I suppose my first job interview would have been when I was fifteen. I persuaded by best friend that we should apply together for a cleaning job at the local vicarage. I’d never heard of a job-share so I must have dreamed up the idea, probably with the fear that a whole days cleaning would probably kill me. The vicars wife, seemed somewhat taken aback by our proposal but was nevertheless prepared to employ 2 such enterprising ( if foolish) souls.
So that Saturday we started. As I remember the hours were from 9 to 1pm with a coffee break. Being young, naive and foolish neither of us had really thought to ask many questions at the interview, just smiled a lot and agreed with everything. The vicarage was enormous. But not as enormous as the pile of ironing which greeted us in the kitchen. We had agreed to dividing the chores with best friend doing the cleaning, vacuuming, polishing and me doing the ironing. At this stage I thought I quite liked ironing and BF already knew she hated it.
By 1pm I hated it oo. But what I hated even more was realising that the vicar and his wife had a son who was in our 6th form at school. And that his clothes – including underpants ( who irons those?) were in my pile. And yes, as you ask, he mentioned it at school. Often.
To give us our due BF and I carried on with that job through gritted teeth for the next year or so until eventually retiring from the world of domestic labour for our grubby student existences.
I can’t say the interview or the job taught me much. I look back on it and don’t so much smile as cringe. I think we felt exploited. We were paid very little, treated like servants and laughed at in school. It was hard work.not very satisfying and my domestic goddess tendencies were most probably stunted there and then. So that’s ok. I can blame the church.