'Wasting Time in the Workplace' - a first hand account of newly established hobbies!

      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.

How to use Drama effectively in the Workplace....

So,

 I haven’t written in a while.

                             I’m guessing people are beginning to think I’m happily employed.

HA!

(Long Silence.)

So…..

(Drums fingers on keypad trying to squeeze out words as though attempting to rid oneself entirely of blackheads. ((There are simply too many of them, and they all just sit there, saying the obvious which is – ‘human beings have hormones.’))

Work….

(Long Silence.)

So…….

“How’s work?”

“Yes fine, thank you, how’s work?”

 “Yes, fine, thank you.”

(Silence)

So……

(Silence)

“What is it you do now?”

“I am a food and beverage assistant.”

 “Oh right, lovely, what does that involve?”

“It means I assist the food and beverage.”

“Oh right, lovely, yes.”

(Silence)

So…..

(Silence)

You… like it?

(Silence)

Yep! I love it!

(Silence. Interrogator stares obviously. Looks to stomach – can’t work out if I’m pregnant. He obviously thinks I’m very desperate for a job to be enjoying the role of assisting the food and beverage. Looks to face. Narrows his eyes curiously. I can tell he is tempted to take my temperature.)

So……..

(Silence)

What now?!

(Silence. The silences are getting so irritating I’m starting to get annoyed even typing them.)

What!?

(Silence)

Seriously what?!

(Silence)

Ok, so why is there that awkward shall-I-laugh-not-sure-if-she’s-joking-clearly-she’s-a-good-actress-she-must-still-have-it-in-her-from-her-drama-degree-look going on?!

(Silence)

Yes! Ok yes! I genuinely admit it - I love assisting the food and beverage. It’s a fact! I like it! I’m not joking! Why do you think I’m joking? Do you think I’m joking?! I can promise you, I am not joking! It is lovely. The people are lovely. The customers are lovely. I am lovely. The beverage is lovely. The outfits are lovely. The food is lovely. The curry is especially lovely. The free lime and soda’s are very very lovely. My boss is lovely. The place is lovely. I think it is lovely. I think it is lovely! Do you think it is lovely?

(Silence)

A friend of mine dropped in a CV at work today and I saw him, his manic jobless eyes darting back and forth about the place like a crazy man, as though frantically searching for the gold at the end of the rainbow. I recognised his symptoms immediately. Poor bugger. Looked ill. Looked exhausted. You would have thought he’d come straight from hospital, the way the colour was drained from his cheeks, the way his face had a dead, clammy sheen to it. I was like ‘yes good fellow, there is still hope my friend, cling on to the fact that you made it here on a bicycle and didn’t need to spend any petrol money, cling on to the fact that your mother loves you, cling on to the fact that you can go home and have a cup of tea and clutch your degree and watch a documentary. And stay away from drugs. You don’t need them just yet.

 Just. Yet. 

(Silence)

Sigh. I am in a very good place right now. I may only be making enough money to give my belly the beans on toast it so desires but still – at least I can safely say that I will never crash my car on the way to the job centre again, for fear of missing an appointment.

Not that it happened. I’m not saying it did. If it did I wouldn’t say, surely. I’m just saying….

My mother reads this. So.

(Silence)

I know what people are thinking when I tell them I am a food and beverage assistant. They are thinking – she spent over £9000 on tuition fees and now she is making minimum wage assisting in food and beverage.

That’s what they are thinking.

And nobody’s job is as hard as theirs, clearly.

Oh yes. From what I’ve heard it’s a competition these days. Whoever has had the least amount of sleep appears to be the person who is the most over worked. Or so the theory goes……

Come on! I mean…..

Being a food and beverage assistant is every drama kids dream. Perfect for those that did drama without really knowing why they were doing it except that they liked it and - “No. They didn’t want to be an actress when they were older.”

At the golf club I have had to use my drama degree on several occasions. For example, I will demonstrate to you just how useful my drama degree has been in this step by step guide to using drama in the workplace:      

How to use a Drama Degree in the workplace:

-          -  When you spill boiling hot soup on your finger, refrain from singing loudly “cunt shit bugger wank,” and instead whisper quietly in a cutsie-pie voice “oops silly me, I’m such a wally.”

 -   Turn you laughter into a cough whilst the Mayor enters at a function, to the blowing of trumpets and the ting of a triangle                                                                                                                                                    I KNOW!!! AND HE’S TEN MINUTES LATE!!!                                                                                  Get out of here you cheeky monkey! The starters have all gone cold!

-           - Sing the National Anthem at other such function events, very loudly, with poise and passion.

-         -   In relation to the above comment, once again, turn your laughter into a cough. (Soon you will have the perfect ‘laugh and cough’ technique. You may even start to manage it without excreting any bodily fluids at the same time. Well done you, good work all round!)

-          -  Sing ‘Happy Birthday’ at other such birthday function events, very loudly, also with poise and passion. (Try to do this whilst carrying cake, whilst watching the flames, whilst trying not to spit, whilst breathing in the delicious smell of chocolate and hoping a candle will blow out simply so you can make the wish ‘please oh please oh please can I have some of your birthday cake.’)

-           - In response to the mother of the birthday child when she utters, clutching her ears, ‘oh that was very out of tune,’ DO NOT SAY ‘This isn’t broadway bitch, now do you want me to cut this cake or do you want me to put it in your face.’ Instead smile, giggle and say, ‘I had an operation on my throat two weeks ago.’ Then when she offers you cake, take it. And eat it. And put a hand to your voice box, struggling to swallow. Mmmm. Oh it hurts. (My waistline.) Cake is so worth it.

-           - Whilst hosting a wake, you must make sure you get your expression, just right. That’s it, not too happy, not too sad, a little bit of sympathy, a little bit of encouragement, a nice little nod, especially if the deceased was of the older generation, the old people all love a nice encouraging nod. ‘That’s it, coffee is over there, just help yourselves.’ If a customer corners you and starts to initiate personal conversation about the past, make sure you are near a window so you can check the expression on your face whilst you work, and then bring out the serious pat on the back technique before moving swiftly for cover in the safety of the kitchen. WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT ASK THE GUESTS – “HAVE YOU HAD A GOOD DAY?” They will think you are rude and retarded.

-           - Learn to say “I’m sorry” sincerely. “I’m sorrys” are, undoubtedly necessary, regardless of situation.

-           - The process of rehearsing is absolutely vital in a workplace that involves nosy and intrusive customers that want to know a lot more than simply what ‘the cake of the day’ is. You must pre-prepare answers to every single question you may be asked to avoid flushed face, social awkwardness and itchy red nervous rash (yes, you are still scared of talking to people.) You know you are in the shit when asked what your annual salary is. You are on a weekly wage. Like your next door neighbour’s fourteen year old and all her friends that are working slave labour without even realising it. But the customer doesn’t really need to know all this. Does she?*

-          *In response to the above, you have always been bought up to believe the previous salary related question is rude. But now you realise, through experience, the feigned ‘rudeness’ of the question was simply a cover, a defence mechanism to avoid potential bullying and shame from other - more successful - peers.

-          -  You know you are scraping the bottom of the barrel when you are asked “what is your most important life aim?” and you reply “to be a good wife.”

-          -  For some reason the above point is unacceptable. So you change your answer “to become a good mother.” And then nobody employs you because they’re suspecting an early (and ongoing) maternity leave.

-          -  Possibly the hardest drama challenge yet – ALWAYS PRETEND TO BE HAVING A GOOD TIME. Even when you have just been informed your dog has died. Even when your telephone bill is £20 too expensive (it’s only £20 anyway.) Even when you are so hungover you literally could not remember your own name. Even when you are so tired you can’t even be arsed to masturbate on the evenings. That’s it. Smile. And for God’s sake turn your shirt the right way in, how did you even manage to get it on inside out when the buttons were on the inside rubbing against your skin?!

My oh my I am a busy bee! So very very busy with the all the work I am doing when I am not at work! So very very busy doing my…. Yeah, doing all that, just going to put the radio on, oh man I am so busy just listening to that radio, oh yeah, having a sit, resting those legs, hello legs, get rested! I must watch the news, I am such a busy bee being busy watching the news because of my really important job, oh no wait I just want to be a good GIRLFRIEND I forgot better just put on the dinner obviously that’s the most important thing, smile, smile, smile, god I am BUSY aren’t I so very IMPORTANT aren’t I, oh yes I’d better go and make myself useful doing all the other stuff I’m good at like making coffee –

£9000.

£9000.

£9000.

£9000.

£9000.

£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.

£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.

£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.

£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.

£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.

£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.

£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.

£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.£9000.

OH HOLY SHIT FUCK WANK TITS AND BALLS AND COCK ALL AT ONCE HOWEVER WILL I EVER SEE THIS MONEY AGAIN?!?!?!

£9000.

How many hours work will I have to do in order to recreate this sum?!?! I never was very good at maths?! I’m just a drama student!

An ex-drama student!

An ex-drama student that never really did any drama!

Oh Dear God! Yes Him! He’s laughing at me! Come back down here you cheeky monkey, I want a word with you!

Fuck, the dinner’s burning.

Lousy wife I’m going to make.

In which a Job ensues and all hell breaks loose...

         You don’t know what made you do it.

    You were feeling so good. You were feeling pumped. You were listening to the music and you were singing that song, lyrics wrong, but fuck it, right, it wasn’t your fault you were born?!

   Jamming along. Oh yeah! Look at me go! I’m checking these emails, I’m like ch-ch-checking these emails, send, retrieve, send, retrieve, you were ON FIRE, your fingers were blazing up on that keypad, knocking in those digits, BISH BASH BOSH, send, retrieve, send retrieve, you’re like – a professional now, at all this emailing bullshit, somebody employ me in ADMIN, come on, look – eyes shut – BANG, SEND, DONE, hello reply! Oh, no hands, I’m using my toes, I’m toeing that keypad, don’t worry about it, I’m a pro, I’m like – on fire; oh ‘regards’, ‘your sincerely’ LOVELY, WONDERFUL, ‘I’M WILLING TO DO YOUR SHIT WITHOUT BEING PAID THAT’S HOW SOLID I AM MOTHER-FUCKERS’ – confirmation – message sent – fifty a day, DONE, employment, and you’re in the game, baby.

You are. On fire.

You’re sweating. You’ve burnt enough calories in equivalent to a twenty minute run on the treadmill. Just working those fingers. A little bead of sweat, dropping down your nose. Mmmm. Sexy. Don’t even worry about it. It’s work baby. It’s called job hunting.

Yeah, my heart rate is above 100. And what? You want to feel my forearm. Yeah, look at that tensed muscle. That popping vien. No I’m not on steroids; I’m just typing with finger weights, don’t even worry about it. I’m shaking? Ha. Can you see me shaking?! No, you can’t. Exactly. It’s not nerves (laughs derisively) nerves are for the weak, the failing, the unemployed, nerves were expelled long ago, you’re not shaking, who shakes, who the fuck shakes? Losers shake, you want to be scared of those phone calls you go eat twenty McDonalds and gain two stone, it’s called GIVING UP, it’s for the weak, the failing, the unemployed, hell yeah, I’m not letting rejection get me down, I’m like a warrior, I’m like a Spartan or a Viking or a Space Marine, or a mother-fucking ORK, I’m talking about War Hammer, and what!?

  

So yeah, I’ve had some coke, no not the drug, the drink. Same equivalent. ADDICTION.

                       I DON’T KNOW WHAT MADE ME DO IT!

Maybe it was the insufficient funds in my account. Maybe it was the coke in my bloodstream, pumping like two shots of Expresso taken in each eyeball, yeah, four in total. Maybe it was the Zara Business Coat, rattling in the wardrobe (ignore it ignore it ignore it) maybe, it was the sound of my heart once I had suddenly stopped typing.

Silence.

Pump, pump pump.

Don’t even worry about it. I’m just a just human.

Internet searching. Asos. Clothes clothes clothes TOO BAD ABOUT THE MONEY clothes clothes clothes, retail therapy, don’t you think you deserve those lovely suede boots YES YES YES I DO I DO I DO, all this hard work, I’ll loan the money off a friend, fuck, I HAVEN’T GOT ANY FRIENDS BECAUSE THEY KNOW I HAVE NO MONEY, don’t make me go back to the job centre don’t make me do it. Search engine. Africa. TAKE ME PLEASE! Documentaries: Surviving a plane crash. Why would you want to survive? Hahaha joke, sometimes I actually make myself laugh, David Attenborough, oh how I would have loved his job, I’m sending him my telepathic vibes, distraction, cup of tea, ignore the emails, you’ve had enough,

SHOVE FIVE BISCUITS IN YOUR MOUTH

Holy fuck balls what have I done, down two pints of water, resort to casual bulimia, don’t even worry about it, it’s only casual, HOW LOVELY look at that cute little bag, would have gone beautifully with the ZARA BUSINESS COAT, don’t mention it, don’t mention it, cheap flights, ‘cheap’: yeah right, and then –

  

Horoscopes.

  

 Now we’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel. What barrel? And can I sell it?  

        The future. You have never been superstitious. But What If? What if? So many ‘What Ifs’ coupled with so many choices and suddenly…

Did I tell you? They offered me The Job?

Gemini:

‘Versatility is a great keyword for this dual sign. Expressive and quick-witted, the Gemini presents two distinctive sides to his or her personality, and you can never be sure with which one you're going to come face-to-face. On one hand, the Gemini can be outgoing, flirtatious, communicative, and ready for fun, fun, fun. Yet when the other twin is present, you can find this air sign contemplative, serious, restless, and even indecisive. Both twins are able to adapt to life's circumstances well, making them wonderful people to know. Things are never boring when a Gemini is on the scene.’

Schizophrenic.

       Schizophrenic.

Schizo – fucking - phrenic

Is the computer calling me a Schizophrenic? Can it see me?

How did it do that? Does it know me? How does it know me? Oh my God, is it watching me? Is there a Gemini God? Oh no! How many other Gemini’s are there, like me, destined to be Schizophrenic? And how does it know me? Does it know me? HOW DOES IT KNOW ME?!    

It’s fine, I’m cool, don’t even worry about it.  

Don’t even worry about it, don’t even worry, I’m not worried, are you worried, who’s worried, who’s worried, OH GOD, I am worried, are you worried, I am, I AM WORRIED Oh no, I am shaking, I am shaking, look, I’ve got the shakes, OH NO, the shakes have returned,

SHIT IN A BAG THERE GOES THE PHONE

RING RING, RING RING,

IT MIGHT BE WORK, ASKING ME TO ACTUALLY WORK

It’s like an irritating child needing attention SHUT THE FUCK UP, nobody gives a shit about you, you were a mistake, you’re weren’t meant to be BORN you aren’t NATURAL

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH DRIIIIIIINNNNKKKK TTTHHHHEEE CCCOOOKKEE

(Drink the coke, drink the coke, sip sip sip yum yum yum liquid syrup, better now much better!)

THEY. ARE. WATCHING. YOU.

Who? I don’t know. The stars. The star Gods. God? Is there a God? I don’t know. I JUST DON’T KNOW. What if it’s true after all, what if all along I could have just logged into the computer and typed in my details and it would have said January, 10^th 2012 you will fall down a man hole I HAVE A JOB.

Ring ring, ring ring,

Its like a horror film, it feels like Scream, or The Ring, SEVEN DAYS, more like one, I start tomorrow, what was I thinking; I can work, can’t I? Right? I can work? Piece of piss, just got to make some coffees, heat up some milk, BUT what if I burn myself on the milk, what if I burn the milk and it bubbles over and then I have a hand scarred for life, or even my face, what if I walk into a colleague carrying a knife and it stabs me in the eye and then I go blind, what if I’ve forgotten how to work; you mean, I’m actually going to be doing something, are you trying to tell me I’m actually going to have be doing something?

HOLY SHIT CRAP WANK the phone has rang off, I missed the phone call, ring them back ring them back ring them back, NO! DON’T RING THEM!

Ring them ring them ring them, OK OK I’LL RING THEM ILL CALL THEM,

 

OH HANG ON THEY’RE RINGING ME! (Ring ring, ring ring)

(Caller)         “Hello, is this Amber Hillier?”

(Me)             (posh voice, calm, breathing measured, fresh smile) Speaking.

(Caller)         Hi there, this is someone or other calling from someplace or another, we’d like to know if you are still looking for work

(Oh no oh no I have a job I have a job ALREADY, don’t say it, don’t say it don’t say –)

(Me)             Yep, I certainly am available to work (what am I doing what am I doing what am I doing?)

(Caller)         Great, you’ll be able to start training next week?

(no I can’t, no I can’t, no I can’t)

(Me)             Yes, of course I can

(You don’t want it you don’t want it you aren’t free what are you doing?)

(Me)             (Chat chat chat autopilot, am I speaking? Oh, I guess I am oh look at that I’ve confirmed and hung up, why am I holding a pen, oops, I must have written in my diary when IM AT WORK TRAINING(?) except for the fact that I ALREADY HAVE A JOB)

Ring them back ring them back ring them back, you don’t want it you don’t want it you don’t want it, I DO I DO I DO I WANT IT I WANT IT I WANT IT! Two jobs two jobs two jobs what is happening what is happening I cant deal with this I want to be unemployed take me back two months and I’ll do it all again, I KNOW WHAT TO DO, JUST LET ME CHECK MY HOROSCOPE!

Gemini, 18^th October 2011:

The Rolling Stones said it best, "I can't get no satisfaction," and that's how you've been feeling lately, Gemini. Indeed, looking back on your recent activities, you may feel a bit like a character in Wonderland - running as fast as you can just to stay in the same place. The day ahead will provide some relief and open up new, more fulfilling opportunities.

To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was going for with this blog.