I went to the weirdest job interview yesterday.
The position I interviewed for has the ridiculously inflated title of 'Junior Executive Project Coordinator'. Let me translate:
Junior, means you don't get paid very much.
Executive, means despite earning minimum wage you still have to wear business attire.
Project, means you are responsible for everything in the office that requires some effort.
Coordinator, means you are accountable when things go wrong.
I won't say the company's name because there's a very very very small chance I'll get a job there. However, it was predictably pretentious, so for the sake for this post I'll call it 'Gold A'.*
I checked out the gallery's website before heading to the interview. I was a little bit dubious about a company that describes itself as a "premier vanguard gallery established in direct response to the discerning taste of the sophisticated collector, searching to discover foremost avant-garde contemporary artists who will be the trailblazer masters of the twenty first century..." etc etc. Aye carumba!
Also, having seen the artists represented by the gallery I didn't have high expectations for Gold A. Although, I did still believe it was a legitimate gallery existing in real time.
Upon arriving at Gold A for the interview (on time!) the first thing that hit me was the smell. Dusty, musty, warm, stuffy... I got a flashback to my grandma's living room. It was nice. Then I took in the furnishings and realised I really was standing in my grandma's living room; pastel upholstered chairs and dark-wooden sideboards lined all the walls. There was a giant Franco Cozzoesque dining set in the middle of the gallery, and sitting upon every flat raised surface were dried flower arrangements in ugly vases and collectible dolls.
The strangest thing was this entire gawdy tableax was arranged in a typical Chelsea gallery white-cube space. If you looked closely enough there were even a few paintings hanging on the walls. Like a real gallery or something.
I was standing stunned in the doorway when two life-size dolls drifted up to me and introduced themselves as the owners of the gallery.
"I am Captain John William Edward Crossmarch III, but that's a bit of a mouthful so you can just call me Captain," Said the 60-year old man dressed up in a Scottish Military uniform, complete with kilt and sporran. "This is my wife, Miss Janie Crossmarch. You may call her Miss Janie." Miss Janie was a plastic (surgery) faced woman wearing theatrical makeup and wig of giant bleached blond curls.
"Hello Captain and Miss Janie," I just started playing along, "It's lovely to meet you."
The interview began. I sat at the 'Grand sale! Grand sale!' table** and spoke about my experience working in galleries and the skills I could bring to Gold A. It was a remarkably straight-forward interview considering I was talking to a life-size little bo peep Barbie (while Military Ken hovered in the background).
After the interview Miss Janie asked me to email her a list of all my computer skills and we could then "take it from there". I suspect Miss Janie doesn't really do computers and is looking for someone to take dictation for her. Fine, fine, whatever.
The strange thing is I actually believe I could work at Gold A.
I'd look at it like a career break so I could play imaginary for awhile. It would just be a matter of getting into the right mind-set in order to enjoy the 'make believe'. I would obviously need a name (Miss Dottie?) and costume (sexy scullery maid?) and perscription (valium?) and, voila, employment!
I'm willing to do what it takes to get a job in this city.
*This is also a tribute to the only gallery in Melbourne that advertises on late night tv, the wonderful Silver K.
** People not from Melbourne can see here for my stylistic reference. Another late night advertising favourite.
6 years ago