Frank B writes

Had to show some prospective clients round the call centre. Typical set-up: rows upon rows of 20-something phone monkeys dressed like a Top Shop window sprung to life; and about as equally productive.

But I gave them the usual sales pitch: “huge growth over the last year….profits up by X%….committed to quality….bespoke service…….blah….blah…..blah” – it’s just like the job interviews, if you repeat it often enough, you start to believe it yourself.

Some of the monkeys are very cute though. However, I suspect if you tip them on their back their eyes will roll over like Tiny Tears; I’m curious to test the hypothesis though…………….

I’m in an abandoned tower block, in an abandoned city. Admittedly the lofty position does give spectacular views over the urban wasteland, sparkling in the early morning sun – it’s 8am.

It also gives me something to do while he thinks of the next question to ask me……….. top tip for budding interviewers, a quick glance at the applicant’s CV before the off is always a wise move. If you can’t be bothered, a quick “so, talk me through your CV” is always a good fallback position.

He finally gets into his stride and asks me about my current role. You can almost see the thought bubbles over his head at the responses “you do what!? You treat customers how!?! You sleep at night?!?!?!”

Groping for anything to fill the dead air, I ask him about the role. He’s gives me some spiel about the challenges of restructuring the business. Resisting the desire to enquire what he’d like me to do after lunch, I make the appropriate noises.

The company’s a train wreck. I’d been under the impression they’d closed this division three years ago, but no, they’d actually been trying to make a go of it, but nobody had noticed.

But these Mission Impossible gigs always attract my attention. It’s the whole ‘the only way is up’ thing. It’s also the whole ‘simple, off-the-peg solutions delivering maximum credit for minimum effort’ thing.

Ok, this is new…I’ve met some cute recruitment consultants in my time, but I’ve never wanted to sleep with my line manager before. Boy she’s pretty.

 We’re lounging on the leather sofas in the atrium (this is a major household name, of course they’ve got an atrium), swapping war stories about projects, and I’m making her eyes go wide with my tales of achievement (the lies are so plausible I’m even believing them myself now). Metaphorically at this point I’m dimming the lights and slipping on the Sinatra.

 She’s telling me about the culture, the holidays, the lifestyle. The subtext of which is that basically if you actually make it into the office each morning you’re seen as something of a high flyer. I think we’re at the start of a beautiful relationship: leggy, clever, low expectations – this is my ideal woman.

 Until, the talk moves on to the size of my package. Or more specifically the gulf between what they offer, and what I’m already on. Scrumptious as she, and the job are, I’m not paying for the pleasure.