Wasting time in the workplace.
Yes.
You finally did it.
You landed that dream job – no, I don’t actually mean the job of your dreams, like the TV presenter, or the celebrity columnist, or the ice cream man (some of us aimed relatively low and still didn’t manage to achieve,) I mean the fact that having a job full stop has now become the dream. And you, my darling, have entered the nightmare!
Hell yes to becoming a waitress for the first time since 3 years ago when it was just your Saturday job to earn some pocket money. Hell yes to recruitment because that was clearly what you had in mind when you did your geography degree. Hell yes to sales because during the recession it is apparently obvious that everybody is in need of being convinced to buy stuff.
We are earning ourselves some well deserved money!!!!! We are going to work, coming back, and sleeping like our very own parents! No time to socialise, oh no, after that hard days work all we want to do is fall asleep! Ah, how rewarding. How rewarding. How good it feels to have a purpose, how absolutely wonderful to know that –
Shit man. I just spent three years studying writing and nobody wants a writer.
It’s ok. Let it go. Let it go.
Shit man. They’re already asking me to pay back my student loan?!
It’s ok. Let it go. You’re not earning enough yet –
Shit man I’m not earning enough yet!?!!!!!???? IS THREE JOBS NOT ENOUGH?!?!?
Everybody keeps asking me what I want to do for my ‘proper job’? When am I going to get my ‘proper job’?
What the fuck? Did they go to school?! Do they understand the word ‘proper?’ Don’t even worry about it. I studied writing for three years, I know my words, don’t even worry about it.
(I’m not worrying. Who’s worrying?! I’m not worrying. Are you worrying?)
I am enjoying being a food and beverage assistant. Apparently the job description of ‘Food and Beverage Assistant’ means I merely spend my time doing ‘improper acts’ such as skipping down the road singing songs and acting merry. (Oh no, my mistake, that was the term ‘Drama Degree’ now I’m getting confused, obviously, because I was only a ‘drama and writing student’ so clearly I haven’t really got a thought capacity.) Apparently the job description of ‘Food and Beverage Assistant’ means I am just going out for a party? Perhaps it means I am only kidding with them. Mucking around. Pulling their legs. Wasting some time. Nah, I’m not going to work really. I’m going to pull pints behind the bar and carry plates and serve tea and it’s just a little game I love to play!
Jeez. Let me at least get paid my first pay check. Then I’ll let everyone know when I can afford to go out and hunt for my ‘proper job’, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, petrol costs money?! AND THEY WANT ME TO REPAY MY STUDENT LOAN?!
So anyway, lately I have been talking to ‘Best-Friend-On-The-Floor’ from an earlier job, to find out how she is finding it in her recruitment role. Yes. Her ‘PROPER JOB.’ And by comparison, it sounds like my job is fairly similar to hers, considering she is working in this area that I have not quite yet managed to establish.’
For example, we both seem to have been actively engaged in several new hobbies.
New found hobbies of the working woman:
- Hobby number one. The be all and end all of work, the primary concern and always the first port of call, before during and after, partaking in a work activity: Clock watching.
You now check your watch more than you check your make-up. In fact, more than you check your facebook. In fact, more than you check your phone. To be honest, you are checking your watch more than you blink. It goes: a-look- a-blink, a-look-a-blink, a-look-a-blink, ONLY FIVE SECONDS HAVE PASSED WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!
- Fake phone calls. “Hi there, my name is ‘Best-Friend-On-The-Floor’ I am calling to find out if you are interested in….
(No reply. Naturally the dial tone is still humming ominously in background. It’s like a baby’s lullaby of safety. Shit. Say something.)
Oh you are! Wonderful! So tell me a little bit about yourself….
(Silence)
Mmmmm. Yesss. I seeeee. Wonderful, oh lovely. Sounds good! Yes, yes. Mmmm. Nodding. Shit, the boss is looking. I see! Check watch. Shit, did he see me check my watch? How long have I been on the phone? Oh God, I haven’t said anything for a while, have they sussed me?! No, no surely not!
Ok, thanks that’s wonderful Mrs Clark, I’ll be looking forward to hearing from your company shortly.
(Hangs up. Looks at boss flabbergasted.) Well! She was eager! Would not stop gibbering to me! That’s what I love about this job. You do get to chat to some characters, don’t you!?
(Proceed to clock watch. Immediately regret the decision as you realise there is still an hour to go before lunch. And every ten minutes feels like a freeze-frame.)
- Checking nails whilst holding the phone (switched off) to the ear. Your boss looks up – ‘on hold’ you mouth, and roll your eyes, in a way like your grandmother would if your granddad said he couldn’t eat all his dinner.
- Frequent intake of water resulting in frequent use of the toilet. Every half an hour, on the hour/half hour, without fail. “It’s bad to hold it in, that’s what my mother always said.” Nobody has noticed yet. Seriously though?!
- Smoking. Fuck it. It pains me to admit it, but there are a fair few post-grads who’d rather die early and actually have a break than drag out the extra life time sat behind the desk doing fuck all. Let’s. Just. Have. A. Fag. And five extra minutes to watch the passing cars and imagine a life lived out on the road. Ah. Now look who’s jealous of the gypsies.
- The practising of verbal diarrhoea. The growth of a brain separate to the one in your head. It now grows somewhere in your tongue, and ventures out only when you realise you are in a fight or flight situation – aka, asking for time off, calling in sick, hungover as fuck, going through a twenty-four-hour-breakdown, yes, you have one at least once a month and that is exactly when the defensive brain capable of verbal diarrhoea comes to your loyal rescue.
Examples are as follows: (all courtesy of Best-Friend-On-The Floor, yes that’s right, the best friend who had a one night stand twice in one night. A two night stand? Don’t worry. She was stressed from work. It’s a tough environment out there. Chuckle. She’s forgiven)
(Talking very quickly as though there is not enough oxygen in the air)“My grandmother in Scotland is really ill and I need to go and visit her before she dies.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I am a bad person. A very, very bad person. I am a bad, bad, bad… now what was I doing, oh yes of course! It’s Thursday night. Let’s go get pissed and forget our own names.
The casual death bed scenario. Always makes an appearance used by those most heartless. Or perhaps most desperate. Stress does strange things to you.
Hammered from the night before. Oh I’d better check my diary: oh would you look at that! I have a dentist appointment! Standard. Two hours late. Beer sweats. Manager then has to also take himself home. It’s every man for himself. Must be food poisoning. Oh fuck off. Each and every person in the office smells of vodka. Why not embrace it?!
Best-friend-on-the-floor (whilst at work) gets a text. Yes. That two night stand may have given her an STI. Fuck. What the fuck?! Proceed to toilet and initiate tights down leg up approach. Where’s her compact mirror? Fuck, is that a genital wart? If only she could see… calm down, calm down…. Oh no. What if it’s herpes.?! FOR LIFE?! Fuck fuck fuck, don’t cry don’t cry –
Enter office. Approach boss. Nearly crying.
“I’ve just had a phone call from the doctors.”
What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck?
“They said I need to go in urgently.”
What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck?
“They say my blood test results have come through and I need to talk with them immediately.”
What blood test?
Leave work. Get in car. Avoid doctors and detour straight to the STI clinic.
“No love. You’ve got an ingrowing hair. Go and get yourself back to work.”
Nah. May as well go to the pub. Need a pint after all that.
I really don’t know how to end this blog. All in all, I feel, (in some very far distant way) it is a summary of mixed emotions. And I am quite happy with this analogy, similarly as I am content partaking in my several part time jobs.
