When I first came to Newcastle I was seduced by the majestic sweep of Grey Street on a lovely spring day.
‘I could live here,’ I thought.
And so I did.
I was back on Grey Street this
morning, but it felt different. I was scheduled to sign my life away as a temp.
‘You will need to come in and
fill in all the forms.
So you've been doing the childcare - very brave!
Is that your daughter in the background?
Eee! She sounds
lovely.
A bit distressed.... but lovely.’
The girl had a sing-song Geordie
voice. Of course she did.
I’ve been fruitlessly applying
for jobs for some time now. I rarely even get the courtesy of a response. I
feel like the Celie character in ‘The Color Purple’- the one who writes letters
to God.
‘Just go and see some agencies.
Temp a bit. You can catch up with the housework at the weekend.’
Maude, as ever, gave astute
counsel.
I approached a busy junction in
central Newcastle and felt a little fazed. I don’t get into the city much and
it all felt a bit hectic.
I could see into the temp office
from across the road. It had a cheerful colour scheme of bright primary colours
and young people were moving around inside, carrying pieces of paper.
I was a few minutes early and
well-dressed urban types were enjoying coffee outside Blake’s Café. I wasn’t
early enough to do the same. I was early enough to stroll up and down outside
for a while looking a little odd.
The young people carrying the
pieces of paper didn’t look very formally dressed. This was good news - as I had
opted for chinos and casual shirt.
A part of me had a very potent urge to
just strip off on Grey Street. To strip right off and announce myself in the office in a state of absolute nudity.
I would be 80-odd kilos of pink flesh thrown into glorious relief against the cheery coloured interior that was fooling no-one.
I would be a newborn delivered
into the world of work.
‘Livery me as you please and
point me at a job!’
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