The rain in Spain... (job seeker's headache)
A Touch Of Nokoko by Kofi Akumanyi
"A good administrator with a charming telephone manner" is required by one company, while another seeks a secretary "capable of reflecting professionalism in speech, appearance and manner." "There are lots of VIPS to meet," explains another job advert, "so presentation is very important". The question is, what are these firms looking for someone who talks posh? asks Ms Magazine, in an article about jobs.
Anyone who has had the problem of looking for a job in London's over-crowded job market would readily agree with me that there are a lot more that a job seeker should have (or at least pretend to have) if he would ever secure a job in the highly competitive field.
What about the "we are equal opportunity employers" tag which decorate the bottom of many an advertisement? Well, after a series of agonising searches, my friend quickly wants to forget the scathing and bruising encounters with apparently genial potential employers in the interview circuit.
The following scenario is a composite experience of many job seekers I have talked to who, one way or the other, could not get the job after several attempts to quit the suffocating queue of four million unemployed. Jonathan Muange, a 32-year-old masters graduate in Sociology from London University has not found a job after ninety applications and fifty-six interviews.
So what's new, you may ask. Nothing much except that Jonathan from all angles fits smugly into the category of potential employee, with pleasant manners and disposition and therefore by all reasonable reckoning should have no problem in getting a job.
With such a high failure rate he decided go and find out exactly what he lacked which prevents him from getting employed. A manager of a company gave me a few tips on how to pass job interviews these days which I gladly passed on to him.
"I'm at my wits end. I don't understand why employers don't want to hire me," he cried.
"Are you sure that apart from your string of qualifications and other obvious skills you don't have any offensive habits that get through to the interviewers?" I asked.
"What do you mean? Offensive like what? B.O.? Not bloody likely!" he retorted angrily.
"That eliminates one possible source of your high interview failure rate," I said. "Now, let's see, you don't look shabbily dressed either."
"Well, I'm not exactly Sebastian Coe, the best dressed man of the year, but if the admiring looks of girls are anything to go by, then I can hold my own anywhere."
"You may be right and that sorts out another problem," I said looking him straight in the eye. "You know, I think I've got it, your problem is with your language."
"My language! You've got to be kidding. Without any fear of exaggeration, I think I can speak the English language very well and nobody has complained of not understanding me when I speak," he said angrily.
"Calm down, sonny boy. You don't have a violent temper, do you? It could also cost you a job, you know," I advised. "It's nothing to do with your grammar but articulation."
"I do speak correctly," he insisted.
"Oh yes, you do, but according to a just released Job Seekers Handbook you don't have to speak properly so much as speak clearly."
"You can't confuse me with these bogus facts. I believe that it's all a ruse to eliminate non-British job seekers at the top of the scale. Can you imagine the effect of this? It means some of us Africans who cannot get rid of our accent would never get good jobs in this country," he remonstrated.
"It's not like you think it is. They say that along with the right skills, a pleasant voice gives a good impression. If your voice is pleasant, accent doesn't matter, unless it's a hard, grating one, I said.
"Gor blimey! I don't believe it!"
"Exactly; and continue to swear like that and you'll never get even a menial job!"
"So what am I supposed to do? Go in for elocution lessons?" he asked rather sarcastically.
"Not really, if you can practice saying The Rain in Spain, Falls Mainly on the Plain and How Now, Brown Cow in the tradition of Professor Higgin's Liza Doolittle in front of the mirror to improve your self confidence. That's the cheap way, of course.'
"We're back to My Fair Lady are we? O.K. so, what's the other way of learning to talk posh?" Jonathan said brimming with self-righteous indignation.
"Elocution school where you'll be taught that mumbling into your boots is what's holding you back from getting a job," I quoted from the brochure. "They'll also teach you to project your personality through your voice. A course of five sessions would cost you only £40.'
"Jesus Christ! You'd think I'm looking for a bloody singing career in show business."
"Who knows, you may find your true mettle and profession in that direction," I agreed.
"You know something, I don't care about talking posh if it's only to get me a job. I'm not a social climber!"
"Well, it's your headache." I shook his hand. "And oh, one more thing. You've got to watch your handshake, too."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing much except that it is not strong enough. Employers don't like that at all."
"Is there also a school for learning how to shake hands?" Jonathan wanted to know.
"Yes, pumping flesh the right way counts as much as speaking the right way. In the executive field you could win a million dollar contract just by shaking hands, I'm told. While you're at it don't forget to add a swagger to your walking. It could come in handy… you never know..."
