Job hunting is a strange experience. The whole idea is that we don our finery and present the possible version of ourselves as though we're cattle at a marketplace, suggesting that any employer will be left wondering just how they managed to run a business without us for as long as they had  

Sady, the reality is that, by the time we make it to an interview, we end up a stammering mess, unable to article the devilishly witty responses we'd been preparing for days 

I say we - it's quite possible that it's just me that ends up that way 

Whatever - that's not important right now. However, maybe it's time to discuss some of the disastrous attempts that I've made at finding work in the past.

One of my personal 'favourites', if that's the right word to use, was the tale of the incorrect attachment. After having some friends over for a handful of sweet sherries one evening in my teenage years, it's possible that sensible levels of alcohol consumption were reached and breached 

That was certainly true for one of our number, who dozed off on sofa holding a banana for reasons that, to this day, I am unable to fathom. Naturally, we responded to this in the sensible and mature manner that young men in their early days would - we removed the aforementioned fruit from his person, placed him in a safe position, and allowed him to sleep the sleep of the just - clearly the unfortunate soul needed some rest 

Certainly, under no circumstances, did we do anything childish like draw all over his face, position the banana in his groin, and take photos to email to everybody he knew. That would just be silly and potentially embarrassing for the poor devil 

Anyway, fast forward to the end of the evening when my friends had departed, and my slightly pickled mind had already turned to the inevitable sickie I'd be throwing the next morning to deal with my hangover (look, this was a long time ago, I no longer indulge in such practices - and not just because I am now self-employed, and even genuine illness is an expensive business!) 

Another reason for my impending day off, however, was the fact that I really didn't enjoy my job. As in, actively hated it  

So, of course, I decided this was the perfect time to look for a new one online. I found something that looked great, and penned what was actually a fantastic cover letter. 
And I mean that - not a passable impression of being sober, but a genuinely impressive well-written missive about how I would be the model employee I was particularly proud of my line that mentioned something along the lines of, "although I am aware that you consider me to be young and lacking in experience, I would like to assure you that I am a dedicated and mature individual."

It's OK, you can say it - you're impressed, and you'd hire me  

That is, unless... unless I clicked the wrong button when attempting to attach my CV, instead furnishing them with - you guessed it - a photo of a teenage male with pen all over his face, clutching a banana so that it looked phallic   of course, I didn't notice this error until the morning when I checked my sent items with the trepidation that only a hungover teen can muster.

I didn't get the job 

There have also been various misadventures at interviews, too. There was the time I spent a week prepping and researching before I turned up at the wrong office and almost had a full-on argument with the receptionist of the company whose premises I was within, not realising that there was a difference between the company I thought I was meeting and the one who I have visited - who had the same name, but with the addition of the word London 

I didn't get the job 

There was the interview where, in reaching across the desk to shake hands with the interviewer, I spilled a jug of water all over his laptop 

I didn't get the job 

There was the time that I made it to a second interview, only to meet with the HR department and respond to her comment of, "short but sweet" with, "oh, go on then, let's be naughty!" 

I had misheard her as, "would you like a sweet?", and responded a way that would probably land me in court in today's climate 

I hurriedly attempted to explain myself, but quite rightly she looked at me blankly and asked, "why would I be offering you a sweet?" 

The best I could offer was a nervous laugh and, "well, at least it wasn't a Brandy!" 

I didn't get the job 

And, of course, there was the time that I had nailed an interview (at least I thought so) and was in a fantastic mood. So much so that, inexplicably, I decided to burst into song in the bathroom afterwards with a cheerful rendition of Cliff Richard's Summer Holiday. I was building a crescendo of do-doo-do-doo-do-deee-dooo! while washing my hands when the guy that interviewed me walked in, looked quizzical and embarrassed, then walked out again.

I didn't get the job

As I said, I'm self-employed now. Maybe that's for the best.