Those who wear the clothes should be happy they're dressed

Dune recently said how we attract the things we fear the most. There are various contemporary philosophies agreeing with this -- from the cosmic ordering service and intention-manifestation to explanations more firmly rooted in Psychology. The end result is the same -- whether it's a fear of being left, a fear of never being loved, or a fear of failure, the time and energy you spend thinking about these things acts like a tractor beam, hastening their path towards you.

This post was originally written as one of my usual rants, whines or general complaints about feeling unemployable. While some people may convince themselves of everything from them being unlovable to the idea that aliens fathered their child, I get hung up about work. Which I guess is really the idea that I will never be good enough -- since I'm fairly sure if I didn't care what I could get and keep *some* job or another, yet never be satisfied. Actually, this last point is a post for another day: I think I continue to need therapy because no matter what changes in my life, I don't think I am going to be content (I say may I never be complete, I say may I never be content). There is some obstacle (mostly of my own creation, I don't doubt) that sits in my chest -- so even if I'm someday living in London with a good job, a girl who thinks I rock, and a cat, this feeling is unlikely to shift. I do emo so well it hurts. Which obviously is the whole point of doing it.

What it comes down to is why has "a job" or "a career" become so important? Is it just me that is hung up on it, or is it pressure from "society", exerting a force on many others? When people meet you, the first thing they ask you is "So what do you do?", friends and relatives always ask "What are you up to now?". We are defined by the jobs we do. But you are not your job. You are not the contents of your wallet, or how much money you have in the bank.

What would it be like if people just took any job that came along and nobody thought any more of work than that -- instead, people might meet for the first time and ask what their favourite song is, or what their hobbies are. What constitutes being a success? And will anything ever be enough to stop me considering myself a failure?

Anyway, clawing my way back to the post in hand -- I was feeling unemployable, then two interviews came through. When I decided the time had come to get back into the job market I updated who I thought were my trusted key recruiters -- a media recruiter, and someone who was less media orientate but appreciated my key skills. The latter thanked me for my update, and said to keep him updated with my progress. Gee, thanks mate -- you're meant to be the one looking for the jobs for me. The first was enthusiastic to hear from me, but told me that having not worked in PR for the last six months she wasn't optimistic about being able to find any work for me, since I'd found it difficult enough before. Was I willing to look a bit wider afield this time, she enquired? By all means. My CV was dutifully distributed among the whole of the recruitment consultancy -- resulting in the overwhelming interest from a whole one other recruiter.

The new recruiter, named Jake, found a marketing job that was less PR and more press office and which sounded great. Good location, good money, varied and interesting role. Unfortunately it was filled before they called me for interview. Next he found a job with a digital marketing agency to put me forward for. Time passed, and I heard nothing. I called him and he said that the person recruiting had been away but they were back now so things would start moving. And I still heard nothing. I'm pretty sure I left him a message one day which he didn't return. After I eventually gave up on the position, I was browsing one evening the job's board for the consultancy, seeing what was new. I saw a job I thought ticked all my boxes and I'd be perfect for -- only to find that the recruiter to contact about it was my good friend Jakey. I emailed him expressing my interest and asking his thoughts. He couldn't have been less interested himself, since he never bothered to reply. I unofficially ditched him and his motley crew of colleagues.

The search from there has been in fits and starts -- some days I'd find several jobs online and apply for them all, and receive no replies. Other days there'd be nothing that seemed to light my fuse. One day at work I was roused out my near-slumber that tends to be natural state during the 9 to 5 routine of working in purchasing -- roused by my silently vibrating mobile phone. I glanced at the display, saw it was a local number, and presumed it was the library probably calling to tell my Norwegian language course was available to pick up. When I played the voicemail I found it was instead the recruiter who had got me my illustrious job in purchasing -- having found a job in publishing she thought I'd be perfect for.

Over email, we discussed the job, I had her send me more information and told her to put me forward for it, although a couple of points bothered me -- the location was deeper into the Essex countryside than where I already am, and the pay was pretty low. By the middle of last week I was feeling pretty uninspired about work in general and less than optimistic about myself, I scoured the innernetz for more jobs (since I can't rely on recruiters to be any more useful than a chocolate teapot) and applied for one working for a design studio.

I was surprised when the publishers invited me for an interview, and still torn between being pleased (better job! better prospects! some sort of vague direction!) and being unsure (horrible travel! isolated location! no money!). Annoyingly two days before the interview, my internet died. No warning, seemingly no explanation -- the wireless network and router insisted they were working fine, but there was no internet. Other points in the house at first were still thinking they did have internet, until they caught on to the plan and decided the network didn't even exist. This continued on and off to the next day when I figured the problem was unlikely to be actually the internet but probably my router. Master reset time for the router. Guess who forgot to make a note of the specific details of the username and password? Pretty sure I had the details correct (and safe in the knowledge it was broken before I started the drastic measures) when I was still unable to connect, I called the ISP. Due to unusually high call volumes, the recorded message told me, there was to be a wait in excess of 15 minutes.

While on hold with the ISP on my mobile with one hand I was also trying to marinade pork steaks in piri-piri sauce, they caught me off-guard when they answered but things were quickly got under control. They were also quickly resolved when I found out that Microsoft's latest update had knocked out internet connections for anyone using the ZoneAlarm firewall -- and that I had inputted the wrong username details after the master reset. An uninstall and a correction later the internet was restored -- I felt like I had regrown a lost limb.

What I haven't mentioned was while I was trying to restore my internet my mobile signalled I had another call waiting, to which I responded "busy". After I hung up I noticed the dialling code was for central London, but suspected it was a health insurance company who had been calling me all week wanting to give me a quote -- the voicemail was instead inviting me for an interview with the design agency I had applied for a job with two nights previously. Suddenly I had gone from attracting the thing I feared most (failure) to two job interviews.

The interview with the publishers on Friday morning went well. They liked me and introduced me around to people in the office, I liked them and spoke enthusiastically about what they do and the role. I wasn't even back in the office before my recruiter was calling to say they wanted me to come for a second interview. Still battling my doubts on the job, but I am going to give it all I have and see where the flow of the energy takes me. The design agency job interview is on Tuesday, and I am a little intimidated by their work. I am not a designer by any stretch of the imagination, but in my defence they aren't recruiting for a designer -- they are recruiting for a publicity assistant or the like. Presumably, they've read my cover letter, they've looked at my CV, so they know what side my toast is buttered on. Still, it's going to take some more hardcore researching and self belief.

Whether you believe you can, or believe you can't, you'll be right.

UPDATE: I didn't get either job. Back to square 1.

Adventures in car maintenance

One night, a couple of weeks ago, I got a puncture coming home from work.
It was a sunny evening, and I'd opted to take the scenic route -- winding country roads, with fields running along either side.
And the occasional tw*t in a BMW that would come flying round the corner, not expecting to see anyone coming the other way. I pulled almost all the way over to one side, and that was when I must have run over something.
At first, I was concerned by the odd noise my car was making.. I expect the tyre at this point still had enough pressure to be handling normally, and I really should have checked it out when I got home, but the noise soon stopped I thought little more about it.

Until the next day.

Driving to work I noticed a couple of times the handling wasn't normal, and resolved to look at it this time, since I hadn't thought to before I left for work.
Once I arrived at the office, I took a quick look at the tyre and was sure it looked flatter than it should. What next? I wasn't sure. As part of learning to drive a few years back I had to learn how to change a tyre, it's straight forward enough -- jack up car, loosen wheel nuts, remove wheel, replace wheel, tighten wheel nuts and you're done. But I was also advised it's usually better to get a breakdown repair service to change it for you, and you'd be lucky to be able to remove the wheel nuts on your own.

I called my breakdown service for the first time ever and they agreed to come out in less than an hour, and true to their word they did. The wheel changed to the spare, off the guy went again -- but my own adventures were just beginning. The wheel he removed was completely hosed, possibly as a result from driving to work partially deflated and then driving it out to the breakdown truck when it was completely flat, but I got it replaced pretty cheaply so after something like a week of driving round on the spare, I figured I should really get the spare off and this new wheel on.

As I said before, it's very straight forward to change a tyre -- so without even bothering to get changed out of my shirt and tie I set to work. I got the jack out of its secret compartment in the boot, then sat on the drive trying to work out how to transform it into a robot. Or something other than the solid lump it appeared to be. I eventually found how it opened and turned into a jack, and got the car raised without too much trouble -- although I did wonder if it was safe on a gravel driveway.

With the car in the air, I set to undoing the wheel nuts. I then found it was probably a better idea to have done this before jacking up the car, since the wheel kept spinning. So down it came again. I must have been out there for an hour, stamping on the tyre iron, trying to stand on the thing, everything I could, trying to get even the first wheel nut to move. Nothing. Eventually I had to admit defeat and that I was not a real man.

A couple of days later at work it occurs to me that working in a bus depot where they are constantly doing maintenance works on vehicles I was in an ideal place to either enlist someone's help, or at least borrow a piece of equipment better than my Fisher Price car maintenance kit. It was getting towards the end of the day, so I found the depot manager who referred me to a passing engineer -- and he in turn took me to his van, where he gave me a much better and extendible tyre iron.

This time there was no delay in working out the jack, and raising the car -- and with the new tool and a bit of elbow grease, the wheel nuts came off without a problem. I didn't even mind that I was crouched in the car park, in the rain, and getting oil on my white shirt. What I couldn't understand, though, is why with all the wheel nuts undone I still couldn't get the wheel off. No amount of pulling it would budge the wheel, and I considered myself once again a failure as a man.

Back on went the wheel nuts -- although I had the foresight to only tighten them with my shitty tyre iron so as to be able to undo them later. As a brief aside, it occurs to me this must seem very homoerotic -- lots of talk of nuts and extendible tools and heaving and pulling. But I found the engineer after a brief search, returned to him his tool, and he asked if I'd been successful. Removing the wheel nuts? Absolutely. After that? Nothing. Simple, he told me, go get a hammer and give the wheel a whack with it.

I couldn't find a hammer in the storeroom he pointed me to -- and was very aware I really shouldn't have been down there, poking around in storerooms, helping myself, so didn't want to linger. On my way back to the car, though, I saw a toolbox open on the side with a hammer on the top -- so I swiped it and took it back to the car. Once again, off came the wheel nuts and, annoyed that it was taking so long, I gave the tyre a kick.

No need the hammer, then, as the wheel came right off. Having got the cart before the horse, I quickly jacked up the car and took the spare wheel off. From there it was finally as easy as it should be -- get the new wheel on, tighten the wheel nuts, lower car, and you're done. All that was left then was to surreptitiously return the hammer to the random toolbox I'd found, and go home.

I think we can probably write off "motor mechanic" from the list of possible career options for me, even if I did eventually get the wheel changed on my own, I think I get a D Minus in being a man.