Bad Job

I love that I get personalised emails from job websites.

I really like the effort that goes in to making sure that the emails are geared towards the recipient. Especially as I went to all the trouble of completing all my data.

I used to think that the height of poorly directed marketing (and I’m allowed to talk about this because my dad worked in direct marketing for ages, which was a great get out of jail free card for all the “can I just ask you…” people in the street – you couldn’t answer because you might skew the results!) was the Pizza Hut and/or Dominos ones that were addressed to Pizza Lover. I, or whoever it was that was impersonating me when they ordered pizzas online, took the time to enter my name into the system. You’d managed to pull my address through, why not my name? By the lazy “Pizza Lover” nomenclature rules, I should live at 1 Pizza Road, Pizza Town P1Z Z4.

But today I received an email of carefully vetted jobs suitable for me. Yesterday it was veterinary surgeon – something I wanted to do when I was at school but, alas, was too rubbish at physics to even come close to being able to apply. I did do some work experience though (including the killing of an injured horse at a riding school, while the children were still there… more-or-less watching us…) so I do have hands-on knowledge of things. Mainly cow shit.

Anyway, today’s email:

Female door staff.

That was the first one.

I mean I know that we live in a society where equal opportunities thrive (sometimes, especially if it can get media coverage), but I don’t think that I would be able to apply for a job as a female door person. Unless I am suddenly living in a bawdy 1970s comedy, in which case I could Mrs Doubtfire it up.

The other thing that got me about that ad – because I took the trouble to read it all – was that it was for a door person (female) for a specially themed venue opening in Huddersfield soon.

The mind boggles.

I wasn’t getting an empowered women vibe from it, though, if I’m honest.