THE DEMAND FOR “SOFT JOBS.”

Otago Witness, Issue 3148, 15 July 1914, Page 75

THE DEMAND FOR “SOFT JOBS.”

(By A Business Man.)

That repository of candour the personal column of The Times —a diary as amusing as Jt'epys and a confessional enthralling to the student of human nature —has rarely a day -without the offers of gentlemen of taste for-the good things of life to barter amiable incompetence for the salaTy of' some happy • sinecure. - There is at present something -akin to a “ boom ” in the advertisements of the “soft job’ prospector. The spring has made many of us restive; hence perhaps why he who has ambled through school and college with no more thought of the morrow than the grasshopper becomes suddenly flushed with ambition for an easy and sunny booth in the market-place of life. It is irksome indeed that he must play a part at all, and that he should be faced with those hard alternatives that should only be the lot of common men. It is hard that he cannot make an income as an ornament, that legacies should melt like ice in July, and that it -is an inexorable proposition that a reversion can only be sold once. But there is still one easy and dignified part that he can play in this perspiring game of life. .What Midas in his lonely orbit may not be- pining for a dear and amiable fellow to help in his correspondence, to tot up his pass-book, to listen to his stories, to bear-lead his son, to flirt with his daughter, to join in his tours, and to bask at his expense ? And thus, not without labour and manv fair copies, the prospector of “ soft jobs ” composes his offer; “ young, of excellent connections, appearance, and savoir-faire, desires 'secretaryship or companionship to, nobleman, financier, or gentleman of leisure. No previous experience, but is versatile and possesses-'knowledge of the world. Congenial companion, good-natured, fond of open-air life, and is willing to travel. And such is the glamour of print that he feels already upon velvet when he beholds his advertisement. Already he wonders at the plodders and the" groundlings as he turns to other columns and reads such spiritless and clerkly anpeals as this: “Male secretary, 26, seeks betterment. Present position six years. Complete references of - character and ability. Shorthand, typewriting (rapid and accurate), bookkeeping, French, and German correspondence. Experienced in interviewing. £250.” Nothing about family and social connections ; nothing about appearance, tact, and savoir-faire! And £250. Why, he would want almost half that to dress for the part! And so he contemptuously turns again to the personal column. Here alone, among his compeers, are the competitors he need count. Here is “ Graduate (0x0n.),” an excellent shot, and ready if expenses are liberal to hunt big game with his patron. Here is “ Spero, Box 1977,” who has whittled away a fortune, but, nevertheless, feels competent to nurse, the fortune of others. Here is “ Son of a Dean,” who has meditated-until he is od, but now “seeks outlet for initiative and driving force.” Here is T. T. x., who has turned his hand to nothing, but for all that is “ready to..turn his hand to anything.” But as he studies these claims he realises that his own chance is better than any of them—for has he not remembered to declare that he is “versatile,” word more blessed than Mesopotamia to the seeker for sinecures.

And thus he dreams of the Marquis of Surrey (Cabinet Minister), the Baron von Hambourg (financier), and Sir John Barbican (gentleman of leisure), all meeting by chance in the -writing room of the Carlton, and each chagrined to discover that the others are bent on securing him. But on the morrow all that the postman brings is the letter of an employmentagency, who are ready to divulge ambassadorial vacancies on prepayment of one guinea. And in a severe office in the City the Baron von Hambourg swiftly and curtly interviews an alert little man in a shockingly last year’s morning coat (two front buttons instead''of one, and no outside pocket!) and—after cross-examination, unsoftened by sherry or Coronas, and as irrelevant to family connections, education, tact, savoir-faire, and versatility as if these were things of the moon —he sends the little man home with a soaring heart and an engagement. Perennial naivete, callow optimism, and a touch of tragedy lie in these advertisements of the “ soft job ” prospector. They are animated by strange belief in the existence of A legendary class of what one might call benefacto-employers. They are pathetic with oblivion of the pushing in the labour market, and of the competent and Qualified who crowd every door. They are heedless of that cold and inhumane truth that the employer’s prime interest in the employee is as regards the use he may make of him, and not of the use he ’ may he to him. For, indeed, his relatives may he undesirables, his social connections lamentably few, his appearance ’'barely passable, so long as he has mastered from" A to Z his work, and, in the language bf the mart,' can “ deliver the goods.” ' Man was not born with the love of work, whatever the moralists airtl the successful who have forgotten their vouth may say. There is scarcely one of us who does not start life with the ambition for a sinecure. We are at first grieved, and then healthily back-stiffened, to find that the “soft job ” exists not. Some of us wake early from the dream, others are urgently aroused from it by the buffets that befall us. One, indeed, always wonders who are these advertisers who offer their hollow wares. Are all of them young and ingenuous men who believe that positions needing many and exact qualifications are given only on proof of a pedigree, university course, and a pleasant and well-groomed amiability? Or are they, as one sometimes . think, often old and seasoned MicaAvbers, ill-content with our _ modest lodes, who are forever packing their dusty swags and going forth again in the wilderness? Certain it is that in this brisk and

throatjeutting brigandage of modern competition the “soft job” disappears. Sinecures there will ever be a few, hut the run to 4hem is in a close burrow. They are never advertised, nor would advertisements for them be ever heeded. They are gained not by importunity, nor are they given in compassion. The seat in the library of the patron of letters, the travelling companionship with Midas, the snug secretaryship of the club or institution, tfye management of the easy estate, and that “ position of trust ” that_ is ever the vague goal of the seeker of sinecures —these irifleed exist, rarer and more refreshing fruit for the leather of competitive toil than any Chancellor will ever grow ; but they go, like kisses, by favour alone. And favour has no need of .the advertisement columns; it has ever a dozen near friends who hold out their palms. The lot of the sweat of the brow is on most of us, nor will it lessen as the world becomes older and more crowded. Happy enough, he who 'can trdnch his plot and cam rest for a few" minutes on his mattock and look up to the blue sky. Which of us ease-loving sons of Adam would not throw toil and ambition to the winds for the smile of one of those mystic employers who are supposed to scan so avidly the personal column in search of charming incapables? Who, reading this on his _morning’s way to the narrow round, is not “fond of open-air life” and would not be “ willing to travel ” ?—Daily Mail.