The Book of Job, Chapter 2

Nice job, nice area, nice people. Crap money.

I was met by an immensely attractive young man with red hair and freckles. He showed me a series of catalogues designed by the firm - multiple typefaces, pointless splashes of primary colour, irregular columns and graphics crammed in everywhere.

The kind of thing I could only dream about producing back in 1990 - now available as templates selectable with a single mouse click, and completely meaningless.

I was even tempted for five seconds to go for this untennable job. The atmosphere was cirtainly better than any other place I've seen.

The jobcentre, with usual efficiency, wanted me to phone them to report on how the interview went, but had given me the number for the wrong department. The wrong department gave me a number for the right department. Who still weren't quite the right department, but gave me a third number to call. Who never answered the phone.