» Stuff I've found

Trolley Boy
I used to be the trolley boy, way back when I was a sixth former, for Moronsons... hated the job most of the time, having to work outdoors in the worst of winter, but, because of "Sir" Ken Moronson's tightness, and the fact that he would rather charge his own customers for the privilege of using one of his beloved trolleys rather than use it for free and then chuck it in the nearest river - as he surely knew they all would, tight prick - I was able to turn up for work every Saturday morning and know that by lunchtime I'd have made enough £1 coins to buy my subsidised pie and chip in the staff canteen, and by the end of the day I'd have the money to cover at least one pint in the pub (to compensate for finishing work at 9pm on a Saturday). Excellent. Plus, among the many 'bonus' finds in my time there, were:

- a full crate of John Smiths Bitter discovered in a trolley well after store closing time

- £30 left in the ATM (plus a great many fivers and tenners stuck in the bushes surrounding the car park)

- A brilliant black and decker full beam torch which I had for years until accidentally leaving in a hostel somewhere in South Africa

- and many more goodies, including full bags of shopping, christmas lights sets, books, more alcohol, etc etc etc...
(Sun 9th Nov 2008, 1:37, More)

» I Quit!

Just quit. I mean it
I jacked in a dreary, dreadful call centre job (which I was over-qualified for anyway) after getting turned down for a promotion- which the company instead preferred to give to others who had been there for less time than I had- some of whom I had actually helped train to do the job in the first place!

Upon being sent the email that told me I hadn't got the role, I immediately decided to hand in my notice, I didn't even care if I didn't have another job to go to. By the time my notice was up I still didn't have another job, so I spent a month living on my savings before eventually landing another job which paid £2k a year more than I would have earned had I got the promotion I went for in the first place, and ia a much less miserable and hostile environment.

So all I can say is- is you've got a job you hate, then don't wait for things to turn themselves around, don't meekly send off aplications in the vain hope you'll get an interview. Quitting a crap job is the best kick-up-the-backside you'll ever get, you'll be more determined to do better and job interviewers, believe it or not, will actually be impressed that you've got the balls to make your own decisions rather than spend your life muttering about your crap job but doing nothing about it.

Wow, there's a book there. I could make millions.
(Sat 24th May 2008, 18:34, More)

» Cheap Tat

Crap coat
Was bought for me

About the time when I was 16 (a long time ago) and it was coming up to Christmas, my Dad asked me what I'd like to receive. I really needed a warm jacket as the flimsy thing I already had (another cheap piece of tat bought by my Mum- my parents were already long divorced by this time) didn't really protect me from either the rain or the cold. So I asked for a winter jacket, knowing that my Dad was making a decent living and his new missis was worth loadsamoney.

So it somes to Christmas morning and I of course know what I've got. I get to open my present in front of my Dad's side of the family and his missis' weird kids, thinking it's going to be an ultra-warm Timberland or Henri Lloyd (this is before those brands became wholly appropriated by chavscum). It turns out to be a crappy probably-less-than-£10 job from Tradex, which my Dad was at the time recommending to all his friends (all of whom have since vanished) as a revelation (they'd recently opened one of their sheds nearby). I had to feign gratitude and go "wow, thanks" as I realise what a load of crap I've got, and then watch as they open the presents I've worked so hard to earn for them (okay most of those were cheap but I was only in the sixth form and had only recently started my first ever paying job other than the paper round).

The coat started to rip at the shoulders after a week, weighed a ton due to probably being lined with the innards of mattresses from some landfill site, and when it rained bled dye onto whatever else you had on. I ended up using it in my job pushing trolleys round Moronsons car park after my company-branded and equally tat works jacket got stolen. In one rain shower (which I endured whilst wearing the bloody thing and pushing those godforsaken trolleys) the coat soaked up so much water that it took about five days to dry out on the radiator (though it was my Dad's radiator so probably wasn't turned up to its maximum. Was warmer than my Mum's house though where we used to wake up with ice on the windows INSIDE the house- this was the 1990s). Eventually the weather warmed up and I didn't need it any more.

Come the next winter, it was still hanging around, but rather than wear it again I threw it on the November 5th bonfire and bought my own. My Dad usually buys me alcohol at Christmas now, 'cos he thinks I'm an alcoholic. He's probably tight. I mean right.
(Sun 6th Jan 2008, 23:37, More)

» Dumb things you've done

To begin with
1. Aged 17, drank all-but-a-mouthful of a whole bottle of vodka (only reason I didn't down the lot was because my mates, who were busy getting stoned which I wasn't interested in on principle, realised and stopped me 'cos they wanted some). This was on a night out in Huddersfield (another mistake). We then went to the Crescent and had a drink where I felt fine, then to a place with the rather unfortunate name of 'Beyond Beach Babylon'. I was totally fine for about an hour, perfectly sentient, a bit drunk but otherwise Ok.

Then I blacked out.

I only remember two other things about that night. One is me standing outside the club, half-dead, wondering how the hell I was ever gonna get home, where the hell home was. For some reason I remember this as a kind-of out-of-body experience, a sane, awake me looking at the totally smashed beyond recognition me. The other memory is of being in either a taxi or someone's car- someone (I never found out who) made it their mission to get me home- thank God they did- with someone having to hold the door open whilst the car was moving so I could throw up.

I picked up what else had happened later from other people. I'd blacked out in the club and collapsed, then woken up and been violently sick whilst being carried out by the bouncers, who proceeded to beat the crap out of me. Some good soul got me in a car and managed to decipher where I lived, got me home, knocked on the door whereby my Dad answered:

Saviour: "Are you Martin's Dad?"

(Dad looks at me slumped on the steps)

Dad: "Yeah."

They dragged me into the house and left me on the living room floor. I woke up about eight, and despite feeling like death went to college, though I had to go home after a while. I got home, slept off the hangover, then went to work pushing Trolleys round Morrisons car park in the evening. Then I went out again....

....hmmm, it's a dumb thing to do but in hindsight it's part of being a teenager. I must have done worse things since. Oh wait, I have....
(Sat 22nd Dec 2007, 20:16, More)

» Public Sex

Really wish this hadn't happened...
...lost my virginity in the grounds of St Peter's (is it St. Peter's?) church in the middle of Huddersfield (the town centre was practically empty BTW - 3:30 on a Saturday afternoon in the same place would have made the local papers a bit more interesting than they usually are I suppose)

At the time, I was thrilled to have finally gotten my end away. Nowadays I look back on it with a sense of shame, because it's just a bit of a chavvy, nasty thing to do, almost as bad as w**king each other off in a crowded nightclub

...which I'd done to the same girl the previous night
(Thu 23rd Apr 2009, 16:46, More)