ROLL up, roll up! Step this way and witness a jaw-dropping spectacle. No, you are not mistaken. A fresh circle of hell has yawned open. Even Dante was gobsmacked at this one. He’s lying down in a darkened room with a cold flannel across his brow.

What is this abomination I speak of? A job advert that made my face contort into a mask of such abject horror that it’s a good thing the wind didn’t change direction.

No, I don’t mean the nationwide appeal for a fall guy or gal to become Boris Johnson’s “£100,000 per year” TV spokesperson (although that’s not for the lily-livered either).

I’m talking about the social media influencer who is seeking a personal assistant. Not just any old run-of-the-mill influencer, either. The ad was posted anonymously in Los Angeles by a “well-known celebrity/influencer with 10+ million followers”.

If you have mug stamped on your forehead (or the job with Boris doesn’t work out) then look no further. Despite being advertised as a “part-time” role with “flexible” working hours, the successful candidate is expected to be with the unnamed influencer “all the time” with “minimal days off” and “on-call almost 24/7”.

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The list of duties is so long it makes War and Peace look like a vignette. There’s the scheduling, preparing, filming, editing and posting of social media content. Planning diaries. Booking travel. Analysing social media performance. Researching brand sponsorship deals.

Brace yourself. Those are the easy bits. Other responsibilities include cooking, cleaning and chauffeuring. Waking the influencer with coffee every morning. Taking them to parties. Packing and unpacking their bag. Endlessly.

Oh, and whiners need not apply. The ad states: “You must keep all emotional/private life matters completely away from this world” as well as “handle intense conversations and bounce back instantly from any mistakes without emotion”. Translation: put up with diva tantrums and don’t talk back.

Still keen? Well, I suppose, if you don’t mind getting carpal tunnel from taking two billion photographs, wearing out shoe leather fetching a non-stop stream of caffeinated beverages or being an emotional punching bag for the paltry sum of “$25-$30/hr” (£19-£23/hr).

It almost makes the Russian family in London last year, seeking a British butler who had watched Jeeves and Wooster, fell under a specific star sign and could oversee the smooth running of homes in four countries, seem like a dream gig.

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I appreciate in the current economy one can’t be choosy when it comes to gainful employment, but surely there are more palatable jobs? Say chiropodist to Satan’s hooves. Or being the chap in Downfall who has to impart bad news to Hitler (“Mein Fuhrer, Tesco was out of chocolate digestives …”).

Granted, being a social media influencer involves a degree of narcissism, but to imagine you can buy the soul of another human wholesale is so jarring it makes my teeth rattle thinking about it.

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