The Grass Soon Grows

My replacement started work last night, and I’ve been asked to help show him the ropes. Any feelings I had about being appreciated and irreplaceable have exploded. I did ask if I could leave tomorrow, on the last day of the month, but they’ve asked me to carry on until the end of next week, “thereby seeing out the terms of your notice period, and ensuring a smooth transition between yourself and the new operative which will minimize disruption to the rest of the workforce.” Twats.
I think I’ve agreed to come back to work in December as well, as they want to hire extras to deal with the Xmas rush, but can’t be bothered to train up anyone new. The money is good, and it’ll stop me panicking about being bankrupt, homeless and destitute by the end of the year.

I didn’t get the job at the pub, by the way. There were several experienced applicants made jobless by the recent recession, so they’ve hired one of those. Cassandra did call to tell me personally, which I admire her greatly for, and she asked if I’d like to be on their list for part-time cover staff in the future? I told her I’d think about it. It felt a bit like someone you’re in love with saying “I’m marrying someone else now, but maybe you’d like to come round occasionally and just kiss me?”

I popped over to see Ted and found him drunk in front of something called ‘To Buy Or Not To Buy.’ Beryl’s ‘few days away’ have now extended to ‘a holiday’ and I can’t help thinking he’s suffering. I think her idea is that the longer she stays away, the more she’ll be appreciated but I doubt he’ll live long enough to realize how much he’s missing her. Poor old Ted. I await further developments with interest. I can only see it going one of two ways – reconciliation or an ambulance.

RC 29-9-09

If...

The 3-course meal I would order if I knew I was about to be executed:

Starter:
Cream of stilton and broccoli soup, with deep-fried panini croutons and a glass of sparkling white.
Main:
Seared sirloin steak with grilled mushrooms, thick-cut chips and a side salad, accompanied by a bottle of deep red, preferably Pinot Noir.
Dessert:
American-style blueberry cheesecake with a bucket full of double cream laced with brandy.

And to follow – a cheeseboard the size of Alaska, which I would gorge myself on until my stomach split and I bled to death internally, thereby nullifying the need for the lethal injection.

Now I’m hungry.

RC 29-9-09

Rory's Book Club

It’s Sunday, and I’m drunk, so in lieu of a more interesting blog tomorrow please enjoy…
A List Of Things That Everyone Should Read (at least once):

The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
“Hamlet” by William Shakespeare
“American Psycho” by Bret Easton Ellis
A good biography of Winston Churchill
My blog

..and some things that no-one should ever read:

anything written by Barbara Cartland
Jamie Oliver cookbooks
The Daily Mail

RC 27-9-09

A strange state of mind

Everything feels surreal. My routine of work is about to be turned on it’s head and even though I’m glad to be leaving, the change is starting to scare me. I’ll miss some of the people, and I can’t deny that the stint there has done me good. I’m better off financially, I’m more than three stone lighter, and my confidence and self-esteem have risen considerably, and unexpectedly. I think being in gainful employ, even in a position I hated, made me feel better about myself (and more of a man) than sitting around convincing myself I was too good for most jobs in Norfolk. I guess it’s my working class background. My grandfather, uncles and father – as far as I remember him – were all grafters and I suppose that’s still inherent somewhere in my genes. Maybe working as a barman, dealing with honest working men when they call in for their daily intoxications, will make me feel more grounded. Assuming I get the job, of course, which is far from a foregone conclusion. I have no experience, I lied on the application, and my only knowledge of business finance was being responsible for the bar kitty for the University Chess Club. Still – the application said full training provided, so who knows?

Beryl has gone off to her sisters again. Ted insists it’s a routine visit, but I can’t help feeling he’s pushed her to the end of her tether again. That poor woman does everything for him and all he does is slag her off, and piss her off. Maybe ‘a few days away’ will do the trick and provoke him to start taking care of himself, and to stop taking her for granted.
Mind you, it didn’t work last time did it?

RC 21-9-09

Change, Day 2

The word is out that I’m leaving. Esther the Store Manager stayed late to see me and make a final attempt to convince me to stay. She offered better terms to ‘show how appreciated I am.’ I told her if I was that appreciated, they would have improved my terms before instead of waiting for my resignation. She mumbled something about equal playing fields and future opportunities and I told her thanks but I’m looking forward to sleeping at night for a change.
The team on the floor seem split between two camps – those who are glad to see someone moving on, and those who think I’m a traitor and should stick it out the way they do, as if the shared suffering of the workforce helps alleviate some of the anguish or unhappiness. Or something. I’m a chemist, not a psychologist.
Jared called me a fat poof and says he hopes I die in a car crash. Mel the Monster gave me an unwelcome sweaty cuddle and made me promise to pop it and visit every so often. Everyone else either winked and wished me luck, or refused to meet my gaze or acknowledge me. Someone from the bakery who never spoke before said “I always knew you thought you were too good for this place.”
I was going to walk off but I turned round and said “I am too good for this place. And so are you. And so is everybody here. No-one should have to spend their life putting out food for others to buy, and we all have the ability to rise above it, but you’re too damned lazy and you’ve settled for your lot. Stop turning up every night and moaning about it, and get yourself some training or ask for a change. Or shut your face and don’t criticise me for doing what you’ll never have the courage to do.”
I doubt he’ll be giving me a leaving card.

RC 18-9-09

Change

I’ve actually done it. I’ve handed in my notice at work. Now I’ve written it down here it seems more real; up to this point it was like a strange dream. Dave my manager nearly fell over when I told him. I’ve never seen this happen before, but his jaw actually fell open. It behaved like it was on a slow-motion hinge.
He asked me if I was joking, and pleaded with me to stay as it’s rare for him to be working with people of intelligence. I said that was exactly why I was leaving…
Later on I had a visit from Suzi the sexy supervisor (or Deputy Manager of Overnight Dairy Replenishment to give her exact title.) She said I was ‘outstanding’ and ‘obviously under-used’ and that she wanted to ‘take me under her wing and improve me.’ I’m a virile man in his twenties with no sex life, so you can guess where my head was when she said that.
I told her she was lovely for trying, but I had reached the point beyond which my sanity and self-esteem could survive against the decaying ennui of my position. The frightening thing is, she understood what I said. She shook my hand and said she hoped to see me soon, and that there’d always be a place for me if other things didn’t work out. I think I’d rather sell my arse than come back, but the way she said it made me feel tempted. She has impressive man-management skills, and exquisite skin on her fingers.

RC 17-9-09

A decision made (I think)

The interview went very well indeed. I don’t think I’ll get the job, to be honest. It may have become apparent to them that my only knowledge of alcohol was which types of it I like the taste of.
One thing though – it’s clinched my mind about quitting the supermarket. Just realizing that there are some jobs out there worth considering has put the seal on it really. If I can get an interview for a job I am totally unqualified for, I should be able to find something else soon, and I’d rather be signing on again for a while than feeling myself degenerate as a shelf-filler. And I have full and worthy respect for people who do it, it just really isn’t any good for me. So I’m off. The decision is made. I just have to face my fear and actually do it……..

RC 15-9-09

Monday, bloody Monday

Here we are, back in Norfolk, and tired. I’m in a strange place, stuck between flying back from Edinburgh last night, getting ready for work tonight, and thinking about my interview at the pub tomorrow. The trip to Scotland was much more relaxed than last time. Back in the Spring I just sat on my fat arse getting drunk and sampling local delicacies. Lots of local delicacies. This time I was more of a tourist and traveled about a lot. I’ll tell you more about it later, when I’m not sat next to a pile of ironing and some shoe polish.
I had to rush out and buy a suit today. Since losing weight, the only posh clothes that fit me are my work uniform, and I don’t think I should turn up for an interview in my work clothes.
I’m very nervous about tomorrow, but also strangely confident. I’m not expecting to get the job, so I’m treating this one as a practice for any future interviews, so the pressure is off a bit. Plus, I have such an extreme fear of flying that since I successfully flew back from Scotland I feel like I can deal with anything. They may ask awkward questions and get me to try humiliating dexterity tests, but at least I’ll be on the ground while I’m doing them.

RC 14-9-09

Surprise!

Greetings from Edinburgh!
I was gonna have a few days neglecting the blog, but I’d probably get used to having the time off and then not write any more when I’m back in Norfolk. So here I am, taking advantage of the library at Sophie’s hospital.
The lady at the desk thinks I’m a junior doctor researching a curious skin disease that’s just turned up in A&E. Bless her. I’ll shout ‘Eureka’ in a minute and run out in a hurry before she susses me.

I’ve been offered a formal interview for the pub job! I was walking around Arthur’s Seat this morning (those who have been to Edinburgh know exactly what I mean) and my mobile started ringing. I had planned to leave it turned off and at Sophie’s, but to be honest I was worried I might twist an ankle or get attacked by an Eagle or something, so I packed it in my trousers. The ladys’ name was Cassandra, and she’s the new co-owner of the Pheasant and Partridge. She said they were impressed by my application and would like to meet me. I explained I was on holiday, so I’m now pencilled in for next Tuesday (the 15th)

I’d better sign off now. Grizelda at the desk is heading over with a face that says she’d like to fry my kidneys.

Haiku before a Holiday

I’m shitting myself
I’m off to the airport soon
And I think I’ll die

Here we go again
Destination Edinburgh
That’s if we don’t crash

Can aeroplanes fly?
Or are we drugged so we dream,
and get moved by bus?

I’m scared of flying.
Am I obsessed about death?
Or just a realist?

If I die today
Please think only this of me:
I shouldn’t have flown

RC 8-9-09

Up, up and afraid

My holiday has been approved, so it’s all systems go for Edinburgh. I’ve agreed to work Sunday and Monday nights as Bank Holiday cover, and then it’s off to the airport and away.
I’ve started packing already. It shouldn’t take too long – I’ve lost so much weight this year that I only have three items of clothing that fit me, two of which are socks.
My next task is to psyche myself up for the flight. Last time I sweated more than a sprinter in a sauna, drank about a litre of wine and still had three heart attacks during the landing. I was going to get some self-hypnosis books out of the library, but I haven’t been in there since Donna broke my heart, and I’m not sure how I’d react if I saw her. Maybe she’d see my new svelte figure and realise she’d made a mistake, or maybe I’d burst into tears and refuse to leave the building til she kissed me. Either way, I’d rather not face that situation just now thanks. So it’s will power, tranquilisers and advice from ‘AviophobicsUnited.com.’ One woman in the forum says she gets over her fear by imagining herself as a bubble of light, floating on a rainbow that is held and protected by God.
Sometimes I hate the internet so much I could vomit.

RC 4-9-09

Odds and Sods

I think we’ve jumped through September and October and woken up in the first week of November. It was dark at 6am, it poured with rain for three hours and today’s been windier than my bedroom after a full roast dinner and a cheesecake. This blog of mine seems to be littered with entries moaning about the weather, but really – the temperature in our garden on Sunday was 27 degrees Celsius, and today our neighbours fence blew down in a gale. It’s the tail end of Hurricane Dan, according to the chirpy blonde tart on the forecast. I never liked people called Dan. One of them stole my socks when I was at Sixth Form, and a lecturer at Uni with that name gave me two ‘C’ grades in one semester. Bastard.

I’m off to see Sophie in Edinburgh next week. Flying up on Tuesday, and coming back on Sunday. It should still be slightly summery, and I’ve avoided the over-inflation of prices that seems to coincide with the Festival and Tattoo, so it won’t cost me sixty-three pounds for a haggis. I’m still fighting the bureaucracy at work to have the time off, but as I’m on the brink of quitting anyway, the holiday is booked and that’s that. I might hire a car while I’m up there, as I’d like to venture further afield.

I still find it hard to believe I passed my driving test. All that reading, studying, reversing and arguing and suddenly I’m decreed safe to be on the road. Personally I think there’s something seriously wrong with the system.

RC 3-9-09