So you’re thinking of becoming one of the six sabbs running our Students’ Union, huh? Well, before we talk about what they do, you’ll first need to know the directions to your office once you land the job: the SU building.
Start from Euston Station. Exit via the main concourse. Once outside, cross Euston Road and begin walking south down Gordon Street. It shouldn’t be long before you see a big building called Students’ Union UCL on your right; it’s very hard to miss. Once you reach the entrance, you can turn your body 180 degrees and fuck right off.
Who even gives a shit whether you do your job or not! Only 7% of students are going to decide your fate in the election, and you can imagine how many within that 7% will actually follow your performance once the election ends. To everyone else, you’ll forever just be that person who spams their inbox every now and then.
It’s not as if there’s any fourth estate on campus dedicated to holding the Union to account; even if there were, they’d probably be irrelevant anyway. I’m sure you can enlist Pi Media to heap endless praise on your latest bold initiative, groundbreaking taskforce, or whatever else you’ve just made up. Besides, think of all the free photo ops and corporate headshots you’ll get to put on your LinkedIn profile!
Also, did I mention that you get THIRTY-FOUR THOUSAND pounds???
Excellent. Which sabbatical officer position shall I run for then?
I’m so glad you asked! Luckily for you, we’ve developed our very own accurate and comprehensive:
THE ‘THE CHEESE GRATER’ QUIZ: Which sabb role am I barely competent enough not to get fired in?
Simply answer the following questions and keep track of the number of A-F responses you get to find out!
Pick the food that’ll keep you alive for the next year.
Cold society-event pizza.
Committee-meeting chicken sandwich.
Soup.
Vegan wrap.
Meal Deal pasta.
Union-sponsored sushi platter.
Drink of choice?
Madri from Phineas.
Whatever coffee’s at the next meeting.
Herbal tea.
Fair trade juice.
Can of Monster.
Champagne from catering.
Choose the Sisyphean object you’ll roll up a hill for the next year.
A crate stuffed with unread event posters.
A stack of essays waiting to be marked.
A car-sized beanbag.
A 2000-page structural inequality report.
A PhD thesis about algebraic topology.
Nothing. I’ll delegate the pushing.
That’s all the questions you’re getting. It’s not like anyone has read up to this point of the article anyways. Here are the results:
A — Activities & Engagement Officer
You’re now directly responsible for over 400 societies in the Union — good luck! You attend society social after society social just to feel something and escape the boring stuff, like meetings. You probably have ADHD.
B — Education Officer
You believe that if you just attend enough committees, the academic system might finally start working. You’ll go for meetings about feedback deadlines, assessment frameworks, and something called the Education Zone, which is just even more meetings. Still, someone has to send the emails complaining about late feedback.
C — Welfare & Community Officer
You’re the only sabb who might accidentally try to solve an actual problem. After all, you’re now in charge of everything that makes student life abject misery: housing, money, visas, and the slow collapse of everyone’s mental health. You deserve a cup of tea.
D — Equity & Inclusion Officer
You’ve correctly identified that the university has structural problems — tons of them. Your year will involve writing reports about awarding gaps and explaining the word intersectionality in meetings where everyone nods politely. The reports will be very good. Whether anything happens afterward is anyone’s guess.
E — Postgraduate Officer
You’ve discovered a truly astounding fact: postgraduate students exist. You’ve decided to stand up and give this newfound community a voice, even if none of them within it are aware you have, or particularly care.
F — President
You’re clearly exceptional. Or at least you think you are. You probably didn’t even need to take this quiz — you were never going to settle for one of the lowly subordinate positions. You’re destined for greatness. If your idea of greatness is a £500k-a-year managerial role doing absolutely fuck all while everyone below does the work.
Of course, the real answer to this quiz is you probably shouldn’t run for anything at all. Unless you’re really that desperate for the £34,000.