ALWAYS READ THE SMALLPRINT
hello, you ungrateful bastards.
Today, I went for a job interview, they said that they would give me £25,000 a year if all I done was wear a shirt and tie, sit in a large black leather chair, looking busy on a computer paid for by the company. I am only to work 3 days a week out of 7, and I can choose the hours. I also get a personal lackey to wipe my trousers, lie in puddles etc. In fact when in the office, the only thing I need to do is wipe my own arse, they're even going to buy me a nice keyboard so I can wind up colleagues with my renditions of 80's synth-pop classics.
I'm sad to say that this never happened, what happened to me instead was that I invited for an interview, in bellshill. Bellshill. It didn't occur to me just how far away it is, its almost in Motherwell. Which meant a trip to one of my least favourite places in the world, Lanarkshire. So I arrived on time, but only had a rough idea of where exactly it was. So I ended up walking up and down Bellshill main street for about half an hour, taking in the scenery and trying to find where I was meant to go. Eventually I found it after phoning the office, so I had a little seat on a wall until about 2.15, then went in. Turned out the job was through an agency (called Target Scotland LTD, I'd advise anyone else to steer clear) and they gave me an application form to fill out. They seemed busy, so I did my usual of watching people and taking in my surroundings whilst doing the application form.
The agency seemed to be the sort that farms neds for manual work, with questions on the application like "Do you have your own hard hat/boots" and also a form which seemed to say if you signed it, you waive the right to a 48 hour working week limit (if you like working 7 days in a row, this is seemingly the agency for you). Midway through the form, the neddiest little shit I have ever seen walked in and garbled something about "HULLAWEERR BUILDIN' SITE MAHHHGAHHHHRR WURRRGHIN TWLLHUUR SHIIIIFFT, BURRRRNNTHURRRR AGES." he wandered back out after a while, and some apparent immigrants were busy. One of the guys spoke fluent English, was quite impressive, still can't work out what language he was speaking, sounded similar to french and german.
Anyway. All this and the bastard says to me that he has a feeling that the job might be for 18+ only, the fucking cunt. They didn't think to tell me this before I made the god knows how long journey into the arsecrack of the world, to be told that my being there was basically a waste of time. So I have to phone back tomorrow and find out. grrr.
Bellshill is a curious place, the inhabitants seem to be either disabled or neds, in some apparent cases both. A place full of public toilets and newsagents, A woolworths and seemingly fuck all else. Although there is a Morrisons, and ironically a lot of part time work is available. If anyone fancies it I can show them how to apply for ASDA in Motherwell, although as Motherwell is basically a towering syring pile, this job would probably only appeal to ex-SAS personnel, or general abusive fruitcakes. In Bellshill, I also saw what was quite probably the worlds biggest Buckfast stock pile, cases and cases of it. Anyone who says that Scotland's national drink is Whisky is a liar, it's definitely Buckfast. I wish I had a camera for it, also for the amusing sign at cambuslang station which stated that "PASSING TRAINS CAUSE AIR TURBULENCE". It's only amusing because 45 minute train journeys are quite boring.
Well I'm off to drown a puppy, or more likely abduct a small annoying ned, hold him captive, and stuff wet cement up his nose in a retaliatory measure for cheeky bastard ned comments.
peace the fuck out.
Today, I went for a job interview, they said that they would give me £25,000 a year if all I done was wear a shirt and tie, sit in a large black leather chair, looking busy on a computer paid for by the company. I am only to work 3 days a week out of 7, and I can choose the hours. I also get a personal lackey to wipe my trousers, lie in puddles etc. In fact when in the office, the only thing I need to do is wipe my own arse, they're even going to buy me a nice keyboard so I can wind up colleagues with my renditions of 80's synth-pop classics.
I'm sad to say that this never happened, what happened to me instead was that I invited for an interview, in bellshill. Bellshill. It didn't occur to me just how far away it is, its almost in Motherwell. Which meant a trip to one of my least favourite places in the world, Lanarkshire. So I arrived on time, but only had a rough idea of where exactly it was. So I ended up walking up and down Bellshill main street for about half an hour, taking in the scenery and trying to find where I was meant to go. Eventually I found it after phoning the office, so I had a little seat on a wall until about 2.15, then went in. Turned out the job was through an agency (called Target Scotland LTD, I'd advise anyone else to steer clear) and they gave me an application form to fill out. They seemed busy, so I did my usual of watching people and taking in my surroundings whilst doing the application form.
The agency seemed to be the sort that farms neds for manual work, with questions on the application like "Do you have your own hard hat/boots" and also a form which seemed to say if you signed it, you waive the right to a 48 hour working week limit (if you like working 7 days in a row, this is seemingly the agency for you). Midway through the form, the neddiest little shit I have ever seen walked in and garbled something about "HULLAWEERR BUILDIN' SITE MAHHHGAHHHHRR WURRRGHIN TWLLHUUR SHIIIIFFT, BURRRRNNTHURRRR AGES." he wandered back out after a while, and some apparent immigrants were busy. One of the guys spoke fluent English, was quite impressive, still can't work out what language he was speaking, sounded similar to french and german.
Anyway. All this and the bastard says to me that he has a feeling that the job might be for 18+ only, the fucking cunt. They didn't think to tell me this before I made the god knows how long journey into the arsecrack of the world, to be told that my being there was basically a waste of time. So I have to phone back tomorrow and find out. grrr.
Bellshill is a curious place, the inhabitants seem to be either disabled or neds, in some apparent cases both. A place full of public toilets and newsagents, A woolworths and seemingly fuck all else. Although there is a Morrisons, and ironically a lot of part time work is available. If anyone fancies it I can show them how to apply for ASDA in Motherwell, although as Motherwell is basically a towering syring pile, this job would probably only appeal to ex-SAS personnel, or general abusive fruitcakes. In Bellshill, I also saw what was quite probably the worlds biggest Buckfast stock pile, cases and cases of it. Anyone who says that Scotland's national drink is Whisky is a liar, it's definitely Buckfast. I wish I had a camera for it, also for the amusing sign at cambuslang station which stated that "PASSING TRAINS CAUSE AIR TURBULENCE". It's only amusing because 45 minute train journeys are quite boring.
Well I'm off to drown a puppy, or more likely abduct a small annoying ned, hold him captive, and stuff wet cement up his nose in a retaliatory measure for cheeky bastard ned comments.
peace the fuck out.