One big bitch cocka-roach.
Phoneline's being screwy, so this could be last update for a bit.
Had first day of work experience. Here's a summary.
Arrived, and waited for 45 minutes in reception. Really, staring at the same holiday brochures for too long makes your brain itch. Was then met by some bloke - he was not the person I was meant to meet, as she and the other one were both off ill - he took me on a brief tour of the building. Fire exits etc. Hardly enlightening: "When there's a fire, leave the building." Thanks for clearing that up.
Soon I was dumped in the Editorial Department - think The Office, minus Ricky bloody Gervais or wit - and passed from one journalist to another. Eventually I ended up at a vacant desk (as that person was, you guessed it, off ill), and spent the day writing up press releases. I.e., writing news stories, based on basic press information. It's very dull, but I've got to admit, getting paid to do it would be damn nice.
Trouble is, that's all I was given to do, and I did it too quickly. I kept running out of press releases, and had to nag people for more. And am I going to court, or going to interview anyone? How the hell should I know, I haven't even been told who I'm supposed to report to. It's a bit of a Mickey Mouse organisation. Not wholly unlike Tesco, where the eternal confusion between arse and elbow rages on into the night.
Had an hour's lunch, where I bought Bubba Ho-Tep and The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy. That daft wench in Burger King got my bloody order wrong, though. That hasn't happened in a while. "Plain burger with ketchup, chips and a small choc milkshake." One cheeseburger and coke coming up, sir. Christ. And these people are EMPLOYED.
I'm a little worried about my journal. Nobody seems that bothered about my being there, and I'll get a bad mark if it's all "Wednesday, did more press releases, my arse has made a groove in the swivel chair." I don't WANT to interview people or go to court, but if it means getting a good mark...
I still haven't phoned Paddy Mounter. Please, please don't be on holiday. Or dead.
Four more days. Could be terrifying, could be excruciatingly dull. The only thing I'm certain of is, to beat Dad to the bathroom in the morning I have to get up at 6. Pompous sod spends hours preening himself.
And now I'm tired. *yawn*
Had first day of work experience. Here's a summary.
Arrived, and waited for 45 minutes in reception. Really, staring at the same holiday brochures for too long makes your brain itch. Was then met by some bloke - he was not the person I was meant to meet, as she and the other one were both off ill - he took me on a brief tour of the building. Fire exits etc. Hardly enlightening: "When there's a fire, leave the building." Thanks for clearing that up.
Soon I was dumped in the Editorial Department - think The Office, minus Ricky bloody Gervais or wit - and passed from one journalist to another. Eventually I ended up at a vacant desk (as that person was, you guessed it, off ill), and spent the day writing up press releases. I.e., writing news stories, based on basic press information. It's very dull, but I've got to admit, getting paid to do it would be damn nice.
Trouble is, that's all I was given to do, and I did it too quickly. I kept running out of press releases, and had to nag people for more. And am I going to court, or going to interview anyone? How the hell should I know, I haven't even been told who I'm supposed to report to. It's a bit of a Mickey Mouse organisation. Not wholly unlike Tesco, where the eternal confusion between arse and elbow rages on into the night.
Had an hour's lunch, where I bought Bubba Ho-Tep and The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy. That daft wench in Burger King got my bloody order wrong, though. That hasn't happened in a while. "Plain burger with ketchup, chips and a small choc milkshake." One cheeseburger and coke coming up, sir. Christ. And these people are EMPLOYED.
I'm a little worried about my journal. Nobody seems that bothered about my being there, and I'll get a bad mark if it's all "Wednesday, did more press releases, my arse has made a groove in the swivel chair." I don't WANT to interview people or go to court, but if it means getting a good mark...
I still haven't phoned Paddy Mounter. Please, please don't be on holiday. Or dead.
Four more days. Could be terrifying, could be excruciatingly dull. The only thing I'm certain of is, to beat Dad to the bathroom in the morning I have to get up at 6. Pompous sod spends hours preening himself.
And now I'm tired. *yawn*