London Job Hunt, Day 1

So today, I endeavored to apply for a job a trendy vintage store I have been frequently patronizing for the last two years. It has a regular turnover of staff and garments spread over a variety of locations and only two shops actually receive/price clothes. I had spoken to a staff member, obtained a number for the office, and called them this morning. I confess to anticipating a reasonable level of bitchiness – I've watched too many episodes of Project Runway to expect anything less. But good lord! Nothing prepared me for Fashion Geezer. His list of offences:

• Answering the phone with "Hello" and then responding to my inquiry if I had reached the right number with, "Is this about a job?" Too bad I'm not assessing his people skills. (Quick aside: why is it somehow okay to be horribly rude/dismissive to potential employees who you expect to treat your customers with respect, courtesy and charm if hired? It's like kicking a dog repeatedly and then asking it to allow small children to dress it nonstop for five hours.)
  
• Asking a variety of fashion related questions (fair enough), some of which I honestly didn't know the answer to, some I did, and others which I was unable to answer because I couldn't understand what he was saying.
  
• His flagrant assertion that I was not a permanent resident. A: How do you know? B: What does it matter if I have a work permit? C: Discriminate much?
  
• This situation (which I acknowledge is not really his fault and is part of a larger problem w/British/American English). Fashion Geezer (Dude or Boy would sound better but I could tell by his voice he had to be over 60) asked me if I knew what di-voor-ray is. I reproduce his pronunciation phonetically. I tried to google it, thinking it would be something like this: devouré or devouree. No. It's devore. How do you get di-voor-ray out of that? And do you know what it is? It's flocking – thick pile fabric (like velvet) with the thick bits burnt off to make a pattern. I owned an entire, full-length dress of it in 1998. Why do the English, who historically detest the French, adopt and then mangle/mispronounce French words that are completely inscrutable to any non-Brit who may have the misfortune to encounter them? Keep the accentual marks or change the pronunciation, but doing neither is ridiculous!
  
• When I replied after the devore-fiasco that no, I didn't have a fashion degree (despite costume experience and good knowledge of periods from theatre), but that I had a good eye and was a quick learner, attributes their website requests, he then told me it doesn't say that (it does, really – I double-checked after I got off the phone, just in case I'd read it wrong) and refused to speak to me any longer.
  
• Second Man, who I spoke to next, booked me to come in for an appointment, but I realized when he hung up the phone that he hadn't actually told me to which of the company's various locations I should report.
  

All of this is highly disturbing on several levels. First off, I have never received any manner of advice whatsoever (or indeed any conversation beyond "Do you want me to open the case for you") from anyone in these shops (and I have been to all of them) so I question that anyone beyond the admittedly savvy girls who receive and price things has encyclopedic knowledge of the entire contents of the inventory. Mostly, they put things on hangers, keep an eye out for thieves and ring people up. I can do that. I can also wear interesting clothes that give people ideas and inspire them to buy stuff, and I can make pleasant conversation and suggest things they might like to try. Surely this is more useful than slouching behind the counter glaring at all and sundry while mentally reciting an alphabetized list of British designers from Ashley, Laura to Westwood, Vivienne?

Rest of the day spent sending out C.V. to hopefully less vitriolic destinations. Dear God.