Job Crap

I went to work in some trepidation but more hope that my catastrophic error of Tuesday night had finally been uncovered and a P45 had been prepared. No such luck. Another whole afternoon and evening of my life gone down the toilet for minimum wage (or actually a few pence above that because I'm not actually at the bottom of the heap).

The Big Swinging Dick was in a vile mood, though nobody's quite sure why. Perhaps working the hours he does is part of the problem but he will insist, quite unnecessarily on doing both the rostered morning shift and then staying on for the rest of the day to be The Hand Maiden's help mate. Like she can't run the place on her own.

Neither was anywhere to be seen when some preposterously tall prick baled me up with a complaint about our unreliable checkouts. Well, doh. Tell me (and the rest of the world, for that matter) something new. The crap we use was crap when it was installed. Now it's antique crap. Rumours abound that they're working up plans for a refit. The betting is that what goes in will be a job lot picked up off the back of someone's van, but only after Tesco and the others have fingered it.

T'wasn't all doom and gloom today. Someone confided in someone who in turn gleefully reported to me that I scare him. Excellent. Turns out I scare the whole fucking lot of kiddies. Not enough so that they actually earn their pay, but scaring them at all is enough to brighten my day somewhat.