How to Get Ahead in Television (2 page)

STEP 2 – LEARN TO DEAL WITH REJECTION

TO:
<
[email protected]
>

FROM:
<
[email protected]
>

SUBJECT:
Re: Poppy's CV

Dear Poppy

Thank you for your interest in Planet 29. Unfortunately we do not have any suitable vacancies at the moment. However, we will keep your CV on file and contact you if any suitable positions arise in the future.

Yours

Derek Myers

Human Resources

Planet 29 Television

‘N
AT, I DON'T
know how much longer I can hold my parents off. I got my twenty-first rejection email this morning, and that's just the companies who replied. Most of them don't even acknowledge I've sent them anything.' I sat in my room twiddling the phone cord.

‘Nightmare,' Nat sympathized.

‘Who knew getting a job after uni would be so difficult?'

‘I know, and you did all that work experience last summer, way more than the rest of us lazy gits got around to.'

‘How's London? I might have to invent an interview next week just so I can come and see you. Being stuck in the country with my parents is driving me crazy.'

‘Poor Penfold,' said Nat. ‘I have to say, if I'm thankful to my parents for anything, it's having a house in London. Why not come and stay for the weekend?'

‘Oh god I'd love to, but you know I've got to work everything around my chambermaid shifts.'

‘I can't believe you're still doing that! Hideous.'

‘I had to change a bed with a used condom in it yesterday. It's beyond disgusting.'

‘Ugh!'

‘Poppy, are you still on the phone? I need to call Peter about my climbing lesson,' my mother's voice chimed onto the line.

‘Hello, Mrs Penfold!' Natalie chirped.

‘Oh hello, Natalie, dear. How are you?'

My mum loves Natalie.

‘Mum, I'm having a private conversation! I've asked you not to just pick up the phone like that.'

‘Natalie doesn't mind, do you, dear?'

Natalie disloyally mumbled something about not minding at all.

‘I mean, I don't want to hurry you girls and your chinny-wagging, but I must catch Peter before he heads to the climbing wall. I can't make the class tonight and I want to check I'm not missing something crucial.'

‘Not a problem, Mrs P.' Natalie was doing her ‘parent voice'. I hated that voice. ‘Poppy, I'll speak to you soon. Bye!'

I put down the receiver. I wasn't even going to let myself have another argument with Mum about picking up the phone to see if I was on it, or her use of the phrase ‘chinny-wagging' with anyone other than Dad. I paced the room restlessly. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I stopped in front of it, not impressed by what I saw. My usually blonde, wavy shoulder-length hair hung limply around my ears, and my
fair, lightly freckled skin looked uncharacteristically grey. Even my best features, my large brown eyes, were starting to look sunken and tired. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, hoping it would improve matters. It didn't.

Living at home was not good for me. I needed to wash my hair, do some exercise and stop eating my mother's fattening 1970s puddings. I had been slim at university, and although I always seemed to retain a small waist, I was now definitely verging into ‘curvy' territory everywhere else.

I padded down to the kitchen restlessly. I had two hours before I had to leave for work at the pub. I could go for a run… Well, a walk at least. I looked at Maddy hopefully, but she rolled over, begging me not to drag her out into the rain.

STEP 3 – SEIZE EVERY OPPORTUNITY, HOWEVER SMALL

TO
: <
[email protected]
>

FROM
: <
[email protected]
>

SUBJECT
: RealiTV

Dear Poppy

Thank you for your CV. We do actually have an opportunity that we are currently interviewing for. We offer a three-month runner's placement, which allows people new to the industry to obtain experience on a whole range of productions. There's potential to gain a year-long contract at the end of the placement.

Please get back to me if you are interested in coming in for an interview.

Best wishes

Dominic Green

Office Manager

RealiTV

Because a real workforce makes real TV!

T
HIS WAS IT
. I could tell this was it: my opening, my big chance, my foot in the door. Not only did it sound like just the opportunity I'd been waiting for, but it was with RealiTV – one of the biggest production companies out there. I quickly
replied to Dominic and we arranged an interview for the following week. I wondered how many other people were being asked for interview. Who would be my competition?

‘Dress for the job you want, not the job you have,' said my father over dinner.

‘Well, she's not going to go to the interview dressed for the job she has, is she, Dad?' My younger sister, Clemmie, grinned. ‘Otherwise she'd be turning up in a chambermaid outfit.'

‘Thanks for reminding me, Clem,' I said, picking at my plate of shepherd's pie.

Clemmie twiddled a chocolate-coloured curl between a thumb and forefinger. I don't know how I was related to my sister; while I was five foot five with blonde hair, she was five foot eleven with the most amazing head of cascading brown curls. At school she'd been teased mercilessly about her height and her ‘electric-shock hair', but nowadays all I seemed to hear from people was: ‘Wow, your sister's hair is amazing. How come you don't have hair like that?'

‘I'm just saying, it never hurt anyone to dress smartly,' said Dad. ‘Smartness is next to godliness.'

‘No, that's cleanliness,' I said. ‘Has someone bought you and Mum a bumper book of clichés or something?'

‘Poppy, your father is only trying to help,' said Mum, handing me the peas to pass around. ‘Even if it is just a runner job, you might as well give it a hundred and ten per cent.'

‘Seriously, the clichés,' I said. ‘Where are they coming from? I have never once heard Mum use the phrase “give it a hundred and ten per cent” before.'

‘They've started getting into
X Facto
r,
'
Clemmie explained. ‘Mum's got a crush on Louis Walsh.'

‘Now there's a show it might be fun to work on, Poppy,' Mum said. ‘Maybe you could try that? There's an open audition in Exeter next week, you know?'

‘Mum, I don't think that's how it works. The audition is
for people who want to be
on
the show, not people who want to
work
on it.'

‘No, but Louis Walsh would be there, so you could give him your CV. I'll come with you, if you like? He seems awfully nice, such a cheerful chap.'

‘I think I'll just see how this interview goes first, thanks all the same, Mum.'

STEP 4 – DRESS FOR THE JOB YOU WANT

I
GOT THE
train to London on one of the hottest days of the year. I'd opted to dress smartly on my father's advice, in a pencil skirt, shirt and blazer. I'd blow-dried my hair and put make-up on, so was feeling more like my old self again, ready to tackle anything this interview could throw at me. By the time I'd navigated the torturously hot Tube to Tottenham Court Road, I was beginning to regret my outfit choice. I was sticky with sweat as I tottered in unfamiliar heels through the crowds on Oxford Street to the address in Soho Square.

The RealiTV reception looked like a futuristic space station. There were white blobs of plastic everywhere. (I wasn't sure if these were tables, chairs or works of art, so decided it was best not to sit down.) A line of television sets embedded into white blobs on the wall played various RealiTV shows on mute. I recognized
Can Your Dog Do Your Job?
and realized I'd already seen that episode – it was the one where a Labrador gets to be a nurse. The dog looked really cute all dressed up in scrubs. I wondered if Maddy could be persuaded to wear scrubs?

‘Can I help you?'

A clipped voice pulled my attention from the TV screen. The receptionist, a platinum blonde with dark-rimmed glasses, cocked her head at me.

‘Yes, sorry, I'm a bit early; I'm here to see Dominic Green.'

‘What's your name?'

‘Poppy, Poppy Penfold, I'm here for an interview.'

The girl flashed me an insincere smile. ‘Well, good luck with that. Take a seat.'

The only possible chairs were the white blobby things, so I deduced they must be seats and perched carefully on the corner of the sturdiest-looking one.

Several minutes went by and I realized my shirt was soaking with sweat, visibly so. In fact, I think it had started to turn see-through. People walking through reception were all wearing casual clothes; one man was even wearing board shorts and flip flops. Evidently I'd totally overdressed. Should I put my blazer back on and look like I'd come for an accountancy position, or risk Dominic noticing my shirt had gone see-through and that I was wearing a bra with penguins on it?

‘You can go through now,' said the receptionist. ‘Back there on the right.'

She pointed behind her without even looking up. I reluctantly tugged on my blazer, wiped my face with the back of my hand (which came away with an ominously colourful array of make-up on it) and followed her directions.

Dominic Green's office was the size of a ping-pong table. There was a small desk, behind which sat a short, balding man wearing a green polo shirt, his face positioned dangerously close to a small desk fan.

‘Have a seat,' he said, without looking up.

Where? There were no chairs in the office, only a very low pouffe, which looked more like a footstool. If I sat on that in this skirt, I would never get out of it. But no other options presented themselves so I balanced myself and peered up at Dominic like a small child.

‘So why do you want to work in TV?' said Dominic, tearing himself away from the desk fan.

‘Er…'

Damn it! I'd done all this research on the economic history
of the company to wow them with and I hadn't prepared an answer to the most obvious question possible. Damn my father and his mock interview that focused almost entirely on stock prices.

‘Er… Well, I'm a… er… really creative person, and TV is really creative, so like, I'd like the chance to have my creativity shine through.'

I cringed at the ineptitude of my answer and sank deeper into the pouffe. I was now basically squatting on the floor, my eyes level with Dominic's inner thighs beneath his desk.

‘Right, and you do realize that being a runner will be quite mundane, lots of making coffee and photocopying scripts? I see from your CV that you have a history degree; you don't think a job like this will be too boring for you?'

‘No, no, I love mundaneness, I love it! It's great, I mean, simple, relaxing mundanity is just what I'm looking for. I know I have a degree, but I'm not really that clever, you know, I mean, don't put me down as a great intellectual or anything – they'll give a monkey a degree nowadays, won't they?'

‘Will they?'

‘I'm not sure.'

‘I see.' Dominic wrote something down on a notepad.

Why was I talking about monkeys getting degrees?

‘So, where do you hope to end up? If we were to give you this placement and allow you the chance to try and move up into Production, what area of TV would you like to work in?' Dominic asked.

‘Well, I'd like to do something creative… I'm really very creative. Maybe write, I suppose, or just create something, maybe?'

Why couldn't I think of any word other than ‘creative'? My head was throbbing with heat, my mouth had turned to sandpaper; I was being interviewed in a sauna while squatting in a stress position – my very own Guantanámo.

‘Right, Poppy, well…' Dominic looked ready to dismiss me.

‘Look.' I tried a last-ditch attempt at honesty. ‘I love TV. I
spent all of last summer doing work experience for Divaah Productions, so I know what's involved. I'm used to working hard. I realize it will be basic work and low pay and early mornings and late nights and all that. It's what I've always wanted to do. Always.'

I pleaded with my eyes. I usually wasn't bad at interviews, but feeling like a human hotdog had really thrown me off.

‘It's been lovely to meet you, Poppy. We'll be in touch.'

Dominic turned back to his desk fan.

Was the interview over already? My god, what had I been blabbering on about – degrees for monkeys and constant use of the word ‘creative'?

At that moment, with my cue to get up and scarper with my creative tail between my creative little legs, I realized I was stuck to the pouffe. My skirt had hitched up and my sweaty legs had melded to the plastic material in a disconcerting manner and I really couldn't un-stick them. Solution: keep talking and hope the problem would resolve itself.

‘So, Dominic? How long have you worked here yourself?'

‘Um… about six years now. Shall I show you out?'

‘And has the company changed a lot since then?'

‘Well, it was only formed about a year before I arrived, so yes, it was a lot smaller.'

My sticky situation was gradually resolving itself… Just a little more pressure here, and a foothold there…

‘Right, well…' Dominic was holding open the door for me, probably wondering why I was still squatting on the floor.

‘So are you married?' I asked.

‘Excuse me?'

Oh dear, that wasn't the sort of chitchat you should use in an interview, was it?

‘I mean, er, well, I'm not married. Did you need to make a note of that?'

With a final surge of effort, I was finally free from the evil pouffe's clutches, but was now lunging towards Dominic in a most undignified manner as I propelled myself upwards.

‘Sorry! Difficult pouffe!' I said, grabbing his arm to steady myself and trying to explain my unexpected surge.

Dominic looked at me strangely.

‘No, no, not
you
“difficult poof”, just this chair here. I didn't mean that
you
were… God, I don't even think you're gay! Not in the slightest. Not that I was asking if you were married for
me
, no, no, you're far too old for me… Not that you're
old
, as such. I mean, you can't be more than, what? Thirty-nine?'

‘Thirty-seven.'

‘Ah. Well, very nice to meet you, Dominic. I'll see myself out.'