Friday, November 22, 2002

Plan B

The electronics firm hasn't called. Which means that tomorrow I shall be starting work in the cornershop, as planned.

Yes, tomorrow morning I will commence a nice, safe, steady job, in a building well-frequented by the public. Maybe my life is finally becoming a little more normal. Nice, normal job in nice normal shop for nice normal Carnival aaand I'm fooling nobody but myself here. There will be suckitude and annoyance and weirdness.

There will be, on past experience, at least two of the following:

Byzantine workplace feuds which, whilst having absolutely nothing to do with me, will somehow make everything take six times as long as it needs to and will generally fuck up my working day.

The I Pay Your Wages You Know type of customer who expects to get a pound's change out of fifty bloody pence and holds up the queue so that all the other customers get fed up and stroppy.

Pissed guys who smell and bring their freinds. Who are invisible.

Male co-workers who move me out of the way by my hips instead of saying "'Scuse me".

Poltergeist activity.

And there's also food-handling so I'm supposed to take out my nose-ring, which at the time of writing has failed to budge. I'm going to be up till 3am with a pair of pliers and a can of WD40 at this rate.

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