On not getting your dream job
"Come in, come in – take a seat."
I hated visiting the college careers advisor, and I could see through this one's beard that she would be a tough woman to crack.
"It's Duck, isn't it? Scary Duck."
"I see you're doing Maths, Physics and Chemistry at A-Level. Have you thought about your future career path?"
"Not really. Thought about the army."
"The Army? The ARMY? No-one in their right mind should be in the armed forces."
CND badge. Whoops.
"Now," she said, with the air of a woman who already had my future mapped out, Making Plans For Nigel-style, "I've run your details through the CASCAID computer and it's come up with a fair number of wholesome suggestions. Have you ever thought of a career in fashion?"
"Fa... fa... fa... fa... Fashion?"
"It's what CASCAID says and it's never been wrong yet."
And I should know. I'd been sitting outside that office for half an hour, watching a stream of broken individuals emerging, doomed to a career as a social worker, despite three years on an engineering course. My army hopes fading, I steeled myself for conflict.
"There's no way I'm going into fa… no wait… I'll do it."
"You will? Really?"
"Does this computer thing of your have 'bra fitter'?"
"Errr… it might."
"Then it's agreed. I'll travel the globe, feeling up women's bosoms. That's my career."
"I would refuse all payment, and I would research all the latest methods of brassiere fitment."
"'If you don't mind, madam', I'd say, 'but this part of the fitting requires the motorboat test. Blbbbl blbbbl blbbbl'"
"And, if you don't mind, madam, I'll now use this special hand-held apparatus to weigh your breasts. WEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYY!"
"And if madam would just rub this ice cube over your nipples. No reason. It just gives me the horn."
I never got a job in fashion that the CASCAID woman promised me. However, I do get to sit on the man-bench in New Look every now and then whilst Mrs Duck and Scaryduckling prove Coleman's Shopping Paradox. Stick that in your beardy pipe and smoke it, CASCAID.