They made me wash dishes.
That wouldn't have been too ridiculous a request if it hadn't been for the fact that I was working at A MAGAZINE. In the EDITORIAL DEPARTMENT. This was when I was finishing up my degree and actually had useful skills to offer, and if you want to get anywhere in media you have to get on a scheme as early as possible because the competition is so fierce. I thought I had it made at this place...yeah, right.

I quit on the spot, but that was just the last in a long list of ridiculous features. "Unpaid internship, editorial department" - I expected I'd be doing some meaningless work like opening mail, but did I mention that all such mailings had to be stacked in size order or else the poor little assistant editor might shit his pants with shock?

...Or the fact that I found out this magazine WRITES ITS OWN LETTERS TO THE EDITOR? And not particularly good ones!

...Or how it still uses only half-functional 1970s-era tape recorders for celebrity interviews, then asks us work experience kids to type everything up verbatim and god forbid there's one error? Because, after all, when you're working with a crap recording full of background noise and static, where you can barely hear a word being said, plus the only place in the office you can have space to work is right next to a very loud printer, getting one word wrong means you're clearly not trying hard enough!

...Or how you're not allowed to close any doors? Seriously. I was told to transcribe one of the above poorly-recorded interviews, but the room I was in was right next to the freight elevators and bathrooms with loud slamming doors. I figured, hey, I might as well shut the door so I can actually hear this shit recording...only to be chastized for doing so, and directed to never shut the door again or else the editor-in-chief would have a conniption. If it's between actually being able to get the work done, or keeping a door open, they'd rather I keep the door open. And then bitch me out for mistakes in the transcribing because I couldn't hear...

...Or how the publisher's CAT gets its name on the credits page, above those of us who actually do work?

It was pretty much a wannabe Devil-Wears-Prada situation, but with uglier, more "ironic" clothes. If they wanted a maid, they should have hired one. I'm so glad to be rid of that excuse for job training. The only thing I learned is that the world is full of people who think they're performing brain surgery when all they're doing is kissing arse.
( KersaI Missive Free Michael Shields! with Monday's Liverpool Echo, Fri 11 May 2007, 7:21, Reply)