No wonder I’m skint! (Warning: contains explicit ellipse abuse)
I’m smoking again. I’m not quite sure how this happened…
It was supposed to be a couple of quick tideovers while I was working on my final project, that was all! Something to distract me from the rising stress levels, lack of sleep and general negligence to consume anything that wasn’t coffee or chocolate or chocolate-coated coffee beans… So I got home early from work today (avoided the chavalanche since I got a lift up to my actual house this time), because all the people in the HR department pretty much *told* rather than asked management that they were gonna walk out to watch the football this afternoon. And if they go, why the hell should us Oompa Loompers actually doing the hard work have to stay back. (“Because you don’t get paid for not being there,” I tell myself… but I’m not listening). So, there you go, everyone’s happy… Except the chain store we’re supposed to be delivering to on Monday and probably won’t be ready in time for now… Yeah, working tomorrow morning’s gonna be fun…
Although, that said, this morning was pretty damn good! Why? Because every-other Friday is sample day (trust me when I say this proves I’m a masochist)! Basically, this entails someone from management descending amongst the hoi-polloi with a box of sweets/chocolate/candy/gumpf that some far-flung company has sent them in an attempt to pimp their cheap-ass products and attract our business. We factory floor workers are ‘rewarded’ with the privilege of tasting said products and deciding just how vile they are. And the treat on the menu today was a sort of foil packet with a nozzle called “Apple Squeezy Fruit”… That which we call ectoplasm by any other name would smell as sweet; but taste like shit! Most of the label was in something that looked like Arabic but it did claim to be packed full of “Vitamain C”… I’ve got a feeling it was probably packed full of radioactive isotopes as well, since it looked like something scraped off the floor of Chernobyl. But we had lots of guinea pigs willing to try it, including the fire hazard guy and the rat catcher who’d both popped in for a nosey. There were faces puckered like a dog’s arsehole all round! Silly faces make Shani happy.
Ok, getting back to the point! Anyway, I came home, waded through the crap in my room that I *still* haven’t tidied, and just by instinct I started throwing clothes and comics and bags around… Why was I doing this? I stopped and asked myself that, really I did. “Because”, I replied to myself, “Because that’s what you do when you need a light.” And it’s true! I realised I was actually looking for any one of the numerous lighters I still have, buried deep in the kipple awaiting excavation on the one day when, sod’s law, I just don’t have any cigarettes. And low and behold - When I checked the leg pocket on my jeans there were (apart from a few random sweets which I’m glad I found because otherwise they’d have gone all melty and fucked up the denim) a packet of rizlas and the remnants of a 20 pack of L&B Menthol…
I only carried cigarettes when I smoked! I don’t know when I started carrying them outside my room again, really I don’t! It’s not like we get fag breaks at work. I don’t smoke at university because I spend all my time in the library.
So… I’m smoking again and I’m not quite sure how it happened but it did.
So now I’m gonna go and do just that. With beer. And bad sitcoms. ‘Cause it’s Friday… and I can. *hangs head in shame* On the plus side, throwing stuff in my room around upturned my passport, some dried berry mix, a fiver and a packet of co-dydramol! It was a moment worthy of the Spaced quote:
“Oh my god… I’ve got some fucking jaffa cakes in my coat pocket!”
Yaaaaaay!