charity housing and minimum wage

It's not what you know; it's who you know. 

I know Ella and she knows another Claire and a Tim and they let us sleep in (and mess up) their lounge room in the Northern suburbs of London. We're still working on the house share thing. I've spent a few pleasantly chilly hours sitting on the doorstep because we haven't got enough keys cut. The commute into town is tedious and expensive. But damn, we have good nacho nights.

Ella and I are looking at a room in the city. Five minutes from Hyde Park and fifteen from Oxford Street. To afford it, and other good things like food, I need an income. I came to London with (just) enough in the bank for a month or so, and the hope of not spending it. Job search began week one.

Within three days I had a job. Within a week I had a second job, and a third on offer. I'd like to award all credit to the Australian accent. Here's how it went:

job one - hotel slave (ongoing)

pay per hour: £7.07

average shift length: 10 - 14 hours

hours per week: flexible (0 - 65 hours, no guarantee)

uniform cost: £100 (or more than a shift's pay)

agency management: flimsy

daily management: stern, hair slicked

shifts to date: 2
perks: weekly hours are gymnastically flexible

Hotels have a lot of corridors. They hide them away underneath the ground in a warren swarming with cranky chefs and over-worked managers and rota employees and me, the Scum of the Earth. The Agency That Shall Not Be Named hires me out on a day-to-day basis as a filler-inner for five star establishments. Like a big glob of silicone.

Dear Hotel Patron, 

Underneath your five star suite, foreigners are working fourteen hour shifts for seven pounds an hour. We smile and take your coat in the cloakroom and you look through us. We serve you neat canapés and French champagne on silver that we polished earlier to a high shine. That took two hours, but at least we could lean on the sink. Later, while you're reviewing your pillow menu, we're polishing glasses and folding napkins for the room service you'll order later, which we will bring up on another silver tray. We're being so pleasant and accommodating when we bring it because you're likely to tip us four times our hourly wage if you like the way we smile. Is there anything else we can bring you? We'll be here all night. 

Sincerely, 

The Scum 

job two - waitress (full time)

pay per hour: £6.19
average shift length: 6 - 14 hours

hours per week: 35 - 40

cost of uniform: not applicable

management: chill

shifts to date: 8
perks: there's a tipping culture here that works to my advantage

I've spent a long time flipping burgers for the dollar. I rose to the top of the burger flipping chain. In fact, I was so darn good at flipping burgers that I was asked to write the Manual on How to Flip Burgers. Also I have a degree in writing, but that seems secondary to the incredible title of Master Fryer (it's official; see the occupation section on my 2011 official Australian census form). 

A friend of a friend of a friend put me on to a diner that was hiring. It's who you know. I no longer flip burgers. Now, I serve them rare, medium, or well done to American tourists for a taste of home with a cheerful Australian twist. Theirs is a culturally confusing burger experience. 

job three - milkshake artist (offered)

pay per hour: £6.00
average shift length: uncertain due to apparently fluid opening hours

cost of uniform: not applicable

management: maximum chill

shifts to date: not applicable

perks: milkshakes. And the opportunity to say my milkshake brings all the boys, quite seriously

I've spent a lot of time since I got here at the milk bar. Aside from the delicious shakes that the staff will customise according to my bizarre moods (cinnamon thickshake with blended Flake chocolate the best to date), there's WiFi  We've basically been given the go-ahead to lounge for hours on Skype, and that's we do. The manager seems to have taken rather a shine to me -- can you blame him? -- and sat me down for a serious talk one day about going with him to the circus and becoming a member of the three-man staff. 

The other employee popped his head around the corner later and said to me, I like the way you say shit; it sounds so nice when Australians say it.

I don't know about that, but I'm now officially employed and I've concluded that the Australian reputation precedes me. With the right kind of grin any Aussie can be a Scum of the Earth, and with a bit of who-you-know, a minimum-wage waitress too.