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You need only go to my Facebook info section to pay homage to the sequential list of failures that make up my Job Graveyard.

I was a late bloomer in the world of work, getting my first job in a local hotel at the age of seventeen. Ballygally (real name) Castle Hotel. If this establishment were a person, I feel sure he/she would be in prison right now. Between not being allowed to touch anything, I had to witness wedding reception limbo competitions and be glared at by my manager Kevin constantly. Thirteen hour shifts took their toll, and I regularly went into a twilight zone about ten hours in, and would run out to the gardens in a Kate Bush fashion and weep dramatically on the swing. After getting my mother to call in my resignation after two months, I swung into my next job in my town’s busiest restaurant, Caffe Spice. At this time I refused to acknowledge that I was the worlds clumsiest waitress, and after numerous coffee soakings I became the local liability. Up until that point I had avoided working in either of my mum’s chip shops, but seeming to think I was on to a good thing, I was promoted to operating a deep fat fryer. I don’t think I need to tell you how that worked out.

Many people will still associate me with the next job. Some misguided individual thought that I would provide a formidable threat to Bop-goers, and made me a door-girl in the Union. Must have been my developed forearms that convinced them. I actually loved the job, especially the rest of the staff, and enjoyed having an insider’s knowledge of all things Bop and Bop-related. Sadly my social life took an almighty nosedive as I haunted the doors every Tuesday and Friday without fail, which lead to the now familiar resignation letter.

I have tried to analyse why my jobs seem to have a lifespan of no more than three months, and maintain a chipper ‘it’s not me, it’s them’ attitude. In my haste to secure a job, I seem to settle for ANY job. I’m sure if you put a paper in front of me on a desperate day I would circle Morris dancer, bin man and coal miner without hesitation. It’s like finding the perfect partner- I believe that the right job will fit in well with my life, leaving me with a great sense of satisfaction. As the new university year is set to begin, I came back early with the view to securing a job that won’t leave me a husk of my former self, as early September allows an element of choice with so many places looking to replace summer staff. It is timidly that I start my new job in the hope that it will be my Mr Right. I am the newest member of the fast, friendly and efficient Argos family. Suspend judgement please. A friend that shall remain nameless assured me that only the dregs of society work there, slavishly serving mentalists and nut jobs. ‘That may be so’, I said, ‘but I very much like tapping buttons on tills’.

I have to hope at the age of 20 that I have finally matured to a stage of life that won’t leave me crying in corners and throwing things all over people, and that I can hold down a job just like everyone else. Maybe.