHDAY Nada WUB you.