First Job

Money.. ahh .. Money first came in the form of my parents as it did for most. First taste of tax evasion even though I didn’t know it then. Physical labor in the exchange of hard cash, seemed like a bright idea, well, before the physical labor began. I cleaned, ironed scrubbed, folded and tidied. My own residence. Felt a fleeting feeling of satisfaction, even if I knew I was being paid too much and the work was relatively easy, but relatively has nothing to do with it, as I had nothing to base the relative on. Anyway, sixty pounds, three twenties, Elizabeth in my pocket. My hands hurt from the cleaning substances, who knew that bleach would require huge amounts of moisturizer. So there was my first purchase, hand cream. Then swiftly along to the music store to buy some brand new, Ernie Ball bass guitar strings to keep the dream alive. I was more miffed than satisfied. The money conundrum got right on top of me, and I’m not sure I understand the balance between hard work and monetary reward still. Something seemed terribly wrong. So I made the CV, a declaration of what I was worth, detailing hobbies and interests subtly, sure to list my vast work experience, of two weeks, thanks education and handed ONE CV to the music store, as a job was open and waited for a reply. It was the only job I was suitable for, both considering my background and the jobs available. I waited a whole summer. Played bass. Began writing about the confusion. Got nothing. It was suggested by my father to ask at places that knew me. There was only one place. So out of desperation, I applied at the outdoors store, run by my ex scout leader. Positive response. I was in the club. I extracted my national insurance card from my wallet and proceeded at once to my first trial shift.
The first job is always an incredible eye opener. Your eyes are then so wide open to … the value of the pound, the value of labor, societies expectations, the actuality of what you are actually going to be able to make in life, judgment of others, the reality of loans and social survival to keep up with the joneses. Oh and tax.
I thought twenty five thousand pounds per annum was a despicable wage, something students are forced to put up with before a the few years of hazing was up and they start to scratch into the hundreds of thousands. Then I learned, rather sharply, that the average wage back in two thousand and five, when I first started working, was sixteen thousand pounds sterling a year. FOR A FUCKING ADULT. An immediate list of questions rolled off my naive tongue. How do they buy houses, cars, televisions and food?
On the up side I believe I was on around ten thousand for my first job, I was certain to meet national average in a matter of weeks, as soon as I started managing the place. After all I had a brain, good customer sense, an exceedingly polite manner, higher education. Sorted.
I distinctly remember as most will probably on walking into their first day of work asking the first question. What should I do? I was immediately hand three lists. ‘The List’ (which I will come back to) ‘The Immediate Tea List’ and ‘The Lunch List’. The smile fell off my face like a suicide victim from the Eifel Tower, maximum velocity.
So I did the last two lists, to a high standard, playing the game, delivering them both with a newly acquired false smile, whilst the steam rose off the budget tea. That smile has done me well, though I never liked to lie. Now it’s a necessity. I learned words such as ‘Customer Service’, ‘Quality Control’ and ‘Hygiene Safety’.
I was given the title ‘shed monkey’ as the stock for the shop lay literally in a shed. I had the task of finding the items sold the day before in that dank dark place for between two and four hours a day. The hours increased as my inquisitiveness prevailed. Now I was organizing the place as well. Labeling hundreds of cardboard boxes, I watched my education float out the small crack of light they called a window, I turned on the stereo and put in ‘How to Clean Everything – Propagandhi’ organized, sorted and structured to the upbeat melancholy undertones of political punk. It slowly became my religion.
Every day for three weeks this happened and I developed an anger that resides in most of us, until I received my first pay cheque. It was a momentous occasion, eight hundred odd pounds sank into my bank account, three hundred into the governments. I hadn’t been asked to give that money, I just read in hindsight that it wasn’t mine anymore.
I became the compost for society that day and began cultivating my way forwards, not upwards.
p.s. the boss was an asshole.

WORK

Work
Work seems like quite a trivial thing to me, almost comic in its enivitable disaster. We all strive to find work, and it’s the most important thing, we have all been terribly excited at the prospect of starting a new job when we have no money and then one hour into that shift, you are all ready beginning to get the loathing sweats whilst the never ending story develops at a pace faster then a pair of HUMAN hand should work. Im not suggesting animals have hands, or that they should work. Maybe machines should take our place, but then we would have no work.
Work is entertainment, purpose, productivity, progression. Work is also a time vat, depression and oppression.
I have had the privilege in my last four years away from home having many “works”.
Lawn Mower
House Cleaner
Sales Person
Sales Person
Waiter
Machine Operator
Postman
Potwasher
Food Runner
Glass Collector
Waiter and Dishwasher
Painter
Removal Man
Wine Bottle Washer
Construction Labourer
Stock Room Manager
Glass Collector
Cook
Sign Holder
Promotions Person
Car Driver
Snow Mover
Sales Person
Trainee Chef
Chef?
Substitute Nursery School Teacher

INSANITY. I like music, painting, writing. Im good at thinking. Problem Solving (clearly not my own problems). Computer Fixing. Lying. Talking
A short paragraph will follow on this chronological disaster ,if I keep up the motivation, on each one of these chosen vocations. Maybe it will solve my life. Realization and all that.