Do I have any right to complain about the job hunt? Who knows? Probably not. But just for fun, here's a list of the things I hate most about it.
1) Writing out my CV, ad nauseum
As far as I can tell, there are two kinds of job site. The first kind lets you upload your already-written CV, which it stores; then it sends you endless 'job alerts' for things you aren't remotely qualified for. The second kind allows you to search more accurately for jobs in your area, for your level of expertise, but you then have to apply for each of those jobs individually. This usually takes you to the official site of the employing company, which has its own special application form. And you have to type out your personal info, education and employment history ALL OVER AGAIN. Endless typing, clicking and box-ticking. Even if you have a mouse and can type properly, it's a nightmare. For someone like me, a turkey-tapper, it puts you at serious risk of RSI in your index finger.
2) The inevitable confused info-scramble
This one might just be me... At the end of each day, a well-meaning family member will ask what jobs I've applied for. But because I've been face-deep in jobs all day, the details get muddled up in my head. So I don't know whether it's Primark that wants me for weekend work, or the University of Lincoln. I forget how long the publishing internship runs for, and where it runs, and whether it's paid or voluntary. And if I can't remember the information when my Dad asks, he seems to assume I've been kicking back and watching Dickinson's Real Deal all day.
3) The prospect of going on the dole
Now that I've been looking for employment for two weeks and still no luck, Dad's been suggesting I apply for jobseeker's allowance. This will mean I get paid at last £52 per week to cover the cost of rent and so on. On one hand, I have the shame of going on the dole, accepting handouts for the foreseeable future. On the other hand, I have the shame of living in my Dad's house without paying rent and generally being a bother. Dern kids, on the computer all day, wasting my electricity...
4) The humiliation
About once a day I think, "No, the hell with retail positions. They're great to start off with, but I have a degree and I'm going to use it! I'm gonna get me a career!" Then I'm confronted with the prospect of writing a covering letter for, say, a three-month internship at a literacy agency in London. Selling myself in roughly 500 words. Make it a good 'un. Unsurprisingly, I find this difficult as, degree aside, I am hopelessly without achievement. And you can't put 'tea-making' under the skills section of your CV, it turns out.
5) No independent transport
If only I'd kept up the driving lessons... It turns out, most of the jobs I'm after require you to be a fully qualified driver, WITH access to your own vehicle. What I have is change for the bus. Or, if I'm lucky, a lift from my long-suffering stepmother who had three other kids to deal with. So many jobs I could have had by now, if only I could drive... I could have been a home carer! Maybe then, all those months of looking after a now-estranged mother with Charcot Marie Tooth would be useful in a professional capacity (not that she'd vouch for me, anyway).
So, there you go. There's my list. Now, if I could just get my novel off the ground and onto the bestseller lists, my Dad could retire and put his feet up.
N.B. This rant is intended to be humorous in nature and not a despairing cry from the depths of my very soul. I'm just dandy, Andy; you don't have to worry about me!