Some years ago, I decided to pursue a career in the arts. I applied for a job at a relatively small London gallery, for which I was unceremoniously refused on account of a lack of experience. I applied for an unpaid internship at the same gallery. I was, once again, denied the job on account of lack of experience. And so, and herein lies perhaps the most telling expression of my personality, I asked if I could come along and volunteer anyway, to get some of this golden experience of which they spoke.
They said I could come along and help for three days. The next morning, nervous as newt, I mislaid my toothbrush and toothpaste. To this day, I don’t know where they went, but I also lost a bag of mange tout about my person around that time so I can only imagine they are all together living a #healthy lifestyle without me.
I was staying with family at the time, but not family close enough to borrow a toothbrush from so naturally I panicked. Let me preface with the fact that, as the daughter of a dentist, I would rather have come home out of my head on Meow Meow with a dead skunk tied to my back than my parents finding out I had not brushed my teeth.
In addition to the ever-present Dental Guilt (similar to Jewish guilt but without the sweets on Simchat Torah) I simply could not turn up at my volunteering position with morning breath. I was not so naïve to have realised that they did not really want me there and I didn’t want to compound this sentiment by breathing something akin to dog shit all over them. So I went to the shop on my way to the gallery and bought toothbrush and toothpaste, because I had enough money in my purse. And then I went about my day.
I cannot imagine going through every day in a brand new city without even the cash to buy something so simple as a toothbrush. Please consider purchasing some toothbrushes through Bloody Good so that asylum seekers with real problems don’t have to listen to my terrible story about trying to get a job in a gallery.