My holidays are over.
I have spent all day in bed depressed and actually feeling sick at the thought of it.
This is not normal!
Only 13 weeks until my next break. It can’t come quick enough.
Back to the job hunt tomorrow.
Not all jobs could be this horrendous?!
I haven’t blogged in ages. I’ve been off for two weeks.
Praise The Lord.
But, it’s approaching, my return is inevitable. As the week goes on the dread is setting in.
Is this what it feels like in a horror film, when you’re hiding under the bed and the killer walks in to the room?! I’d say so.
I still hate my job. I’m still working with the same plebs.
I might stand at my local recruitment office and sing a rendition of “rescue me”
Why will no one hire me?!
Or better still, why can’t I just win the god damn lotto.
I’m off for two weeks in just 6 more working days.
I can literally see the seconds ticking by.
Why does this always happen?
Of course my two weeks off will go by in the blink of an eye.
All the best things involve waiting, holidays, parties, Christmas, pay day, weekends.
Who the hell invented waiting? I bet they didn’t do too much of it, that, or they were a miserable sod who experienced no joy in their lives.
I hate them.
Yesterday was Friday. The start of the weekend. An easy day in the office.
Is it fuck?!
Friday is one of our biggest day.
We have the largest delivery and our turnover is always considerably higher.
So when packing out a huge delivery on my own the last thing I wanted to be greeted with, 5 minutes before home time was 8 cartons of cream lying splattered up and down the aisle.
The culprit just walked off too.
Fair enough, YOU aren’t paid to clean the mess. But YOU MADE IT.
I have never seen so much cream in my life.
It was everywhere. Dripping down shelving, all over the floor. Splashed against supplier stands.
If I didn’t know any better, I would hands down swear the wee bastards opened the lid and threw it everywhere before dropping it on the floor.
25 minutes unpaid, 2 missed buses and one pair of work trousers in the bin later I got to go home.
Wherever you are, know this, I will get you back.
So the next time you see someone on their hands and knees cleaning up some other fuckers mess, don’t step over them. Bend down, offer them an hand.
Is it too hard too do?!
So, tomorrow we are all heading on a conference. Yippee. It’s going to be a bloody epic day. I can’t wait. So much so, I’ve had countdown on the go from the last one.
I never thought tomorrow would come.
Yeah, Basically going to sit in a hall bored out of my brains. The hall will be rammed with about 500 people, shuffling continually due to two dead bum cheeks. Soul destroying.
So, they are happy enough to pay for the hire of a venue, catering for some shitty sandwiches and flights to and from the venue.
All this to listen to idiots prance about a stage with a fancy slide show, trying to big up all the stupid decisions made, offer half assed excuses and empty promises for the year ahead.
Why not just staff the business with adequate levels. so I can have a break and frequent the toilet without the complete guilt that those 5 minutes mean I have to stay late. Unpaid may I add.
I’ll tell you why!!
they are all stupid bastards.
I’ve had an eventful few weeks in work. Outside of that I’ve been applying to every job i can get my hands on.
Eyes, toes, fingers and even breasts crossed I get something.
Anyway, I arrived in to work last Thursday morning to find a grown man of 36 had left the water taps running in the bathroom. Which subsequently flooded the bathroom and stock room. How the hell can these people have a job?! Yet I myself am struggling to get an interview.
I also on the same morning had both members of staff, who were scheduled for the morning shift phone in sick. So at 6am I was sitting with no one on site and a swimming pool out the back.
What ever I did in a past life to deserve this, I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry.
It’s late, I can’t sleep and I’m flicking through the tv channels constantly.
Why the fuck is there a documentary on will.i.am?!
I honestly don’t get it.
He does fuck all apart from sing mismatched lyrics in to a mic that adds a zingy, robotic pitch to his voice.
I work 5 days a week without a break for pittance! Where the fuck is my documentary?!
I’m pretty sure, if I could afford a personal trainer, I too would look good in red leather.
It sickens me that we live in a world were people get paid more for a talent they have, by complete and utter luck than those who go out and work their asses off to learn a skill.
The jokes on us.