Thursday 26 May 2011

Getting your foot in the door.

I knew coming to London and trying to get a job in production was going to be hard, it is hard anywhere in the world. But in London, the term ‘getting your foot in the door,’ took on a whole new meaning when on my job hunt I encountered London’s secret buzzer door society.

How hard can it be to open a door? I mean if a cat can get through a cat door, myself a twenty something female, blonde but that is irrelevant, should be able to get through a door right? Not so quick my friends, ridiculously hard to open doors have been built around the city to trick you, break you, right in the very places you are trying to make your upmost impression, your job interview.

Let me take you up the steps to the predicament. It is the day of your interview...
- You’re primed, prepared and polished, well, up until you go to exit the tube station and that blast of air up the escalators hits you and then you’re screwed! But that is a whole other blog post.
- Your sweaty hands and your trusty London AZ have guided you here to the entrance.
- All you need to do now is walk inside and blow them away with your complete lack of experience (but I did PR for four years does that count? No, ok).
- Take a quick look around, swap the jandals (flip flops) for the heels, like any good Kiwi.
- Deep breath and in you go.
- Bang! You have just walked head first into a door. 

Now before you start judging me, let me talk you through the menu of different London door varieties. Keeping in mind from the moment you press the buzzer you have less than a second to determine what type of door is staring back at you. Here they are:  
- press buzzer and push door knob.
- press buzzer and twist door knob (ah yes, it is starting to get complex).
- press buzzer, door automatically opens, whatever you do, do not push.
- press buzzer, wait for intercom, talk and then:
         - push
         - twist
         - let it pop open
         - have a mental breakdown

Perhaps I find this difficult because I am from New Zealand where we have traditional doors, twist door knob, walk in, Bob’s your uncle. Infact back home some people never shut their doors so you can just waltz on in. It is amazing.

So in London, I started to get really serious about the door situation. When approaching a door I would take some deep breathes, do some wrist stretches, imagine probability stats appearing around me like I was on some sort of game show. But then I realised some also had cameras, shit! So my weird pre-door rituals got ditched for a new cool, calm, I’ve totally got this door (yet I’m totally freaking out on the inside) look.

One interview I had a complete blow out. I had got to the address bang on time, only to find no creative company in sight. Surrounding me were people joyous and oblivious, entertaining themselves in multiple restaurants. I scrambled for my London AZ, desperately flicking through the pages, mumbling to the map "do not lie to me friend!" I was confused, I should be in the right place, the clock was ticking. Panicking, I started to spin. Yet it felt like I was still, and the people in the restaurants were spinning around me. I was like Sarah in the masquerade ball scene in the movie Labyrinth just minus the 80s dress. I had to do the unthinkable and call the interviewer to say I was lost. It turned out I was on Charlotte Street rather than Charlotte Mews and there on my map, in writing made for ants, it suddenly appeared. The running on cobblestones began. Through a brick archway a hidden street emerged, I had arrived and there was a buzzer door! Shoot me now.

Buzz,
“Hi my name is Kylie, I’m here for the interview.“
“Come right in.”
Click, bang!
“Hi, sorry missed it, can you try one more time?”
“Ok”
Click, bang!
"You are not going to believe this but…”

I didn’t get the job. At the time, a friend tried to make me feel better by telling me how he once knocked himself out walking in to a glass door at an interview in front of an open plan office. It did make me feel better. Trying to keep a straight face, I asked if he got the job. His response “there is no coming back from that really.”

This leads me to the point that the humiliation doesn’t just end at the front door. In multi-story London buildings, the front door will usually be easy to open because inside waiting for you is reception/security. You need to check in with them and get a security photo ID. This would be fine if the photos came out alright but on my two occasions they didn’t. The first was a picture of my neck; the security guard had taken it too late and at the point where I was bored and looking at the ceiling. I really don’t know how a picture of my neck was going to be of any use to anyone. If anyone was to stop me in the corridor they would have to ask me to look up before being able to clearly identify it was me. And what happens in a fire...
Security to Fireman: "from our records we are missing two people and what appears to be a neck." 
So at my second security photo ID shoot I tried really hard to make it look good. So much so it came out with eyes closed and all teeth. I stared at it as the receptionist reminded me I must have it visible at all times. Brilliant! I hung my head in shame and headed to the elevators where I spent my time trying to find a location that was technically visible but yet not visible.

There is however a happy ending to this door dilemma; I did get a job in production. I could finish with a sweet, inspiring ending like sometimes you have to try, try, try again and eventually the door will open for you but I’m not going to. Although I secretly just did.

Lastly, here is a video I saw around Christmas that warms my heart every time I watch it. Something tells me little Jamie and I would get on quite well. View here: Little Jamie major fails. Bless him x

No comments:

Post a Comment