Extended Response (Paper 1): Report Writing, IGCSE June 2018, First Language English
Text
My First Job
The narrator is reflecting on his experiences as a 16-year-old student used to spending his school holidays watching cricket on television. Instead, he is about to begin six weeks of work experience in different sections of an electrical company.
Waking at 7:00 am was unpleasant. On the car journey, I was feeling too sorry for myself for conversation.
The first few days I’d be working with the ‘grunts’ (officially called ‘apprentices’). Most were just months older than me, but judged immediately I’d no skill of any use to them. It turned out the factory owner had only agreed as a favour to Dad. Other guys who’d asked for their kids to work there during school holidays had been refused.
Dad ensured I was kitted out in fetching, lightest-blue overalls. Escorting me, he skirted the factory floor to avoid dirtying his suit, but chatted and seemed to get on with everyone from the grunts to the surliest darkest-blue-overall-clad supervisor.
Initially, I’d be helping in the coil-winding department – by not getting in the way and fetching coffee from the machine. I guessed they chatted more freely when I was on a coffee-fetching run, but I did learn there was discontent amongst the workforce, even talk of strike action. The morning dragged by. Eventually, Dad turned up announcing lunchtime. Usually he took a packed lunch, but our respective lethargy and stress that morning meant the sandwiches were still on the kitchen table at home.
At the canteen, workers, already packed in like sardines, formed an overall sea of blue. Dad navigated our way to the brown foodstuffs on offer. What would be my ‘something’ to accompany my chips? Wittily, I requested salad. Dad’s shoulders sank. The canteen staff chuckled. Baked beans were duly slopped onto my plate.
As we ate, I gazed round, vowing silently never to work in industry. It wasn’t that I thought myself above them, I just didn’t fit in yet.
After only 20 minutes, Dad said, ‘Andrew, we’d better get your card.’ Nodding dumbly, I trailed blindly after him through a maze of corridors. Finally, we reached the holiest place in the entire company, the Accounts Department, occupied by The One with Absolute Power (the clerk who put together the pay packets). Sufficiently important in the company, Dad was granted an audience. I was told to not say anything stupid as we entered the sanctum. The One issued my number, chiding me for not visiting her immediately after I’d arrived and warning of perilous doom awaiting mortals who failed to clock in on time.
Dad took me to the clocking in machine to get my card stamped. Boards either side of the machine, for ‘in’ and for ‘out’, allowed the powers-that-be to tell which of their valued employees were not ‘in’ at any time and calculate their pay accordingly. I asked Dad where his card was amongst the hundreds there: he muttered almost inaudibly about not needing one.
Thankfully next day, despite differing opinions, it transpired we weren’t that late arriving. I even had my sandwiches with me, I pointed out. Through gritted teeth, Dad said he’d a meeting to get to.
I went to clock in and looked on the ‘out’ board – my card wasn’t there. Great, I’d annoyed Dad; now I’d have to face the unbridled wrath of The One for losing my card. I glanced forlornly at the ‘in’ board. Incredibly there was my card, time-stamped at 8:28 that morning, along with all the others from my section. Each said 8:28. These were punctual guys; all of them had checked in at 8:28 yesterday too.
I survived the morning. After lunch, I asked an older man about the time-stamp curiosity. He looked at me quizzically, asking me to explain what I meant. I told him about the identical times on the cards, including mine. He said not to worry, asking if I’d mind going to get the coffees. Off I went.
Seconds later, I heard the older man tearing into someone – peering round the coffee machine I saw it was the tallest grunt. He was almost in tears, surrounded by others angry he’d messed up his turn, petrified I’d tell Dad, sure their scheme for dodging lateness penalties had been discovered. Tallest Grunt had picked up my card accidentally with the rest. I ambled back, giving them time to compose themselves, and even got a ‘thanks’ as I delivered the coffee-brown sludge. Unease remained all afternoon, intensifying as a junior clerk braved the factory floor and smugly invited me to follow him, saying my help was needed.
My comrades panicked: I was a spy, they’d be sacked. Had they realised I was ‘needed’ to shift a delivery of tinned baked beans – Dad’s revenge no doubt – they’d have relaxed sooner.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Question
Question 1
Imagine you are Dad from Passage A. The owner of the company wants to introduce holiday work experience for more young people. You have been asked to present a report to the owner of the company following your son’s experience.
Write the report.
In your report you should comment on:
• the challenges faced by Andrew and what you hoped he would gain from his six weeks at the factory
• how different staff members treated Andrew
• what you have learned about the thoughts and feelings of the people who work at the company.
Address each of the three bullet points.
Begin your report, ‘Summer work experience for young
Comments
Post a Comment