FLASH
On
Tom’s graduation photo he smiles, proud. Image fades to black
slowly.
TOM
(V/O)
When
uni lets you out, their job is over. You get no support. You can go
to the uni careers advice office, but they’ll just dump a load of
leaflets on you and tell you to check the net. They even told me to
'change direction.' As far as your department’s concerned, you’re
Alumni. You’re a figure for the pass rates. They don’t want to
know you. It felt like getting out of prison, or I'd imagine, except
you don't have a parole officer.
INT.
BEDROOM- DAY
Tom
files his degree certificate in a folder with care.
TOM
(V/O)
After
all the graft and all the stress, after all the anticipation of
finishing the course and finally making some money, how was I
rewarded?
Then
he files a Jobseeker’s form- again, in his name.
TOM
(V/O, CONT.)
What
is wrong with this country?
INT.
RECRUITMENT FAIR-DAY
ACCELERATED
FOOTAGE-
HIGH
ANGLE
Tom
walks from stall to stall, picking up goody bags, dishing out CVs.
INT.
TOM’S RENTED HOUSE- DAY
The
building is nineteen-sixties-built and probably hasn’t been
decorated since.
TOM’S
CURRICULUM VITAE
On
computer being typed, rearranged, adjusted, new experience being
typed on.
THE
GUARDIAN MEDIA GUIDE
Being
opened, closed, read, written on, the spine becoming creased.
NEWSPAPERS
Being
opened, ads being cut out, crossed out, thrown away.
JOB
SEARCHING WEBSITES
Being
used, Yell.com being searched.
EXT.
STREET-DAY
Tom
reappears in this montage walking into a job agency.
INT.
AGENCY-DAY
Tom
signs forms and is computer-tested at the agency.
EXT.
STREET - DAY
Three
shots of Tom walking through the doors of three other different
agencies.
INT.
OFFICE OF A COMPUTER SHOP-DAY
Tom's
on the phone, with a box of computer software in his hand.
TOM
We
didn’t mate. We only received nine copies. Please don’t ask me to
check again- Oh fuck you, you fucking prick.
Slams
the phone down. Customers look over to the office area nervously.
INT.
TOM’S HOUSE- MORNING
FAST
CUTS
Tom
opens a P45 saying “Thomas Aaronson” at his kitchen table.
Then
another.
And
another.
Tom
picks up the post. He opens a letter addressed to Thomas Aaronson BSc
Hons.
The
letter reads EMPLOYMENT GUARANTEED!
Over
this:
TOM
(V/O)
When
you’re a dickhead like me, you dread opening the mail. You never
know what it’s going to be. I job-hopped for a fucking year. I
honestly did not have a clue what to do. Every company under the sun
had either knocked me back or fired me within a month. I was gonna
just fuck it all off and join the Army at some point, but even they
might not even take me due to a few scrapes with the law. I thought:
one last recruitment fair. One more go.
INT.
HALL-DAY
FAST
CUTS
A
graduate recruitment fair: A room full of mostly twenty-one-year-olds
hoping to find a much-needed job. Graduates and final year students-
naïve young men and women- are queuing to meet managers, with
plastic name badges and plastic smiles, standing in front of large
billboards. Business names are proudly displayed all round. Many
business reps from these companies look placidly at Tom’s CV and
hand it back to him.
Tom
walks away from one stall, on the verge of losing his nerve. His eyes
are reddened from hay fever. He leans on one of the end stalls and
drops the goody bags he got from the companies. He blows his nose and
takes a sip from a carton of free orange juice. A free newspaper he
received shouts HOTTEST SUMMER ON RECORD. Another headline reads:
Political Assembly in Manchester: Is it Necessary?
At
the other end of the hall, there’s a man in a black suit on an
unmarked stall- MR DEVANT. He’s aged forty with a distinctive,
clean-cut south-England accent. His stall is separate from the
others, and he’s waiting. Devant and Tom lock eyes.
They
are the only people paying each other attention. Tom picks up his
bags and walks over with a trained smile.
TOM
Nice
stall.
DEVANT
Thank
you.
Devant
nods to the rest of the room.
DEVANT
Seen
anything you like?
TOM
I’ve
seen loads I fancy. They just don’t like me. Story of my life.
That’s what happens when you do a media degree instead of something
remotely worthwhile.
DEVANT
I
was just curious. Are you local?
TOM
Longsight
born and bred! I’m a proud Manc, it’s safe to say.
Tom
puts his fist on his heart and grins.
Devant
studies Tom for a second.
DEVANT
You’ll
have seen the city change, then.
TOM
Yes.
Yeah… I was in town when the bomb went off in ’Ninety-six. I was
supposed to get on a bus near there, but I was running late. It’s
funny. Since then they’ve built hundreds of offices but, seemingly,
I can’t stay in a single one of them.
DEVANT
And
you’re looking for a new challenge to completely immerse yourself
in.
TOM
Absolutely.
DEVANT
Do
you have a CV?
TOM
Yes…?
Tom’s
unsure as to who this guy is.
Devant
gestures for Tom to sit on a chair. It belongs on the next stall, but
Tom takes it anyway. Devant studies the sheet of paper. His eyebrows
rise.
Tom
is about to ask a question but Devant beats him to it.
DEVANT
How
many words was this film censorship essay?
TOM
Ten
thousand.
DEVANT
Interesting.
What do you want to do?
TOM
I’ve
been asking myself that for some time.
TOM
(V/O)
Please
God… Deliver me from administration…
TOM
I
know one thing: I don’t ever want to work in an office for the
rest of my existence.
DEVANT
Sounds
like you’ve had a hard time since you left University.
Tom
nods in self-pity.
TOM
I’m
tired of selling myself with an air of, uh, pretentious enthusiasm.
DEVANT
You’ve
got good qualifications; you’ve had plenty of work… What’s
going wrong?
Tom
decides to open up. He's nothing left to lose.
TOM
Well...
my degree left me with the beginnings of a few useless skills, and an
immensely crippling debt. Although I enjoyed uni and don’t see any
point in regretting it, I’m still bitter that it's done nothing to
improve my employability. My esteem is low. I've left out numerous
jobs from my CV that didn’t last ‘cause I either couldn’t
understand them or couldn’t tolerate them. The part time jobs I had
while I was at uni, they left me with no decent work experience,
unless you count pulling girls who probably weren’t old enough to
be in the bar in the first place. There wasn’t even that much work
to do at uni. Throughout three years of study, most of the time I
just drank too much and generally made a tit out of myself. They
still let me graduate- miraculously- and since then all I’ve done
is move from one temp job to another. I’m beginning to think that
there is NOTHING I can make a career out of.
Tom
looks at the floor, like he’s just sold his soul to the devil. Then
he gets out of his seat, exhausted.
TOM
(mumbling)
There’s
always the Job Centre again…
DEVANT
(All business)
There’ll
be a lot of opportunity in this city very soon.
Tom
pauses; sits back down.
DEVANT
I’m
looking for someone who not only is able to handle responsibility but
who has a certain amount of pride in Manchester- someone who is very
comfortable handling people from all areas of society. Someone who
can deal with a frequent change of scenery, working with
representatives from businesses like bars, banks, shops, some
offices, but you won’t be there long, believe me. But particularly,
I'm looking for resilience. I see that in you, Mr. Aaronson.
TOM
So
there’s travel in the job, then?
DEVANT
Oh
yes. Suit and tie work. Responsibility. You will be required to
liaise with a variety of very important people in the private and
public sectors of Manchester.
(Patronising)
Some
of them girls…
Tom
picks up on this; cuts him off.
TOM
What’s
the pay like?
DEVANT
Like
no other job you’ve ever had, I can assure you. The average student
debt is fourteen grand. Am I right?
TOM
Uh,
I dunno.
DEVANT
I
am. Is that your figure?
TOM
Probably.
I don’t really wanna check, to be honest.
DEVANT
Fourteen
grand happens to be the average starting salary for graduates,
strangely enough.
TOM
That’s
what they say. I graduated a year ago and I never got that much. So
far, none of my mates from uni have either. So, would you like to
interview me, or...?
DEVANT
I
don’t think so.
TOM-
Disappointment.
DEVANT
(deadpan)
How
about I just give you a cheque for fourteen grand right now.
Tom
searches for any sign that Devant is bluffing, and coughs as he tries
to smooth things over.
TOM
You
are going to give me fourteen grand?
Devant
nods.
TOM
I
wanna ask why, but I don't want you to change your mind just in case
you're actually going to do this.
Devant
takes out a chequebook and, with the last cheque in it, writes one
out for Tom. From Tom’s perspective, the writing is upside down.
Tom
can’t believe what is happening. He's trying to act professional,
as if this is a normal occurrence in his life. But he’s still
looking for the catch.
TOM
Sorry
mate, but I don’t believe for a second that this cheque isn’t
going to bounce.
DEVANT
Of
course you don’t. And I don’t believe that anyone will ask you
about your newly replenished bank account. Creditors will not contact
you.
TOM
Hang
on. If it is real, how do you know I’m not just going to cash this
and disappear with it?
Devant
holds up Tom’s CV.
DEVANT
(a little threatening, but with charm)
I
can easily find out more.
TOM
Wait
a minute. This is tax-free, yeah? What is the business? What’s the
whole thing about? And is this for like a year, or…
DEVANT
Wait
for the phone call please Mr…
(Checks
CV)
DEVANT
Aaronson.
Devant
starts for the door.
TOM
Wait,
Mr, er,
(Checks
cheque)
Tom
Devant-
is this not your stall?
DEVANT
No,
Mr Aaronson. I’m squatting, or so you could say. Keep your phone
on.
Devant
fold up Tom’s CV, sticks it in an inside pocket and walks off,
through the crowds of people and out of the room.
Tom’s
staring at the cheque- £14000
Fourteen
thousand pounds. Tom ditches the branded bags and folds up the
cheque, sticking it in his jeans as he walks out with an uneasy
smile.