Long time no see, lj
On Aug 1 or so I moved back to Abbeyfeale to get my head together, did nothing for 2 and a half weeks, went to johny_kitsch's going away party, which was also govindaduck's b-day party, had a great time that weekend, saw Niall, Peadar, Mick, Una, Maria. Then, Tuesday the 23rd, I started work as a kitchen porter in Abbeyfeale, because I wanted to avoid more contact with people who expect me to clean my room than is necessary.
Working 81 hours in your first week, and being sent home after 9 and 1/2 hours (on your ninth straight day working) was a salutary reminder of why I swore never to work as a kitchen porter again, after the Cahernane House hotel in Killarney, my first post Leaving Cert job. The chef sent me home because I was showing the warning signs of exhaustion, and (nice guy interpretation) he was concerned (employer interpretation) he didn't want to pay hospital bills,Minimum wage no overtime sucks, but not a single wanker/arsehole at work.
I got the day after being sent home to sleep off, so I went to Limerick to buy clothes and other stuff, and saw some people. I missed the early bus, and because I'm an idiot, I got a taxi to Abbeyfeale. Given the obscene hours I worked I could afford it, but still stupid.
Kitchen portering sucks much less when you're not the only one,so you get heretofore mythical things like days off, and working 9-6:30 doesn't feel like a half day.
In excellent news I'm going to Galway on Monday to work as dirtmonkey on an archaeological dig. Quite a bit less pay, will get taxed even, have to find accomodation but no living at home. Bliss.
Doing the same dead end job you did just after the Leaving Cert is conducive to feelings of "Muppet.Muppet.Muppet" but OTOH, after the past two weeks of hell, my insane plan no longer holds fear. It can't be worse than this.
Is there a word for the feeling you get when you realise, after the person has gone, that they were flirting with you? Darragh suggested "idiocy"
Working 81 hours in your first week, and being sent home after 9 and 1/2 hours (on your ninth straight day working) was a salutary reminder of why I swore never to work as a kitchen porter again, after the Cahernane House hotel in Killarney, my first post Leaving Cert job. The chef sent me home because I was showing the warning signs of exhaustion, and (nice guy interpretation) he was concerned (employer interpretation) he didn't want to pay hospital bills,Minimum wage no overtime sucks, but not a single wanker/arsehole at work.
I got the day after being sent home to sleep off, so I went to Limerick to buy clothes and other stuff, and saw some people. I missed the early bus, and because I'm an idiot, I got a taxi to Abbeyfeale. Given the obscene hours I worked I could afford it, but still stupid.
Kitchen portering sucks much less when you're not the only one,so you get heretofore mythical things like days off, and working 9-6:30 doesn't feel like a half day.
In excellent news I'm going to Galway on Monday to work as dirtmonkey on an archaeological dig. Quite a bit less pay, will get taxed even, have to find accomodation but no living at home. Bliss.
Doing the same dead end job you did just after the Leaving Cert is conducive to feelings of "Muppet.Muppet.Muppet" but OTOH, after the past two weeks of hell, my insane plan no longer holds fear. It can't be worse than this.
Is there a word for the feeling you get when you realise, after the person has gone, that they were flirting with you? Darragh suggested "idiocy"