… is at the station.’
This can go on no longer! For a while I almost enjoyed the whole Betty Draper housewife thing I had going on. Painting my nails, cleaning, washing and doing the occasional food preparation (I’m not the cook of the house). However, I am now starting to feel a bit ground-hog-day-ish. After fully and painfully realising something I’ve sort of known for a while now – I’m going to be in dept for a long time because of a hugely expensive education that is, at the moment, essentially useless to me, I decided to combat the tragic monotony of job hunting and the serious lacking of funds with the search for a part-time job.
I started with a run… jog… running interspersed with panting… and hobbling. With the glow of self-righteousness that a morning jog provides, I walked to a local jewellery shop (after a shower, just to clarify). However, when I asked whether they might have a part-time vacancy I got a disdainful snort and the words ‘no love, this train is at the station’. Not quite knowing what this meant but presuming it was akin to ‘this is a sinking ship’, I politely displayed my sadness. I then had to listen to a speech about how nobody gets engaged or married anymore because everybody’s poor and nobody loves each other, and a soliloquy on the loss of the many rich old Clifton ladies who used to spend all their dead husbands money (I didn’t want to ask why all their husbands were dead) in his shop. The blame for this financial dry up lies with John Major, apparently.
By the end of the day I had handed out three CVs, one in a shop full of clothes I can’t afford (that’s just painful), the next was in a sweet shop (again, temptation). The third was full-time waiter staff (if they give me free food, I’m there).
This morning I handed in my CV in to a bar (the food thing applies to alcohol too), when the gentleman I gave it to said ‘do you have any experience?’ I replied with ‘no not really, aside from a predilection towards alcoholism.’ He didn’t get the joke. Why do I think it’s okay to say these things, why!?
I feel for the gentleman whose jewellery shop (train) is coming to the end of it’s journey, but I hope that my train is only just leaving the station, perhaps experiencing a slight delay, because of technical difficulties, that’s British rail systems for you…