The Interview and First Job

MY STRONGEST memory of the summer of 1974 was not the Doolin Folk Festival but cooking fat! Now I know it is a stretch from the fields of West Clare to cooking fat but there we are.

That summer, Leaving Cert finished and with no idea of what I might do - apart from a vague thought of going to Kathmandu to find myself - I thought I might try hotel management and got a summer job in the kitchen of the local hotel.

Two weeks in, the Brochure from the Shannon School of Hotel Management arrived, pages of what utensils I would need to buy and bring to the course and my interest in hotel management cooled off fast.

My summer job definition was ‘commis chief ' but in reality, this meant manning the fat frier and producing chips for lunch, dinner, yep, and even sometimes breakfast! Now making chips is an art, but fat friers are like cantankerous old men, they spit a lot, so by the end of most days I was covered in a nice thick coat of chip fat.

Despite my best efforts, showers, hair scrubbing, generous application of Brut aftershave, I stunk. I became known as ‘can I have salt and vinegar with that'.

So, August came, and the Leaving Certificate results came out. I was not really concerned as I had no plans for college. Why waste the best years of my life in Ireland?

The results were as I expected, unspectacular, I intended to just drift along awaiting divine intervention.

And then it sort of happened, but not in the way I had expected.

My Dad, the local bank manager, and one of the gentlest and most amazing people I have ever known, walked into the kitchen early one Monday morning, looking worried.

“For God’s sake, Mike, would you at least apply for one job? Any job.

Five years in secondary school and you see a career in chip making as your future?”

THEN HE walked off shaking his head. He hesitated at the door, turned back, looked at me and told me the bank were looking for staff. He hoped I would apply.

Then from his tweed sports coat he took out an application form, looking surprised as if it had found its way into his pocket.

What could I say, very unlikely they would take me on, but if it made the ‘old man' happy, I would fill and send off the application. Three days after completing and sending in the application, Dad called me into his office.

“Joe from personnel just rang me, you have an interview tomorrow at 10.30 in their head office in Limerick. Make sure your only suit is wearable, talk to your Mum and cut your hair, at least look slightly tidy.”

So off I went in my one and only suit. I thought I was so cool, chewing my gum, just like the ‘Six Million Dollar Man', eat your heart out Lee

Majors! If I had shades, I would have worn them.

With no expectations I strolled into the head office and was brought straight to a large waiting room, where around 10 spotty looking boys in their best suits sat nervously, crossing and uncrossing legs and looking anxiously at the large clock on the wall which seemed to tick loudly.

NO SOONER than I sat down languidly my name was called and I was brought to another large grey room. Here two very serious, very old (both at least 30!) conservatively dressed gentlemen sat at a table across from me.

I clearly remember the first question.

“Why do you want to join the bank?

“I really like working with money,” I replied, I am sure the quality of my answer hugely impressed them. The questions droned on, how was my father, etc., then came the game changer.

“If you are successful at interview, would you be willing to work in London? There would be a monthly London allowance and four free flights home each year.”

Would I what! Kathmandu could wait, to be paid to work in London, why this was a dream. I bucked up my interview responses, giving two very strong handshakes and eye contact (you can trust me) and headed off to catch the train home.

By the time I got home, Dad had already received a call to say I had the job. Don’t let anyone tell you the 70’s weren't full of nepotism and who you knew!

I was due to start in a week’s time, firstly at the training department in Dublin then after two weeks fly to London to start my career in one of the bank’s branches,

Swinging London here I come. ÷