Down Among the Dead Men_ A Year in the Life of a Mortuary Technician - Michelle Williams [93]
The building was huge, and the room we were shown to was also massive. High ceilings and big windows. There were about twelve of us in total, and we were each shown to a small individual desk that had a sheet of plain paper and a name tag with a number on it, our own personal candidate number. There was a man walking around, and he asked us all to put our bags and coats into the corner of the room. I thought I was going faint, but luckily we all had a glass and a small jug of water on our desks, which I do believe saved me. We sat quietly and scanned each other. What I noticed most was the age gap. Although there were three people who looked about the same age as me, there was no one younger. And, without sounding rude, all the others looked forty plus. The males in the room were big. Tall men with big arms, very burly-looking but with gentle faces and nothing like Graham and Clive in the muscles or stature department. You could feel the tension in the room, but I was pleased I could sense that everyone was in the same boat and feeling the same pressure. The large door to the room opened and in walked a portly, smartly dressed lady in high heels carrying a large brown sealed envelope. The exam papers had arrived.
There was a lot of shuffling in seats and the portly lady must have felt everyone’s eyes following her to the front of the room. She positioned herself behind a large desk and turned to face us all, and welcomed us. It was at this point that I wanted to curl up and die. This was it. No going back. My main thought was that I was going to flunk this completely. I was going to be given this exam paper and not know a single answer. Panic had well and truly set in, and as I looked around the room, it was obvious that I was not the only one feeling that emotion.
The portly lady introduced herself as Miss Rayne, the examinations officer. She informed us that we would have two hours, starting at 2 p.m., to complete the paper. We should attempt to answer every question, but under no circumstances write on the exam sheet that was about to be handed out. She walked around the room placing on every desk a thin exercise book with a cover that had space to fill in all our details and contained several A4 lined pages with a margin on each. She made it clear that we were to number the questions we were answering in correspondence with the exam paper.
Once she had handed out the exercise books, she opened the brown envelope and did the same lap of the room, placing an exam sheet face down on everyone’s desk with the instruction that it should not be turned over until we were told to do so. I was glad I was sitting down. I think if I had been standing I would have fallen over by now. My cheeks were glowing and, although it was not a particularly hot building, my body temperature was certainly above average. As Miss Rayne placed the green examination sheet on my desk, I saw there were two questions on the back. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to look at them, but being the sort of person that if placed in front of a big red button and told not to press it . . . well, I just had to.
The two questions both asked me to pick one of the three choices given, and answer in essay style. The relief was so massive that I could have cried. I was actually confident I could answer at least one on both after quickly scanning them, which was all I needed. I knew that this was at least 50 per cent of the exam paper and, although it had different levels of awards, 50 per cent was a pass, and that was all I wanted. I wasn’t worried about honours or merits; just a pass would be fine by me, and that was all my family, Luke and work would want.
We were (again) informed by Miss Rayne that we could answer the questions in any order we felt comfortable, as long