A few weeks ago, just before I was supposed to go and visit my first choice university for an open day, I decided to defer my place.Read More »
As I explained in my last post (which you can read here!), I’ve had to keep myself busy over the past few months, in a number of ways. And this may be the most obvious and stupid blog post ever written but, here are numerous ways that I have learnt to keep myself doing something, and not having a mental breakdown! Enjoy!Read More »
My past month, while settling back into college life and studying and getting my head round the fact that this is my last year of necessary education – ever, has been filled with one thing. UNIVERSITY.
Ah yes, the word that sends jolts of fear through everyone in education under the age of 18 in most countries across the globe. The dreaded word that means applications, open days, decisions, money, and most importantly, the future.
As this is, indeed, my last year in compulsory education – and I do plan on going to university – the beginning few months of this academic year will be filled with such terrors. (Good thing Halloween is coming up, I’ll just go as a UCAS application…) I have already began my application, put down my choices (though who actually knows if they are the right choices for me. We’ll find out in a few years.) and am currently in the midst of writing my personal statement. By far the worst part of this entrire process. The part that can be make or break. The decider.
For those who do not know, UCAS is the University and Colleges Admission Service, a UK charity that sorts out all your uni stuff, basically. It’s where your applications go, and where you’ll get your offers from, should you get any. And the personal statement is a long-ass piece of writing that all the univeristies you have applied to will look at, and thus decide whether or not you are suitable/good enough/worthy of their education for the next 3 years (on average). And I’ll tell you… it’s bloody terrifying.
And, like the rest of life, it doesn’t slow down at any point. As much as myself and the rest of my peers would love for the world to just calm down, chill for a bit, take a break and have a cuppa, it does not. Because it’s cruel like that. And it just keeps coming at you, like a puppy that wants to play. You know, one of those ones that never gets tired? Yeah.
So if you couldn’t guess, everyone here in the UK (not sure about anywhere else, I don’t live there) under the age of 18 who is looking to get an undergrad degree next year is, in a word, shitting themselves. Excuse my French.
Actually no, at this moment I know a few people that have already recieved offers from their first choice universities. Which is amazing, don’t get me wrong. That’s somethingto be proud of, really. And Lord save the souls of the OxBridge or medical students who have to complete their applications by… well… now. Hats off to them. I, however, am still trying to get my head around how I’m supposed to ask a teacher I’ve never met to write my reference.
I will most likely be doing updates on this sort of process and maybe doing some advice-posts after the process is finished for future applicants. But until then… wish me luck!
As a teenager with only the barest of introductions into how large companies and corporations work, some things about my part time job terrify me.
I work Saturdays and occasionally during the week at a newsagents (or “convenience store” I guess) about five minutes walk away from my house. Let me tell you, it’s very convenient. However, being part of a much larger chain of stores across the country, there are parts of my job that can be incredibly intimidating.
I mean there’s the nice easy stuff like being on the tills and chatting to regulars and having banter with my co-workers. All the stuff I’m happy to go to work for.
Then there’s the stuff that gets my heart going, my palms sweating and has me wishing I was still 12 and my only responsibility was staying awake in maths on a Tuesday. The lottery machine, stock checking and asking for ID are among these things. It’s the thought of, if I do one of these things wrong, I could get in serious trouble. With the company, with the law, or worse…. with my boss.
Don’t get me wrong, my boss is a great person. I think. I mean they’re really nice… I suppose. Let’s just say they get the job done. And “the job” apparently doesn’t include being friendly or amicable. Ever.
I respect this person a whole lot. Keeping a store on its feet, sorting out staff and stock and everything else under the sun and still being able to correct a 17 year old’s fuck-ups without breaking down on a daily basis. I really admire that. But would it kill you to smile? To not make me feel like I’m doing everything wrong? I know I probably am but hey, just tell me. Don’t dead pan me every time I try to lighten the mood with a joke.
This honestly just sounds like me being butt-hurt over little things but honestly my biggest pet peeve is bad manners and not being civil or polite. Just smile and say hello/goodbye/please/thank you and I will have no problem with you whatsoever.
But back to my original point. The severity of my mistakes in this place scares me a lot. You know, in school if you mess up something you just get yelled at. Your mistakes only affect you. But in the working world, this stuff can get you in real trouble. If I don’t ID someone who turns out to be younger than 18 for cigarettes, I could literally go to jail. JAIL. I’m 17, and one mistake at my first job could literally have an effect on my whole life. And if I get one number wrong on the till, I could cost the company any amount that I wouldn’t be able to pay back. I’m literally terrified of that.
But all in all, my Saturday job’s alright I guess.