CONFESSIONS OF A PR
JAMES RAE
“Son, there’s no such thing as an easy job,” my father once told me, and free passes before leaving them utterly convinced their faltering
“if there was then every fecker alive would be doing it.” A useful night out on the town has been rescued. Of course, this is not the
gem of advice given to me in my darkest and laziest hour, and one reality.
which has stayed with me, like a bad smell, in my epic pursuit of
employment that can cater for my dislike and fear of hard graft, but The reality is P.Rs mostly suffer verbal (and sometimes mildly physical)
necessity for hard cash. abuse when they approach strangers on the street with no more proof
they are in the Public Relations game than a fl imsy bit of paper with
Like so many others out there, my life has been one large conveyor drink prices on it. Most P.Rs hate the general public because of this,
belt of employment, various drudgery and dogsbody tasks I have and choose not to bother them. As a result your nightly shift is spent
engaged in, job after job, megalomaniac boss after megalomaniac mainly walking and talking with your P.R partner, upon whom your
boss, and one gross negligence lawsuit after the other - I’ve had em’ sanity depends, developing a deep and unspoken understanding of
all. In my twenty-fi rst year on this earth and my second in Glasgow each other in your battle against the inebriated masses.
I had given up all hope of fi nding my paragon of employment, my
lazy man’s monetary Mecca, until late one sunny, spring evening I Like most jobs it does have its perks, well one to be precise. As a P.R
came across a vacancy sign requesting ‘P.R staff’. worker you are truly at the bottom of the publican pecking order, a
disposable and easily replaced member of the workforce, and therefore
For those of you not in the know, P.R stands for ‘Public Relations’, sent out onto the street totally unsupervised and unloved. As a result
a fancy title for the less than glamorous task of informing the of this you spend a lot of your shift in a far away and well-hidden pub,
average man on the street of drinks promotions, special offers and spending your hourly wage on pint after pint, smiling manically at the
general incentives of whatever pub or club employ you. For this fact your fi nally being paid to sit in the pub.
job you need good banter, tick, a good sense of humour, tick, a
friendly and approachable appearance, tick (I think) and a love for In my time as a P.R I’ve seen the strange and exotic things Glasgow
the outdoors, Tick! Three and a half ticks in my minds imaginary nightlife has to offer. Grown men urinating on their own cars singing
job questionnaire, forced me into said venue and, after a lightning chumbawumba, homeless men using a chip box as a pillow, hookers,
quick interview, I was hired! lovers, fi ghts and brawls, all just part of the job. The scariest day for
any P.R is when they realize they’ve become immune to it all, when
I was now part of the strange and honourable profession of Public the extremes of a Saturday night are not only common place, but
Relations, a profession that would lead me deep into the city’s expected.
bizarre underbelly, and bring me tantalisingly close to fi nding my
perfect job. Forever branded in my mind will be the image of a middle aged
Welshmen in detailed full body sheep costume vomiting violently on
In Glasgow you are most likely to see P.R staff on the bedlam stretch the city pavement and into a roadside grate as the remaining members
of Sauchiehall Street every night of the week, marching in pairs, a of his stag party applaud him almost regally, in what appeared to be
healthy wedge of fl iers gripped tight in their hands and sometimes some form of twisted Welsh initiation into marriage.
even a smile on their face. Our job is to wander this street, amongst
the drunks, bouncers and beggars and sell our place of employment The picture was quite beautiful as various factions of P.Rs joined
like a cheap degraded door-to-door salesman. We must dazzle and together in applause of the mighty sheep-man; a celebration of the
hypnotise the drunker and more easily led punters with promotions obscene circus we call our everyday.
GUM•2
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