Hello again. I’m bored, so looking to spread it around.
Wendy’s off god-bothering, Luke (her adult son) is messing on his computer and there’s bugger all on the box (for a change).
I tried to write this out about half an hour ago, but whether because Luke has run his PC through this one to our (annorexically narrow) broadband connection or the gods of literary whining had had enough, the connection was lost and with it my words. Irritating.
Anywho, soldiering on regardless, to get up to date: I’ve put in for another four hours truck training and another test. Third time better be lucky, I’m fast running out of none-existent money. I’m doing as Prudence Brown requested; spending my way out of recession. If the country goes bust, don’t go pointing the finger of blame at me. As I say, it’s money we don’t have, and to make matters worse when I finally do pass, I will still only be qualified for a lesser paid job than I have now. I then need to spend another £600+ to convert to articulated to make good money. This latest license attempt is costing £420-ish! Ho jolly hum.
It needs to be done though. I have no skills, qualifications, no trade (other than the one the army gave me "You don’t want to join the infantry, join the artillery and come out with a trade." So, now I have on my CV ‘can kill people from 32K.’ Admittedly it’s a niche trade, but well worth the three years of my life it took to acquire.) So, to return towards the point, I’ve bugger all skills, and a job that’s destroying my elbows and hastening my demise into my dads state of advanced (rheumatism/ arthritis?) knackered-ness. Now my job has deteriorated into all of the above, with added -28C! The joy just keeps coming.
The point I was so manly striving toward, before becoming enmired in the above morass of digression, is that I have to get my license (s) and get out of my current job, no matter what.
I thought it was going to be a lot sooner than I’d anticipated, recently. A manager had me in the office for an investigatory hearing, asking why I wasn’t achieving my pick rate. It is a measure of how much I hate working in the freezer that I didn’t even bother to bullshit. I hate it that much that if they were to sack me I wouldn’t be upset. (Destitute, bankrupt, and selling my arse down Bridge Street when the fleet came in, but not as upset as now!) So I told it like it jolly well is, and they said that I have two weeks to start hitting my target (which they know I do every shift when not in the freezer, but they won’t transfer me) or I’d be back in for another investigatory, with a view to disciplinary. The implication being that I either started hitting my score or they were going to begin the procedure to discipline me into unemployment.
Now, as I say, I hate it, and want to get out ASAP, but there’s rarely a good time to go on the dole. The amount of debt I’m running up for the driving alone is scary. So while I couldn’t find it in me to mourn the passing of this job, I was still apprehensive at the prospect of not being able to pay my bills.
Then I got talking to the union rep, and he said he’d be glad to represent me, as no-one had ever been sacked for underachievement. So it looks like the manager in question was just trying to kiss arse further up the food chain, by getting me running around like a fool. It wasn’t going to work anyway, but it’s a weight off my mind that I’m most likely not getting sacked in a fortnight.
In other news, I was asked some weeks back if I’d fight for my (Tae Kwon Do) club. I was flattered, and immediately agreed. I thought it was my duty, and if I got a kicking, it would be good experience. Then, by degrees, I find it costs £20 to enter the competition, it’s in Scotland, it costs over £100 for the protective equipment you need to compete, and everyone who wanted to do well was attending a weekend seminar with Grandmaster Loh in Newcastle the weekend before, for £100, plus your own arrangement for bed and breakfast and obviously petrol to both god forsaken destinations! ( 
Liz)
The final straw came when I realised about two weeks ago that I am no longer on nights, so am not guaranteed Sunday off. I checked when I thought it was, and sure enough I’m working. I sent Sah bum nihm an email asking for confirmation of the dates, got no reply, so by the time I saw her in person it was Friday before I could get a holiday form in, and I’ve not had it returned. I emailed her again yesterday, saying I was going to have to pull out, and apologising. She received that one promptly enough. Seems I have to pay £20 for even agreeing in principle to fight for the club. Got to laugh.
On to the genuinely good news; Wendy had her first day back at the Citizens Advice Bureau on Friday. While she wasn’t unduly terrified the night before, there were certainly signs of her anxiety. In the morning I was off, so I ran her in, (she was getting jittery by then) but had to go to work that afternoon 2-10. When I got in she chewed my ear off. She was buzzing. I’ve not seen her so happy and animated (apart from about her imaginary friend, "god") in many a long yonk. Apparently everyone was really nice and welcoming, she didn’t have to do the new starter training again, they just put her to work on triage (don’t know if that’s a job specific phrase, it’s just sorting the priorities from the non, the one’s who need to be referred to other agencies, and the ones who can sort it out with a self help leaflet, and don’t need to see an advisor) then she just had to brush up on new legislation and whatnot in the afternoon to get back up to speed. She loved it. If and when she gets back to paid work, we will be laughing. Her loudest and longest, she does dearly love that job.
Anyways, that’s about it. I’m back and blogging, and I’ve not improved any.
Later,
Buck.