I finished uni and couldn't get a job. You know, that old story. That old chestnut. That old water chestnut. That old chest made out of nuts.
Well, I took the first job that I was offered. The advertisement said, 'Sports Marketing.' Okay, sounds good. My degree is in Sports Management, perfect. I rocked up to my first day on the job/training day.
"What? I'm selling raffle tickets? I'm one of those guys who sits outside shopping centres and banks and sells raffle tickets? How is that Sports Marketing?"
The guy explained it to me, we sell tickets for clients such as Manly Sea Eagles and Surf Lifesavers. They are sports, and the raffle tickets are marketing. Sports Marketing.
"Oh my God!" Or "OMG!" if you're born post 1990.
The most demoralising, depressing six days of my life!
I walked into the Evening Star Hotel on the sixth afternoon of my Raffle career and bought a schooner of Pale Ale. I sat in the corner, weighing up my life. Was this where I wanted to be? Feeling like a tool, trying to sell raffle tickets for a company that celebrated hitting the quota by banging a giant gong in the meeting room? A company where high fives, not only were allowed, but feverishly encouraged and almost mandatory. Is this who I was?
"Hell no!"
Amidst the soft lighting and comfortable interiors of the Evening Star, the soft soundtrack of the pokie machines in the other room. The open plan bar, the friendly, but disinterested bar tender, the second beer in my hand, drinking alone.
I called up the "Sports Marketing" company and I quit, six days was all I could take. The following day I, out of spite, wrote a disgruntled letter to seek.com to complain about their lies involving the calling of themselves, 'sports marketing.' Their listing was taken down and it reappeared a few months later as a vague, sales and marketing role.
But who knows, were it not for the sweet calming atmosphere of the Evening Star, perhaps I'd be high fiving sales agents to this very day. read more