Gainful Employment
I have a job!
Negative: A job, not a career. Kooky hours, minimum wage and precarious job security (the boss is addicted to hiring and firing).
Positive: I'm working in a combination CD/ secondhand book/ vintage clothing shop. I am surrounded by reading material and pretty things (including one co-worker who is the spitting image of Gary Oldman. Have wasted much productive work time through drooling.) The best thing about it, however, is that nobody cares. Seriously. About anything. I spend most of my shift drinking terrible coffee, bitching with my fellow minions and endlessly switching around the CDs on the shop stereo system, all of which are stock looted from the music section (though we don't always get to participate in the choice of looting). Well, they're second-hand anyway, no one's going to care if they get played one more time. So far I have commandeered the thing for "The Best of the Pogues", something unmemorable by The Mission, "Hits of the 80s" and "Floodland" (OK, OK, be like that...). I saw a gorgeous vintage ball dress (black tulle! spangles! How could I resist?) so I tried it on, and was advised to wear it for the rest of the day. So I did. Security tags are the new accessory trend. Oh yes. A true story:
Customer: Give me those shoes. And those! *is obnoxious and evil*
Co-worker: I am not here to serve you, bitch. F*ck off out of my shop.
Customer: Eep! *f*cks off*
I love British customer service.
Me (at end of day): The till won't balance! By 40 pounds!
Co-worker: Whatever.
Please, o boss of mine, once you have found me, never let me go.
Quit Waterstones, Pookatimes. Come and work here.
Negative: A job, not a career. Kooky hours, minimum wage and precarious job security (the boss is addicted to hiring and firing).
Positive: I'm working in a combination CD/ secondhand book/ vintage clothing shop. I am surrounded by reading material and pretty things (including one co-worker who is the spitting image of Gary Oldman. Have wasted much productive work time through drooling.) The best thing about it, however, is that nobody cares. Seriously. About anything. I spend most of my shift drinking terrible coffee, bitching with my fellow minions and endlessly switching around the CDs on the shop stereo system, all of which are stock looted from the music section (though we don't always get to participate in the choice of looting). Well, they're second-hand anyway, no one's going to care if they get played one more time. So far I have commandeered the thing for "The Best of the Pogues", something unmemorable by The Mission, "Hits of the 80s" and "Floodland" (OK, OK, be like that...). I saw a gorgeous vintage ball dress (black tulle! spangles! How could I resist?) so I tried it on, and was advised to wear it for the rest of the day. So I did. Security tags are the new accessory trend. Oh yes. A true story:
Customer: Give me those shoes. And those! *is obnoxious and evil*
Co-worker: I am not here to serve you, bitch. F*ck off out of my shop.
Customer: Eep! *f*cks off*
I love British customer service.
Me (at end of day): The till won't balance! By 40 pounds!
Co-worker: Whatever.
Please, o boss of mine, once you have found me, never let me go.
Quit Waterstones, Pookatimes. Come and work here.