I remember my first proper job interview like it was yesterday – mainly because I somehow got the job despite having no experience as a receptionist.
I was 17 and didn’t want to go to university. I wanted to be an actress or a copywriter and needed to get started now.
The receptionist job was a way in. I offered the MD, Dick Young (real name), my first week of services free so I could get know the horrifyingly complicated phone system. The console was about the size of a washing machine.
Getting my first pay packet officially meant I could look after myself. I’d been working odd jobs for as long I can remember: stock-taking at the health food shop next to my mum’s boutique in Sheffield, working on the joke shop stand at the Burghley Horse Trials selling fake dog turds – which I found hilarious. I loved the thrill of the sale and interacting with people.
This was different. It was 1987 and I was a grown up, with a salaried job at an advertising agency.
