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I went into adulthood with an almost bare CV and the inability to bullshit. I had a film production degree, a Duke of Edinburgh Bronze Award and some work experience at Oxfam in 2005. That’s it. When you apply for an entry-level job, you discover a strange level that you’ve missed: the entry-to-entry-level job. Also known as work experience.
And so, off I went into London to fill my A4 piece of paper with experiences of work, so that I could be…. well, I wasn’t sure what I was going to be.
Experience 1- A Casting Assistant
I did have one work experience on my CV from when I was seventeen. I spent two days in a casting studio off Piccadilly Circus.. The first thing that happened was I was forced into a studio to have an impromptu photoshoot. I had a striped shirt on because I thought that’s what people wore to offices. Now I have a collection of professional photos where I look like I sell insurance. (I will not be showing them).
For the rest of the week, I helped out the casting assistant, who sat on a pink exercise ball, so she could tighten her core whilst getting paid. She insisted on having The Jungle Book soundtrack on repeat. Please…no more Bear Neccessities!
Every few hours, a new casting session would begin, and a group of similar-looking actors would fill the room. At 10 am, the room would be full of 5ft 10 blondes. A couple of hours later, it looked like an elderly home. I had little responsibility except to take a Polaroid of each actor and stick the photo on the forms. I thought I was doing a great job, until the casting assistant peeled off one of the photos and asked me to do it again.
“This time, get all of his head in!”
Experience 2 – A Music Video Runner.
Fresh out of film school, I got a job as a runner on an indie music video. It was a one-day shoot with multiple locations and an extensive shot list. One of my main jobs was driving the producer to the shoot in Kent and every location throughout the day. I was so worried about getting lost and wasting precious time that I added all the locations to my TomTom the night before.
The music video was directed by two hipsters who hired a vintage car. (Don’t ask me the make). It looked cool, but it broke down after the first take. The frazzled producer sent me on a mission to find some towing straps so they could pull the car along.
“Don’t be long”, she ordered as I drove off.
I had no idea where to get towing straps from. I tried BP garage, they didn’t have any but they did have some rope. I bought it because I didn’t want to return empty-handed. I was on my way back when the producer called. I didn’t want to seem like I was ignoring her call, so I tapped the phone as I went onto the roundabout.
“Hello?” I said, panicked.
BEEP! Goes the car coming at me from the right.
“What’s happening Mary? Where are you?”
“Nothing. On my way back.”
“Did you find a towing strap?”
I glanced at the blue rope on the passenger seat.
“Kinda.”
They didn’t use the rope.
Experience 3 – Marketing Intern for a food PR company.
I was making videos for small companies and writing a food and drink blog. I had a wonderful idea that I could combine the two, so I applied for work experience at a food marketing and PR company.
The office was quiet, too quiet. The only noise was many manicured nails, typing out press releases for restaurant openings and damage control statements for the coked-up chefs. Casual Fridays were a little noisier as they’re allowed to have the radio on.
I was put to work with various things, but what I hated the most was corporate push calls. I was instructed by the 22-year-old marketing executive to call HSBC in Canary Wharf and ask if they’d like a burrito voucher for their workforce.
She told me, “The highest person you can speak to, the better.”
It went like this.
“Hi, would you like a burrito voucher for your workers this Thursday?” CLICK “………Hello?……….. Hello?”
The perk of the job was I got to go to food events. I ate a lot of burgers in those months, and I went to a champagne tasting at The Hippodrome. One day, the marketing manager was sick, and nobody else was free, so they asked me to go to a supper club on an old tube carriage. They told me not to say I was an intern because my job status would insult their client. You sent the intern?!
I sat in a restored tube carriage in East London, surrounded by food journalists. We ate peppery parsnip soup as they spoke about the industry and the big names within it. I laughed and nodded along like I knew exactly what they were talking about, then the conversation turned on me.
“So Mary, what’s your job title?
I put down my spoon and wiped my mouth with a napkin to buy me some time.
Do not say you’re an intern. Do not say you’re an intern. Do not say you’re an intern.
“M-M-Marketing manager for…. food.”
“Oh, what does that entail?”
The carriage was silent.
“You know, promoting chefs and nice meals…and stuff.”
“Splendid. And who are the chefs that you work with? Heston? Artherton?”
“Erm…”
Let’s just say it was a far cry from Catch Me If You Can.
Experience 4 – The guy above the pub.
My Bloody Mary blog got me an invite to a blogger’s event at a restaurant in Sloane Square. I talked to man about how I wanted to learn Photoshop. The man told me if I helped him in the office for free, he’d give me free Photoshop lessons. Perfect.
His office was a small room above a pub on Fleet Street, which looked like it needed a good clearout. The man sat beside me on his big computer, and I worked off my laptop. I was doing some admin when he asked if I could help him create jokes for his book-themed bingo night.
“I need something funny that rhymes with 50. Can you think of anything?”
“Um. I don’t know. You could do something about 50 Shades of Grey?”
“Like what?”
I knew I was going down the wrong path.
“I don’t know. Get frisky with fifty…?”
He scowled like he had tasted something disgusting. “That’s not funny.”
By 11 a.m on Tuesdsay, the man had lost patience with his free worker. I asked if it was okay to send the email I had typed out, to which he huffed and then revealed that he was going on holiday next week, so I
really needed to learn things more quickly.
But… how will you teach me Photoshop if you’re in Tenerife?
I teared up on the commute home. I wasn’t quite sure how I got myself into this situation, where it looked like I was going to do this man’s job for free as he went on holiday. That evening, I sent him an email saying; ‘Thank you for your time and that I’m sorry to say this, but I had suddenly been hired on a major film project, and so, unfortunately, we were never going to see each other ever again. Kind regards. Mary.’
After that strange experience, things looked up. (I got paid). I worked as a waitress in a Kennington pub. I kept writing my blog and making corporate videos, until I finally got full-time employment in an advertising agency It kept me going until I moved to Australia, where I was met with a familiar barrier…
“But do you have Australian work experience?”
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