A Recruitment Christmas Carol
17 December 2015
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when a very peculiar thing happened to me. Some may read this tale and think that it’s pure fabrication, others are aware of my Munchausen Syndrome and know better. Either way, back to my tale…..
A man came to my office in quite a frenzy. He was in quite some distress but very upbeat and coherent. After offering him a warm mug of mulled wine, he sat down to tell me his story that seemed vaguely familiar. His name was Tim and warned me that his story really happened.
He told me how the night before, he had been at a local drinking establishment with friends of his, to celebrate the upcoming festivities. They rejoiced late into the night before he headed home. As he approached his door, a booming voice rang out and he was told of how he would receive three visits over the next 24 hours. Spooked by the disembodied voice, Tim hurried into his house. If only he had stayed a while longer, he would have realised it was his neighbour telling him of 3 deliveries from Amazon were arriving the next day, between the hours of 7 to 1 pm or 2 to 8 pm and to wait in.
But that was unimportant. Maybe it was having watched A Christmas Carol once too often as a child, or the alcohol running through his veins, Tim was convinced that he would be visited by 3 visions during the night.
As soon as he entered his room, he switched on his iPad and was greeted by a message on Facebook. It was one of those horrible reminders of how good (and thinner) they looked from years ago. Facebook was showing him pictures of Christmas’ past. He flicked through the images of him and his friends that he had been with just an hour before. He smiled as he remembered how they all started together in that call centre. The laughs, the hi-jinx – they didn’t have a lot of money, but they were alive. The future was ahead of them. He told me he stared at the pictures for several minutes before falling asleep in his armchair.
When Tim woke, he found that he had been copied in on a group message from his friends to each other, wishing them well on their impending job interviews. Although he had scoffed at their audacity of going for promotions and jobs beyond their capabilities, he really did wish them well. He signed off for the night and went to bed, having posted on the Eve of Christmas Eve present.
He drifted off into a deep sleep and driven on by the discussions, drink and social media, started to dream of the future. Stood in front of him was a hooded figure who reached out its bony hand. He took it and began to fly through the air. He was taken to a place he knew. A Travelodge on the ring road outside of town. As he floated to the ground, he noticed people heading in through the shabby reception. People he recognised but who were now much older. As he followed them into the conference room, he could see himself sitting at the top table, as the guest of honour.
Next to him, was the apprentice that had recently been taken on at his company, who proceeded to pick up his microphone.
“Welcome one and all to this celebration, of the career of Tim who retires on this Christmas Eve, after 40 years with our company. As the Managing Director of the firm, I personally want to thank Tim for never rocking the boat during his years of service. He stayed in his role for his whole career, even when others came and went. All the best Tim – I would like to present you with this faux gold watch”.
Tim felt deflated and looked around the room and spotted the faces of colleagues who were all his peers in the present but were now his line managers.
The hooded figure, started to lead him away and they flew to a large house in the country. He peered in through the window to see his friends from the pub, all now considerably older, sitting around an extravagant tree, drinking expensive brandy. They talked about how they were investing their annual bonuses this year and what had ever happened to poor Tim. Poor Tim, he felt so tiny.
The hooded figure once again whisked him away, this time to a graveyard. Tim was so afraid, but he approached a tombstone as directed and read it out aloud. “Tiny Tims Ambition – died in 2015”
Tim screamed. “I don’t want to see anymore – please take me home” he said, and with that he awoke with a fright. He looked at his watch and it was 8am and the morning light was just beginning to break through. He jumped and cheered “It’s not too late – I still have time!”.
Which leads us back to the beginning of this tale.
Tim came in this morning, with his CV in hand. The Tim that he described to me in the story is no more and he has seen his own potential. He knows that it us time to grab his future by the Christmas Baubles and find that next chapter of his career. He doesn’t want to have the same year that he has had this year ever again. He wants bigger and better for himself.
So as I said goodbye to Tim, I thought of all the others who could learn a lot from this Christmas yarn. Some of you won’t believe that it happened. Others won’t care. Many might be contacting Dickens estate for plagiarism. But not me. I will be encouraging the next Tim that comes my way to fulfil their potential in 2016.
Merry Christmas everyone!
Written By Adam Davey