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Legal + General

From:     Dave Death
Category: Art
Date:     21 August 2006
Time:     05:08 AM

Review:

My temp agency put me into a six week booking in the property department at Legal & General to do 
mail-merge work, i.e. sending out lots of form letters to addresses in a database.  I know how to do 
this but swotted up the night before, printing out a guide to it.  

Arriving there, led along a warren of corridors, I found it a terribly grey lifeless place, with nobody 
under 40 even amongst the support staff, and chirpy young girls from Essex - who are the main 
delight of most City firms - conspicious by their absence.  It was explained to me that half my work 
would be filing, since they file everything, including print-outs of every email.  Without a good 
knowledge of which shopping centre is held in which fund, it is very arcane and hard to follow.  

The offices were entirely open plan.  I was introduced to a succession of weary, soon-forgotten faces 
at whose beck and call I would be, since it seemed every secretary was on leave or had been 
hospitalised.  
 
I remarked to the person sat next to me that I had read up on mail-merge the night before, since 
although I knew how to do it, it had never been the main focus of my job.
 
Ten minutes later, by which time it was 10.25am and I'd yet to get on to a computer, my log-on code 
having not been set up, the bald rotund bore opposite - from whose earlier handshake I had yet to 
recover - asked if he could have a word.  He explained he had heard me say I'd had to read up on 
mail merge, and he therefore felt I was not suitable for the job.  He had phoned my agency.  I was 
angry and astounded - I'd spent £85 on a weekly railcard, I thought preparing for a job was a good 
thing; I have advanced Word skills.  Did that mean he wanted me to leave immediately?  Yes.  
 
So by half past ten, I'm out on the street, back amongst the light and the living.  A block on, I started to 
laugh at the unfairness of it all, at the place, and what a fortunate escape I'd had.  It astounds me that 
people spend so much of their lives working in offices like this, doing things like writing letters about 
lease renewals to stores in suburban shopping centres.  Why aren't they screaming?


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