Sunny afternoons are great. Or at least they could be, if only Belfast’s very own inbred population of scumbags didn’t also think they were great.
Naturally, I am stuck in an office all day, with the only chance I have of enjoying the sun being a brief 30 minutes interlude at lunchtime. With the exception of the occasional rude interruption from something ”work” related, the remainder of my day is spent looking out of the window, with a strong sense of longing onto the street below.
There is an unexpected bonus that comes with my contract’s particular location. I have the dubious pleasure of a bird’s-eye view into one of Belfast’s less salubrious estates and if nothing else, it ensures that there is always a post midday flurry of activity taking place. Unfortunately, this also means that while I am busy earning money and funding the government’s coffers, there is a counter-culture* in which I am privy to at any time during the day. This inexplicably named “counter-culture” consists entirely of those that seem to have no jobs, and the sole purpose of providing me with a window of opportunity to watch them spend my taxes.
There just seems to be something about the warm and sunny days that raise my concerns about two things. Firstly, if these people are living on £40.00 per week, how can they afford to buy vast quantities of booze everyday? Additionally, I have noticed through my casual observances that the male population of the estate, appear to have no upper garments of clothing. This leads me to believe that they have been reduced to selling their clothing to buy alcohol for the duration of the 10-days of sun; more commonly known in Belfast as summer. However, with this theory now out in the open, the natural question then arises as to just how much does a 2nd hand Kappa t-shirt fetch on the open market?
The other behaviour that is entirely apparent, is the hordes of these young men who have developed a long-term emotional attachment to their genitalia. If you happen to have a spare 20 minutes in your day, you will be able to identify them as the ones who have both hands buried firmly in the crotch region; cradling the only remaining item of value left to them. Of course this could be another explanation as to the source of their income. Perhaps they are regular visitors to the sperm donation centre in the weeks and months preceding summer.
This just raises more question than answers. How much exactly does a sperm bank pay? And most importantly, just how great is the nurture to nature ratio in the development of children?
As per usual, if you have any gripes, whinges, issues, complaints or general grievances, feel free to leave a comment and I will feel free to ignore you. Alternatively, if you know the nurture to nature ratio, or how much a sperm bank pays, you may wish to also take a moment to air your thoughts.
*I feel obligated to acknowledge my reference to “culture” in this entry, owing largely to the fact that the activities of the estate serfs** could scarcely be referred to as culture.
**I am also aware of that the definition of a “serf” is:
“A member of the lowest feudal class, attached to the land owned by a lord and required to perform labor in return for certain legal or customary rights”.
As you can see the use of the word is in part correct, with the minor omission that serfs actually are in gainful employment. If you happen to be a serf and feel aggrieved by my choice of wording, please accept my apologies in advance.
Wednesday, 14 May 2008
Monday, 28 April 2008
Trains, Buses and the Travelling Community!
I used to have a certain degree of admiration for the travelling community. They were like a band of lovable rogues, with their own unique way of life. I was fortunate enough, to be treated to a brief glimpse into the life of a certain traveller gentleman not too long ago.
If I am perfectly honest, his story was just a little more than intriguing, although admittedly, he could have spent a little extra time ironing out the minor details. You see, he was in the unfortunate position of having insufficient funds for the train to Dublin. What’s more, his wife – who was pregnant – was sitting up in the train station. Much to my disappointment, this meant that I was unable to meet the glowing mother to be in person.
Anyway, among the details of his current - and not to mention most unfortunate - circumstances, lay the potential for me to play a small role as a sort of rudimentary saviour, or “Good Samaritan” if you will. The deal was that if I would only be so kind as to provide him with a bridging loan of a mere £10, he would gladly reimburse me upon his return to Belfast that very same evening. Upon realising that I would require reassurances of the return of my loan, he offered to provide me with his mobile number. That way, I could call him after 7pm that same night and arrange to meet him for the return of my money.
I know what you are thinking. Who could possibly refuse a deal like that! Clearly, nobody willing to give up their mobile number as collateral, would ever dream of pulling a fast one with my tenner. As tempted as I was to seal-the-deal right there and then, I did something that could be considered completely out of character, given the gentleman’s circumstances.
Firstly you need to understand that £10 may be insufficient for the gentleman to make his journey. So, I took the opportunity to ask how much he presently had in his finances, which as it turned out was £20.00! As you could only imagine, I was struggling to contain my excitement. I informed him that I had just the solution to his dilemma. If he and his wife – the one that was pregnant – could see their way to the Europa Bus Centre, he would be able to afford two tickets to Dublin, for a mere £19.30. Having found such a great solution to the problem, I was about to head on my way when he decided to just check, that seeing as I no longer needed to loan him £20.00 then perhaps I might part with £2.00 instead. Having no change I had to decline.
I am guessing that he and his wife – the pregnant one – just had to make the journey in the end without refreshments, but I suppose we can’t have it all. You may think that this is the maddest thing, but when you pretty much rely on the bus to get around, you invariably develop the knack of knowing just how much every journey costs.
If I am perfectly honest, his story was just a little more than intriguing, although admittedly, he could have spent a little extra time ironing out the minor details. You see, he was in the unfortunate position of having insufficient funds for the train to Dublin. What’s more, his wife – who was pregnant – was sitting up in the train station. Much to my disappointment, this meant that I was unable to meet the glowing mother to be in person.
Anyway, among the details of his current - and not to mention most unfortunate - circumstances, lay the potential for me to play a small role as a sort of rudimentary saviour, or “Good Samaritan” if you will. The deal was that if I would only be so kind as to provide him with a bridging loan of a mere £10, he would gladly reimburse me upon his return to Belfast that very same evening. Upon realising that I would require reassurances of the return of my loan, he offered to provide me with his mobile number. That way, I could call him after 7pm that same night and arrange to meet him for the return of my money.
I know what you are thinking. Who could possibly refuse a deal like that! Clearly, nobody willing to give up their mobile number as collateral, would ever dream of pulling a fast one with my tenner. As tempted as I was to seal-the-deal right there and then, I did something that could be considered completely out of character, given the gentleman’s circumstances.
Firstly you need to understand that £10 may be insufficient for the gentleman to make his journey. So, I took the opportunity to ask how much he presently had in his finances, which as it turned out was £20.00! As you could only imagine, I was struggling to contain my excitement. I informed him that I had just the solution to his dilemma. If he and his wife – the one that was pregnant – could see their way to the Europa Bus Centre, he would be able to afford two tickets to Dublin, for a mere £19.30. Having found such a great solution to the problem, I was about to head on my way when he decided to just check, that seeing as I no longer needed to loan him £20.00 then perhaps I might part with £2.00 instead. Having no change I had to decline.
I am guessing that he and his wife – the pregnant one – just had to make the journey in the end without refreshments, but I suppose we can’t have it all. You may think that this is the maddest thing, but when you pretty much rely on the bus to get around, you invariably develop the knack of knowing just how much every journey costs.
Office Lesbians and a Crap Working Life!
The call-centre is the modern equivalent to the sweatshop. Anybody who has ever watched those social history programmes about life as a mill-worker will very quickly begin to see some, more than disturbing correlations.
The role that the call-centre plays is more akin to some sort of monstrous Russian Gulag, than the average working office. In my office in particular, we have a large number of the lesbian community. I know, your thinking that’s brilliant! But before you start filling in an application form, I would strongly recommend that you continue to read on; unless of course you happen to be a Lesbian, in which case feel free to send in an application. Myself like almost every other man, has a fantasy of hot-looking lesbians constantly “getting it on” and that was how I would have been happy for it to stay. The reality of the lesbian office demographic is that most lesbians seem to either just look plain, or worse still like chubby 15-year-old boys with a dress sense to match. Seriously! Before you click on the comment button to express your outrage at the above comments, let me assure you that this is leading somewhere, although at this current juncture I still can’t be 100% where.
In no particular order of “why it isn’t fun to work in a call-centre” please find the list below:
The pay is crap.
The hours are long.
There is no thanks and little reward.
The work is mind numbingly boring.
You are constantly being watched, monitored and regarded with suspicion by the ‘management’.
And finally, the holiday entitlement is abysmal to the extreme.
If the lesbians had been hot, I could have overlooked the rest of my company’s shortcomings, but I guess that was just too much to ask.
Anyway, that’s all from me, but just to be on the safe side. I don’t have a problem with the lesbians in the office; I just prefer the ones in my head. If you feel the need to express outrage, click the comment button below, and I in turn, will continue to exercise my right to completely ignore what you say.
The role that the call-centre plays is more akin to some sort of monstrous Russian Gulag, than the average working office. In my office in particular, we have a large number of the lesbian community. I know, your thinking that’s brilliant! But before you start filling in an application form, I would strongly recommend that you continue to read on; unless of course you happen to be a Lesbian, in which case feel free to send in an application. Myself like almost every other man, has a fantasy of hot-looking lesbians constantly “getting it on” and that was how I would have been happy for it to stay. The reality of the lesbian office demographic is that most lesbians seem to either just look plain, or worse still like chubby 15-year-old boys with a dress sense to match. Seriously! Before you click on the comment button to express your outrage at the above comments, let me assure you that this is leading somewhere, although at this current juncture I still can’t be 100% where.
In no particular order of “why it isn’t fun to work in a call-centre” please find the list below:
The pay is crap.
The hours are long.
There is no thanks and little reward.
The work is mind numbingly boring.
You are constantly being watched, monitored and regarded with suspicion by the ‘management’.
And finally, the holiday entitlement is abysmal to the extreme.
If the lesbians had been hot, I could have overlooked the rest of my company’s shortcomings, but I guess that was just too much to ask.
Anyway, that’s all from me, but just to be on the safe side. I don’t have a problem with the lesbians in the office; I just prefer the ones in my head. If you feel the need to express outrage, click the comment button below, and I in turn, will continue to exercise my right to completely ignore what you say.
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