Chasing Amy-Lou

For a while there, maybe a good few years, I’m pretty sure that I was the ‘Golden Child’ in our family: I was a straight-A student who’d gone to Uni and actually gained a degree. I’d worked since the age of 13 and had never really asked for much financial help. I’d joined the Fire Service at the age of 22 and for almost six years I was pretty much riding high, basking in the glory of my success while my parents looked on proudly and my brothers, well, they cowered in my shadow. Then it all changed. Like so many twenty-somethings of my generation, I had reached a point in my life where I was dissatisfied, I was bored and frankly, I was quite lost. So I quit my job.

It wasn’t just my job that I was quitting however; it was my whole lifestyle. The career I’d been in had allowed me to pursue many pastimes such as travelling and partying, going to gigs and buying new clothes. I had been able to afford to live on my own in the centre of Glasgow, run a car, juggle two gym memberships and pay for an expensive phone bill. All of the things I should have been able to do on a salary that was above the UK average. In essence I was pretty successful and had everything I needed (bar the man of my dreams) and could’ve continued like this had I decided to stay in a job and a city that weren’t making me happy.

Happiness being the key in all of this, I literally had none. No amount of money or revered career status could bring me that. So I moved home. In a previous blogpost I talked about how difficult it was to move back home and live with the parents again. This time, I’m trying to put across something different; a fall from grace can sometimes help you to appreciate what’s important in life and can and does keep you grounded.

Perhaps a mistake on my part was leaving my job as a firefighter with no solid back up plan. I didn’t have another job in place and was counting on my glowing and impressive CV to help me out; how hard could it be to get a desk job? Very, as it turns out.

I handed my CV in at multiple temping agencies and also applied for jobs online, from secretarial work, to admin staff, to receptionist jobs. I signed up to job agencies online and even went trawling round the high street looking for ANY potential vacancies. Only one temping agency got back to me and out of the jobs I applied for online I didn’t get one single response. I couldn’t even get shortlisted for a job as a receptionist at the local medical centre.

Within two weeks of me being back home though, that sole temping agency had found me a job. The contract was only temporary and was due for revision at the end of a four-week trial period but I was sure I would be offered permanent work, I mean, it can’t be that difficult to answer phones, input data and deal with problematic cases, can it?

And then I got fired. After the four weeks was up, the company decided they didn’t want to offer me a permanent contract and let me go. I was gobsmacked. Never in my life before had I been fired from a job. What made it worse was that I wasn’t fired on the grounds of my work not being up to scratch, I was fired because, and I quote: “her personality didn’t quite fit in with the dynamic of the office”. It was like a kick in the teeth. My personality??? I couldn’t believe it. After a few tears and a few angry rants about how the company was clearly nepotistic anyway, and how the office was a shambles, I began to rationalise. Perhaps this was the dunt I needed to bring me back down to earth.

Once again I got back on the proverbial job-horse and began searching high and low for employment. My plight was pretty desperate this time as my cash was running low and I didn’t want to have to turn to the ‘bank of Mum’ for a sub. Instead of relying on temping agencies to find me work in an office (which I clearly wasn’t up to or ready for anyway) I went back to the old reliable bar work and handed my CV in at numerous pubs and restaurants around Preston.

I’d worked in pubs since the age of 17 and if given the chance could probably run one with my eyes closed. That said though, I tried to remain humble and accepted the fact that if I did manage to get some form of bar work, I’d be doing it for minimum wage, half of what I was getting in the fire service. Sure enough, I had an interview a few days after getting kicked in the stomach (by nameless nepotistic company) and I began working behind the bar at a popular eating and drinking establishment just on the outskirts of Preston.

For about two months I plodded along here, working late nights and stupid, unsociable shifts. The money was crap but it was a job and I was doing well. I’d made friends with the regulars, was getting praised for my work, and sometimes, I actually enjoyed it.

Then I got fired. Again. Apparently, the holidays I wanted to take (which my employer had agreed to honour before offering me the job) did not fit in with how they wanted me to work and how they operated the rota system (WTF?). They considered me to be wanting too many Saturday’s off (for things I already had booked which I told them about) and even said to my face that they wanted someone reliable who would be in the pub, “all the time”. My argument being, “So, I’m not supposed to have any weekends off then? Ever?”. To which they couldn’t warrant a reply and said it was nothing to do with my work (which they were impressed with), they just didn’t think I’d fit in with their way of doing things (exploiting staff, basically).

So, within three months I’d been fired twice, been turned down for a receptionist job and was at my wits end. I was in dire straits. I was stressed. I felt worthless and my confidence really took a knock, and for someone with pretty low-self esteem anyway, being fired from two jobs is not really the best way to go about boosting the ego.

I cried. I moaned. I argued with my mother. I shouted at my brothers. I cried to my friends. I whinged about money. I missed out on nights out. I missed friends birthdays. I couldn’t afford to repay my loan. I had to ask my parents to buy my food shopping. Basically, I was a mess. How had it to come to this? How had I gone from an almost £30k a year job to being penniless and panicky?

It was my own fault. Entirely. I had no one to blame but myself as I had chosen this path. That’s what made it worse. I had chosen to end my career and now I couldn’t even hold down a bar job.There are no words to describe how down in the dumps I felt for the next couple of weeks.

After a few more “woe is me, I’m having a life crisis” talks with my mum, I picked myself up and started again. This time I applied for a driving job up at the hospital my brother worked for and because of my HGV licence and my experience of driving fire engines I was offered the position. I also found some more part-time work in a restaurant and managed to bag myself a cleaning job on Thursday and Friday mornings. In the space of a couple of weeks I went from being jobless to holding down three!

There are over two million unemployed people in the UK at the moment and I didn’t want to become one of those statistics; another jobless failure who never lived up to her potential. At times, when I was applying for jobs I felt my heart sink. I felt low and I felt so degraded it was as if I’d taken one step forward and fifty steps back. My Dad was dying to say those dreaded words, “I told you so” and I could see in his eyes he was disappointed with the choices I’d made. I was no longer the ‘Golden Child’ but the child who had had it all and thrown it away. Very reassuring.

How did I remain positive? How did I get through it all? It helped that I knew there was a light at the end of the tunnel – I was heading to Australia in September and this period of unemployment and bouncing from job to job was only going to last six months at the most. It was also a relief to have a great support network around me. My family were understanding, helping me out financially and emotionally; and my friends even more so, offering a shoulder to cry on and cheap outings rather than spending a weeks wage on a new outfit and a night in town. I even had my dinner cooked for me on numerous occasions by some very generous pals. It was also beneficial to train my thoughts and think positively. I couldn’t let a bout of unemployment get me down. I couldn’t let a gigantic drop in salary deter me from following my dreams and I couldn’t at any point, think of myself as a failure, or call myself useless, as this would just add to the problem.

At the end of it all, there were some lessons to be learned. Without the help of family and friends I can imagine I would have led myself down a dark path of destruction, sinking deeper into a depression instead of bathing in the happiness I was feeling with being back at home.

Then it hit me – perhaps this was a test, a learning curve, a way to teach myself some very valuable life lessons about modesty and remaining humble. At no point in my life should I have ever considered myself to be above the average person on the street. At no point should I ever have considered myself better than the next person or worthy of more, or too proud to take a menial cleaning job or dead-end bar work that would lead me nowhere. I was even prepared to work in KFC or McDonald’s because when it comes down to the nitty gritty, we should never think too highly of ourselves. At the end of the day, when we’re led in a wooden box, buried in the ground, our graves will all be the same size, no matter how big the wallet we had on earth. I had mastered the art of remaining humble.

Learning to live within my means, to go without luxuries or necessities I was so previously used to became second nature after a while, and I did start to appreciate what’s really important in life. I began to look at the average Joe on the street, the binmen, the cleaners, the nurses, the shop workers, the road sweepers, the warehouse stockists, the brickies, the welders; they are the lifeline and backbone of our country and I was happy to be amongst them, in humble surroundings. Material possessions aren’t important. The size of one’s wallet isn’t important. The type of car one drives isn’t important. As long as you are happy, have friends who support you, have dreams to aspire to and don’t lose sight of, can pay your way and still have a little left over at the end of it all, then life starts to become a little simpler, a little more precious and a lot more enjoyable.