The Job

New Zealand Listener, Volume 11, Issue 269, 18 August 1944, Page 18

The Job

(Written for "The Listener"

by

M.

B.

P till a few years ago when I collected my paper in the morning I used always to turn first to the Agony Column and the In Memoriams. But now _ I always look first at the Situations Vacant, Not that I want a Situation Vacant, but it’s encouraging to read about all those free Saturday mornings and free afternoon teas that could be mine for the asking. I like to think of prospective employers gnashing their teeth as they sit in their offices’ hour after hour waiting for an applicant to turn up, and then having to send the girl out for another Dozen Consecutive. But last Friday I found myself taking more than an academic interest, Lady Clerk-Cashier (I read) some experience dealing with public, £5 a week. And it gave a phone number. I rather liked the wording of the advertisement. There was a_ certain aloofness about it, as though the job could stand on its own merits. No mention of afternoon teas or grand opportunities for the right person, I rang up the number. . "Can you come in this morning?" ‘asked the voice. "Make it this afternoon," I said. "I’m a busy woman." It does not do to appear too eager. ms B * FOUND the place about 3 o'clock, and inquired at the office. The man informed me that Miss Battersby was doing the interviewing upstairs, I didn’t like that, It had a wholesale sound about it. However, I went upstairs and sat down on a hard bench outside a door with Miss Battersby on it in gold letters. I waited. I reviewed my two trump cards. Previous experience of dealing with public? Certainly, Miss Battersby. I once demonstrated cooking at the Centennial Exhibition, to say nothing of my two-and-a-half months as a theatre usher and my eight street days, Commercial experience? Definitely, Miss Battersby, six weeks in an insurance company adding up weekly payments on a Burroughs machine, It was a dead cert. I folded my hands and waited. I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation going on in the room in front. "Yes," a voice was saying, "I’ve been head sales at the underwear counter for two years now, and before that I was in the gents’ mercery, And before that I had a job at the tobacco counter." "Yes," cut in a deeper female voice, "But have you any commercial experience?" The first voice went on remorselessly, "__and before that I had a job in a milk-bar, So you can see J’ve had lots of experience in dealing with the public," "Quite," said the deeper voice, "But have you any commercial experience?" "And before that I learnt hairdressing at the Parisienne Ladies’ Academy. Only I wasn’t much good at it. Though I don’t suppose that would matter in this job?" ‘ (continued on next page)

a nner (continued from previous page) "Not at all," said Miss Battersby. There was a pause. She had decided against a third round. "Tell me," she said, "what is your position with the Manpower?" Outside I hugged myself. I had almost forgotten my ace of trumps, The Manpower had nothing on me. Inside there was a pause, this time from the other side of the table. "I’m not sure," said the voice, doubtfully. Then another pause. Then, "I could go straight round and see them now and come straight back." There was a scraping of chairs, "I don't really think you need bother, Mrs. Stuart. You see, you’ve had the experience of dealing with the public but you haven’t had the commercial experience. So I’m afraid. .. ." The door opened and a figure, eyes downcast, drifted out. There was a call of "Next please!" I entered. * x Ey ] INTRODUCED myself. "Sit down," said Miss Battersby, efficient in tweeds and pince-nez. I volunteered my age, my address, and my previous experience of dealing with the public. "T shall be quite frank with you, Mrs. Robertson," said Miss Battersby, "We are looking for someone to take my place." I turned on an expression which I hoped suggested the impossibility of finding anyone quite suitable, allied with the humble confidence that I might be the next best thing. It evidently went across. Miss Battersby continued. "You. obviously have the experience of dealing with the public. What commercial. experience have you?" My six weeks looked a little paltry. "J was chief clerk in the office of a Dunedin insurance agency for some months."

"Doing what type of work?" "General. You know, clerking and so on. Oh, yes, and I worked a Burroughs machine." "Are you used to handling cash?" A definite "Yes" here. I have never owned a cheque book in my life. "Tell me, Mrs. Robertson, Have you ever taken out a Trial Balance?" My "No, but I could try," must have sounded inadequate, Miss Battersby eyed me coldly. ‘ "I’m afraid, Mrs. Robertson," she said, "that though you have had plenty of experience of dealing with the public you have not the commercial experience for a job like this," The words woke an echo. I remembered the downcast. figure of Mrs. Stuart as she crept from the room not 10 minutes before, I rose, "However," said Miss Battersby, "I have your name and address, and if necessary, I-can let you know." It would not be necessary, I already — knew. She bent to the blotter in front of her. It was littered with names and addresses, each neatly encased in a little oblong of pencil. The tombstones of buried hopes. She drew an oblong round mine. I could almost see the R.LP. underneath. ad am * | WENT out with head high. On the bench outside the door was seated a smartly-dressed young woman. I caught her eye. She flushed guiltily. An eavesdropper. Halfway down the stairs I paused to recount my trumps. Had I forgotten to play one? Yes, the Manpower. I turned, Then a dreadful thought struck me. She hadn’t even bothered to ask! Lower now than the despised Mrs, Stuart, I slunk downstairs,