A FEW MONTHS AGO, you may recall Senator Dr Esther Byer talking about how people need to be educated on the appropriateness of comportment during interviews; and that some folks simply did not get a job because of the manner in which they responded or the way they may have dressed.
The thing is, I ain’t no big educator (as you can perhaps tell from my grammar) and I ain’t no accomplished HR specialist like Diana Douglas or Maxine Squires or anything so.
But, tell me something: how can we teach behaviour to pre-programmed adults? I mean, when a fella like Bradley Jones interviews someone who says, “I would do anything for money,” then we have to question the quality of certain jobseekers. In other words, what kind of candidates would our children be?
I know a certain Mr Hoad believes in the mighty rod; and my friend Rod tells me he used to get nuff lashes. Now, he is a perfect gentleman, can even dance the Bolero and Samba (that is just a by-the-way point) and is also a big-up, heading one of the island’s top organisations.
While I also believe the rod is mighty, (and my friend Rod is handsome – which has nothing to do with this discussion) from childhood experience, I could safely say that when I had a good “talking to” from my father, his disappointment was worse than any belts, welts or wallops.
But can you imagine having a serious, firm but pleasant conversation with the nefarious and notorious in our society? If they laugh and give thumbs-ups (thumbses-up?) when in handcuffs and if (as I heard yesterday) a ZR conductor with a lisp shouts and by extension, spatters a policeman, what type of discipline will work?
On Monday, I had the unfortunate fortune of driving between two minibuses. The one in front was moving slower than a geriatric slug on salt, simply because it was full – or should I say “over-full” – and apparently the driver didn’t need to hustle for passengers.
The one behind kept trying to overtake, sounding his horn and jarring on my nerves, especially since I was trying to sing along to I’m Not The Only One by Sam Smith . . . and I simply couldn’t take a horn like that. Its mocking musicality and repetitive repetition gave way to cussing, fingering and slowing down to a near halt by the frontman.
I can’t even say that I saw the opportunity to make a pass, but let’s say the back-man took a chance by overtaking around a corner, with scant regard for the lives on board his yellow bus. If there were to ever be a “deliberate accident” his move would have been it.
When your life is worth a few bus fares; and you simply don’t care about the others in your vehicle, how does society discipline you? Well, suggestions abound . . . I even heard about boot camp for delinquents. Maybe it can run concurrently with the Summer Camp Programme. What you think about that?
Veoma Ali is an author, broadcaster, advertising exec and, most important, a karaoke lover.
