Day One (Pages from the Motivational Handbook)

It was a wretched feeling. I approached the department store with a grimace of misunderstanding. This place just shouldn't exist, should it? The doors slid open and I entered a world of calm, piped-in music and half-price linen shirts. I followed the signs to the Customer Service Desk, as per my instructions, and waited with the other newbies, all nervously chattering and trying to impose their personalities on the group.

Eventually we were led to the staff canteen, which is not called the staff canteen. It's called "Refresh" and looks identical to the shop. There is no escape from the branding. We sat, the others introducing themselves, me looking around in absolute horror. It seems that old posters and advertising materials had been used to decorate the walls of the staff canteen, and other, established members of staff sat amongst them, reading copies of the Daily Mail and masticating.

We were then herded to another room, where we sat in rows of chairs facing a huge window. Outside the window I could see the slates on the opposite roof, each with a little nail holding it in place. "Calm down," I told myself. "There'll be plenty of time to count them later."
So we began our training. First we were told how good The Company was to work for, how well The Company treats its staff, how bloody marvellous the uniform of The Company is. There were two people shovelling this garbage. The first one, the one that led us from the shopfloor to the canteen to the training room, was a little, mumsy looking woman, who would probably describe herself as "bubbly". "I love my job," she declared early on. Without irony. Or shame. The second was an aging man who fancied himself as a stand-up comic and was relentless in pursuit of a laugh.

"We'll introduce ourselves," he said after he had told us all his name. "But we'll do it in a fun way." We were then made to write down our most memorable moment, our most embarrassing moment and the first record we bought. This was evidently to remove the last lingering taste of dignity from our mouths. I made up my answers, but some people showed an ill-advised honesty. The day continued in a similar way to this first exercise, a particular low point was when we were all made to chant the word "enthusiasm" over and over again. My fellow newbies joined in lustfully, as if their wages were set for a rise if they could somehow prove their enthusiasm. I looked around, shamed and silent.

The day was taken up by the people training us trying to make jokes and little end-of-the-pier skits. They were lamentably bad - one instance a penis was compared to a sausage. Surprisingly this got a laugh from the assembled people. I crawled up my own asshole ever further.

The hours ticked by slowly, and each training exercise was informed by the hideous nature of the business book. The ones with titles such as "FISH!" or "MONKEYS WITH CARKEYS!" Managers of big business somehow think that patronising and belittling with cartoons and simplified (pathetic) metaphors about animals and cheese is the way to treat a human being. There's no surer way of making an individual feel broken. And therein lies the rub.

Our uniforms were then issued. I am now sitting, getting quietly drunk, wearing the uniform. Name badge and all. It's not very comfortable. I can smell the blood of Chinese children on it. But somehow it is the most real thing of the day. I have to go back to that place tomorrow. But I feel sufficiently broken that it will not impact upon my mind or body. Although, the bag containing the uniform also contained a pair of gloves. I dread to think...