Being unemployed and desperately job-hunting is crap. The Metro published a 10 most annoying office phrases feature, so we came up with the 10 things you should NOT say to your unemployed friend. Ever. With pictures.

The real response: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA THAT’S SO FUNNY get out. Leave my friendship house and have a good think about what you’ve done. Of course some of us have to work, and I know you can’t speak right now, I just forgot because the days blur into one another when you spend all of them in your pants on jobsites. You’re supposed to be my friend.

The right response: Oh poor you I totally forgot! Time flies when you’re a lady/man of leisure HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Just about to crack into a few job applications before a long lunch… do you fancy a drink later or will you be too tired after slogging your guts out all day? 

The real response: No.  

The right response: Thank you.   

The real response: A jobsite?! Oh what an excellent, completly non-patronising idea- why didn’t you tell me this earlier? I’ve spent the last six months poking bits of bread and dancing naked by the light of a full moon, emailing my CV to trees! No wonder I’m unemployed! Thank you so much. 

The right response: Thanks, I’ll have a look (Squeeze your fist into a ball and imagine them being eaten by a jobsite in order to release tension).

The real response: Thanks Gran. When you’ve no reason to get up in the morning aside from applying for jobs you’ll never hear back from/spending hours worrying whether you’re applying for the right jobs and wondering where your life is going, origami really hits the spot.

The right response: I indulge in a varied, rich tapestry of different hobbies and pasttimes. (Stand staring at them with a slightly odd expression on your face for around 3 minutes) 

The real response: And you probably applied for 12 jobs a day, didn’t you? It’s funny that because, after about three months, the more jobs I get rejected from (or ignored by), the less I want to apply. And the more time I spend in bed. And the sadder I feel. And it’s been a year now but, yeah your month-long stint sounds very similar to my situation and not at all as if you were just “between jobs”. 

The right response: So what do you think about the bee crisis? (change the subject, because the more they harp on about their tragic month of unemployment, the more likely you are to snap and start force-feeding them cover letters while crying).

The real response: But I haven’t found anything. Still. And there are 979,000 other young people in exactly the same position as me regardless of degrees, so I have every right to be slightly concerned. In fact, you telling me not to panic and then highlighting all the courses I’ve taken make the situation seem even more hopeless, because I’ve spent thousands of pounds to sit on the kitchen floor, eat nutella out of a jar and tell the cat how “alone I feel”.

The right response: I know right?! I’m sure I will. I might even do another degree to up my chances. Can you give me £10k? Cheers. 

The real response: I don’t need advice from someone whose top tip to beat unemployment is “start a blog”. 

The right response: I think you’re onto something. Have you thought about contacting the Guardian and writing an article about this “blog” craze you’re talking about? (sarcasm can be used here because they almost certainly won’t catch it)

The real response: But I wasn’t worried! I saved for days to afford some drinks/lunch to forget my unemployment and the fact you all have jobs and I don’t. Now I’m immediately reminded how much of a charity case I really am, and how great you guys are doing and how my unemployment completely defines all aspects of my existence. Rounds, you say? To prove how happy and carefree I am (I’m not), I’m going to buy you ALL a drink! HA WEREN’T EXPECTING THAT WERE YOU. Neither was I. I’m going to be so hungry next week

The right response: Either buy yourself a drink before finding your friends at the bar, or if it’s a food thing, open with “Hi guys! God I’m starving, I’m going to order….” and just steam through any charity-case provoking comments. And bloody enjoy it.

The real response: Just ask me how it’s going, generally. Just ask “hey, how are you?”. I don’t ask you how your job is, unless I’m really floundering for things to talk about, because you’ll only respond with something vague as nobody wants to talk about employment. Just like nobody wants to talk about unemployment. If I didn’t open the conversation with “Omigod I got a job!” then this means I don’t have a job, I’m still unemployed, and I’d prefer not to repeat this to every human being I speak to. 

The right response: Answer them as if they’ve asked how you are in general. I’m fine thanks, everything’s OK at the mo, although the other day I accidentally stepped on a man’s shoelaces in Ryman’s and he fell over, taking the Beryl Finewriter display with him etc etc.  

The real response: Hit them. I don’t care if it’s your worst enemy, your girlfriend, your mum or your great grandmother who has sort of lost her marbles. Hit them right in the mouth. 

The right response: See above. 

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