"You're hired!"

Ring!! Ring!! (for want of improved onomatopoeia) goes the phone when I am sitting at my desk at home contemplating that interview with Julia and whoever the other one was. Expecting no more than a pointlessly demoralising message from a call centre in Central Asia, I grab tiredly at the handset, pushed the relevant button and pressed the phone to my ear. "'Ullo?" I groan down the line.

Already starting to remove the phone from my ear, a female voice calls back: "Hello, is this Torquer?"

Strange, she seems to know my full real name and, and that voice seems oddly familiar.

"Yes, this is," I reply, now significantly intrigued.

"Hi Torquer, its Julia from the museum. Not Mavis, I was the one with the short white skirt, tight fitting black top and luscious flowing brown hair, remember?"

"How could I forget?" I answer - but seriously, how could I really forget after spending 40 minutes in the same room with that woman?

"Glad you remember. Well, I am very pleased to offer you a job at the museum. The practical element really swayed your application. I will be your new manager, should you choose to accept."

"I do accept indeed, thank you very much Julia."

"Brilliant. When do you want to start?" she giggles.

"How about this weekend?"

"Eager are we? That's fine. Come to my office at 9:30 on Saturday then. You'll have to try on your new uniform and complete the first part of your extensive training. I look forward to seeing you, Torquer."

"Likewise you, Julia. 9:30 it is then."

And the date is sealed. Saturday 13th October is when I start.

National Insurance

"And what exactly do you see yourself doing here at the museum?" Maureen asks with a snear.

"Erm, well since I am to be working at the Information desk and shop, relating to the customers and satisfying their needs will be the most important part of the job, be it informing them of an exhibition they may be interested in, or selling them a particular item in the museum shop," I reply perfectly naturally and unrehearsed.

"Ohh, satisfy my needs, Torquer," Julia smiles.

"Yes, well. What are your ambitions in life, your career path?" Maureen questions again.

"I am currently interested in engineering. My parents and step parents are all architects, but I see myself doing something a little bigger than house extensions and park pavilions, big stuff like bridges: civil engineering."

"I also prefer big stuff as well," Julia lingers for a moment.

"And what about your experience in the retail sector, tell us about that," Maureen ploughs on.

"I took my work experience in a cafe bar, serving drinks and clearing tables. I even did a few of my own drinks, like banana and coffee milkshakes, which the manager was pleased about."

"Mmm, bananas please me too," Julia's glance almost boils my cup of water.

"Right then, I think we have everything we want now," snaps Maureen.

"I want more..." Julia mumbles as she leaves the room.

"So, I think that finishes everything," says Maureen, heading for the door, "I've got to dash off to another meeting now. Julia will see you out."


"Er Torquer, can you bring your National Insurance card [bloody welfare state draining my wages], Passport [not a single stamp because the French and Italian immigration bastards can't be bothered to budge a finger] and Certificate of Qualifications please. I need to... to photocopy them," Julia's angelic voice calls from the stationary cupboard...

Acid Rain

The water is pelting steadily into my anxious face. Why didn't I bring an umbrella, or at least wear a cap to keep the acid rain out of my eyes?

I glance at the clock on the town hall: 8 minutes to go...

Deciding that it is now not too early to go in for your first job interview, I round the corner into sight of my destiny. Destiny as in weekend job for the next year and a bit. So not really destiny at all in fact. Nope. The oaf continues:

I have somehow managed to land myself a job interview at the local Museum. Striding up the main steps, I have to dodge hoards of tourist returning to their cramped, smelly and dangerously seat belt lacking coaches. How I pitied the fools.

Now however, I wish they would pity me. I am staring straight into the barrel of an overloaded shot gun, with the museum manager idly stroking the trigger.

I swallow my spit and tears, and push forwards against the side entrance, the one leading to the offices of doom.

"Hullo, erm, I'm here for a job interview," I mumble at the security officer. I wished he would do a search and find some dangerous article on my person so he could escort me to the police and throw me in jail away from the dreaded interviewer... locked away... safe from harm.

"Ah yes, you must be Torquer. Please, take a seat," replies some anonymous bloke behind a desk with 'Bob' stamped onto a badge on his chest. What? How does he know my name? They must only be expecting one person for interview. Therefore, by the clever deduction of the Torquemeister, I must be the only person being interviewed - therefore no competition. I suppose I could have been the only boy here, but you never know, there are an awful lot of post-ops wandering around Liverpool these days to mess my careful deductions up.

So, I take a seat on the worn but ergonomically arranged seats in the waiting room. There are piles of leaflets for the museum's various attractions scattered tidily on the table in front of me. I do not bother to pick them up, I have already revised every damn exhibition there has been on for the past year: J Ensor, Belgian painter, died 1949, exhibition currently at the art gallery in Port Sunlight; P R Chang, Chinese sculptor, still alive, jewelery and sculptures currently on display at the museum.

"Your interviewers, will be down shortly," the security officer who ironically stole the 'Peter' badge off another tells me.

Shit! Two of them? Are women interviewers a good thing for my prospects? Professionally, bien sur. Are they old? Will they like a charming young man like myself - or do they hate all scouse teenagers?

Ping! The lift doors grind slowly open...

TO BE CONTINUED