Rmember me?
While looking for a summer job in the mid-1990s, I learned that a record company called Pharm had recently been set up near me. One of their acts, Blue Boy, had just had a minor hit with a record called "Remember Me"; somehow, I got hold of their contact details, and got in touch with them to see if they'd be prepared to take me on as a general dogsbody for a couple of months.

Amazingly, they invited me along for a chat. Even more amazingly, they seemed to have decided that I'd be employable from the moment I walked through the door. The two blokes who ran the outfit asked me to name my price.

I did a quick mental calculation: minimum wage times hours per week... that'd come to... oooh, let's see. "Somewhere in the region of £200 a week?" I suggested, expecting to be bartered down.
"Fine."

And that was where I came unstuck. I was so prepared to be laughed out of the building that I had no idea what to say or do next.

I didn't take them up on their offer.

Granted, Pharm seems subsequently and quickly to have sunk without trace, but, all the same... I had a dead easy route to working in the music industry - a world of parties, glamour, supermodels and massive drugs - and I walked away from it and ended up spending two months working in a call-centre.

I am an idiot.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 23 Sep 2010, 13:21, 1 reply)

Ging-ging-a-ging-a,
ging-ging-ga-ging,
ging-ging-a-ging-ging,
ging-ging-ga-ging.

There was a very pretty redhed who used to have this sung at her all the time at school.
( Colonel Boris "...a desperate Buzzfeed imitation...", Thu 23 Sep 2010, 13:36, closed)