I have just been invited to an interview with the Coulson Corporation, and, while researching the company, discovered that they were a subsidiary of Cobra Group plc. Further down the results page, I noticed several links to sites containing warnings, references to scams, rip-offs and so on.
Before entering this site, I told my girlfriend an amusing anecdote about a job I had about twelve years ago, adding carelessly that the ambiguous nature of the Coulson position reminded me of 'that mad job I had ages ago selling shit out of an enormous holdall to random business premises in Middlesbrough'.
The story goes something like this:
I attended an interview at a prime city centre location, to be greeted by a well-dressed, attractive receptionist. I was introduced to a New Zealander who exuded success, confidence, and good living. He offered me an incredible career on a plate, outlining my inevitable success, without displaying any misgivings about my lack of experience. If he had reached under his desk and handed me a suitcase full of diamonds, it wouldn't have altered the tone of the interview.
I was asked to return the next morning, and was assigned to my mentor, a dead ringer for Justin Hawkins from the Darkness, who immediately began telling me how much money he earned, adding that I would be immensely wealthy, powerful, and irresistible to women within a month. There followed a meeting which I found absurd, but which I observed politely.
I was then given a bag filled with cheap plastic merchandise, and driven away by Justin. On the way down to our pitch in Middlesbrough, Justin kept up this tedious patter, which didn't quite ring true, since he was driving a rusty Fiat Punto and wearing a shiny Burton's suit with scuffed Hush Puppies.
We stopped off at a greasy spoon, where he treated me to a full English, and I imagined I saw him wince as he handed the money over. I offered to go halves on the petrol, and he gallantly refused, saying he had so much money it didn't bother him at all.
This was a Thursday, and I outsold Justin on that day and the next. I was bemused upon returning to base, and slightly embarrassed when I was told to ring an old school dinner bell and lifted onto the shoulders of two leering henchmen, while the whole company began singing 'Juicy! Juicy! ' I completely misunderstood this, but joined in regardless, chanting 'Pussy! Pussy! ' and grinning like an absolute simpleton. I felt a bit like Pele when he scored his one thousandth goal, and was carried off the pitch like... well, Pele!
On the Friday, as a reward for my supreme magnificence, I was invited to the annual conference at Wembley Arena, with a room at the Hilton next door.
The weekend was without doubt the most incredible experience of my life. Everyone was suited and booted, smelling of Brut and Hi Karate, and we filed into the conference. There followed a sound and light show, with compulsory audience participation. A seemingly endless string of guest speakers were introduced, all of whom recounted identical stories of humble beginnings, low-paid, menial jobs, until they began working for the company. Every last speaker emphasised their dazzling wealth, success and its foolproof aqcuisition.
The climax of the show featured a special guest appearance by the company's founder, an old boy who looked a bit like Lionel Richie. He outlined his life story, revealing that he began the company by selling pots and pans from the back of his station wagon while stuck in traffic on the freeway. The audience received him like Evangelists would receive the second coming of Jesus Christ, before their very eyes.
The hysterical, maniacal worship of money, personified by this charismatic figurehead, was palpable, and I had to pinch myself. I looked around me, and everyone was standing on their seats, cheering, clapping, crying even.
After about seven hours of this shameless, deplorable money worship, we retired to the bar in the Hilton.
A sinister, unspoken segregation imposed itself, wherein the successful were surrounded by the contenders, the potentials and the aspirationals, while the losers were confined to the far corner, shunned like lepers or sex offenders.
Needless to say, having enjoyed my freebie weekend, I neglected to report for work on the Monday. In conclusion, I worked two days, made two hundred pounds, received complimentary lifts and breakfasts, and a free weekend in London.
Gullible I may be to have attended the interview.
Stupid I am not!
Johnny ****
Newcastle
United Kingdom
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