Now that I am on the verge of returning to normality, or at least a distant relation of it, I am able to direct my blogs away from what lies within these razor wire-ringed walls and towards more relevant issues that concern a newly released convict. Like employment. OK, so employment might not matter to most newly released cons, with drugs, drink and bumping off the bloke who’s been shagging their wife for the past nine months taking priority, but it matters to me. Not because I am worried about getting a job, but because I am relishing it. I enjoy a challenge, and while I don’t anticipate the work itself being physically or mentally challenging, the application process should prove to be a Sisyphean task. I’m like a sex fiend who spends hours planning the abduction, only to lose interest once his subject is duct taped in the boot of his car. Sure, he might have intended to take her to a secluded spot and do bad things to her, but the thrill of the abduction has caused him to spunk his load prematurely and the desire has dissipated. I couldn’t give a damn about the job itself; I’m only interested in the application process. Don’t get me wrong, if someone offers me a job I’ll grab it with both hands and sexually interfere with it, but I have a feeling I won’t be reaching first base. In fact I won’t even be getting off the home plate. You see, I may look, talk and work like a normal guy, but from an employer’s perspective, I’m a freak of nature, an abnormal guy, a leper obliged to walk about ringing a bell and shouting ‘Unclean! Unclean!’ My curse, that I will carry with me to my grave or until it is automatically commuted in seven years time (whichever comes first) is that I am a criminal.
Or at least I was a criminal. And because I once was a criminal, I am assumed to still be one. It’s all very well to talk about letting bygones be bygones and turning over a new leaf, but for me there is no escaping my past, no matter how reformed a character I may be, because they won’t let me. They being the government and any businesses that may be contemplating hiring me. Such contemplation will be swiftly curtailed the moment they realise I have a criminal record and am thus damaged goods. Most men, in the face of such insurmountable odds, would admit defeat and sign on or go shoplifting. Not me. I’m going to find a job if it kills me and everyone around me and what’s more I’m going to do so honestly, by declaring my convictions when prompted to do so. It’s not that I’m against telling the odd little white lie (I am a perjurer after all), but I see it as a challenge to obtain a job in spite of the handicap that being an ex-con entails. In the long term, I don’t even need a job, for once my tag is removed I intend to relaunch my band rehearsal studio, while in the meantime I have plenty of literary projects to pursue. Nevertheless, I have decided to set out on a quest for gainful employment if not for my sake then for the sake of my readers. Which is why I am hereby commencing an ongoing project in The Trash Whore Diaries to document my fruitless attempts at finding a job. Admittedly, it makes no difference to you whether I earn £0 a week or £500 a week, but you may be interested in hearing about the haughty rejection letters, the unreturned fone calls and the interviews that are terminated as soon as my turpitude comes to light. I intend to blog the lot and I intend to enjoy it. The job application process may be torturous but that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun writing about it.
If my theory is correct, no one is going to want to employ me because of my criminal record. ‘So?’ you may say. ‘Should have thought of that before you went perjuring and dealing cannabis.’ And you’ve got a point, but it is a moot point. What’s done is done and my life is now starting afresh at year zero. Zero cash and zero chance of earning any legitimately. All I’ve got to counter my criminal record is my dazzling wit and dashing good looks. But will they be enough? During the course of my ongoing employment project, I intend to discover if it is possible for a man in my position to find a proper job (i.e. one that doesn’t involve sweeping chips off the floor of McDonalds) without lying through his teeth on the application form. In theory I should be pretty employable. After all, I’m intelligent (although I hide it well sometimes), articulate, industrious and blessed with a university degree. In fact I’m willing to bet I could do a better job than the vast majority – if not all – of my fellow applicants. That might sound cocky, but that’s how confident I am in my own abilities. But as we have established, there is just one stumbling block: my criminal record. The thing is, I am not actually ashamed to have a record. I certainly don’t wear it as a badge of honour the way neds flaunt their ASBOs, but I don’t see it as something I need to hide from.
Unfortunately, the rest of society aren’t so enamoured with my nefarious achievements. To them, it is a case of once a criminal always a criminal, and they may be right, but unless they give me a chance we’ll never know. Although I’ve done plenty of things in my life that I’ve come to regret, I don’t really feel remorse for my crimes. Sure, I wish I hadn’t gotten convicted of perjury but my only regret is to have gotten caught. I would love to tell you that I have found God (he was down the back of the sofa) and repented of my sins but I would be lying. Again. And as for the drug dealing conviction, well, of course I don’t regret it. It was the best job I ever had and I loved every minute of it. Some people spend their whole lives endeavouring never to put a foot wrong or miss a bill payment that might affect their credit rating and blemish their goody two-shoes existence. Me, I want to have the worst credit rating possible. I want to be black and blue listed, with my mugshot behind the counter of every high street bank with the warning ‘Do not give this guy credit on pain of death.’ I want to die owing everything to everyone and have the debt collectors and the bailiffs fighting for my internal organs to flog on the Chinese black market. Similarly, when it comes to crime, I don’t want to have the longest rap sheet or be the most notorious gangster, but if I find myself with a conviction to my name, I’m not going to shy away from it.
In my decision to ‘go straight’ and live a relatively honest life, however, I am genuine. Thus, given that I am willing and well qualified, I should be working instead of scrounging benefits off the government. But will I be allowed to? This will be the theme of The Jobby Project, my ongoing mission to find a legitimate jobby, to be documented in The Trash Whore Diaries. I expect to be rejected, by judgmental bosses and supercilious human resources managers, but I can take it. I’m used to rejection, having previously had my sperm rejected by the sperm donation clinic (the tadpole count was deemed ‘borderline’) and been spurned by girls and their canine pets on countless occasions. All of whom, by a curious twist of fate, are now dead. Despite the obstacles that lie in my way, I intend to doggedly pursue The Jobby Project until I succeed.
Sometimes, as long-time readers of this weblog will know, I can be pretty stubborn. Like when I submitted a coursework on the subject of oral sex that was deemed to be offensive by my tutor, and then fought the university all the way until they overturned the disciplinary action they had brought against me. When it comes to seeking employment, I intend to be equally stubborn. Although I intend to have a laugh applying - and subsequently being rejected - for a vast array of jobs and documenting the comical excuses I receive for being rebuffed, there is also a serious theme to my project. You see, if it turns out that it is impossible for me to find employment in anything but the most menial of industries, what hope does that present for the thousands of other convicts who are released every year? After all, you don’t have to like them or the offences they have committed to recognise that they are deemed to have served their time and paid off their debt to society. That is why they are being released back into the real world and afforded the same rights as every other British citizen. I have a sneaky feeling however that the system is heavily stacked against ex-cons and that one of the reasons why many of them resort to selling drugs, fencing goods and pimping hos is because there is no other work for them. And thus the cycle of reoffending begins. The offences I have been convicted of were not deemed serious enough to warrant a long-term prison sentence and I have no convictions for violent crimes or a history of drug addiction. In theory, I should be an ideal candidate for being rehabilitated back into society, a stunning success for the First Minister to wheel out, à la Alex from A Clockwork Orange, to prove that the system works. However, I suspects the odds are heavily stacked against me. In fact I suspect that every job application I fill in which I am required to declare my criminal convictions will result in a refusal. However, I intend to doggedly pursue this project for as long as it takes to find a proper job or until I am so broke I am reduced to selling smack just to feed my family. By that stage, at least I can honestly say I’ve exhausted all other options and can proceed to dealing Class A’s with a clear conscience. In my quest to become an honest workingman, I intend to observe the following rules:

1. When asked to declare any criminal convictions, I will do so honestly and frankly.
2. I will otherwise do nothing that might draw attention to my criminal past or lessen my chances of being employed.
3. Aside from declaring my criminal convictions, I will do everything possible to present myself in the best possible light (without lying) and will endeavour to obtain employment.
4. Unless prompted, I shan’t mention that I am electronically tagged, and thus obliged to maintain a curfew.
5. When the inevitable letters of rejection arrive, I will take failure with a smile, blog it and then keep on job hunting.
6. If I make it as far as an interview only to be rejected by a smug, condemnatory human resources manager on account of my criminal record, I will refrain from karate kicking them back into the Stone Age and leaving a lasting impression of my electronic tag on their forehead.

And that’s it: my six rules of application. Will employers overcome their prejudices and give me a chance? Or will the stigma attached to ex-convicts see me drowned under the weight of a thousand rejection letters? We’ll find out tomorrow in the first instalment of The Jobby Project. You know, it takes seven years for a criminal conviction to be deemed spent, and thus not declarable on a job application. What’s the betting, seven years from now, I’ll still be running this feature, still unemployed and still unemployable? Now there’s a scary thought. If you thought my prison blogs were repetitive, brace yourself for a shock. This Jobby Project’s gonna run and run.