» Easiest Job Ever

Data input and company cars
Sorry, it's a long'un

So I was a data input monkey for a while at £8 an hour (just after A-levels and desperate for beer shrapnel) for which, like most here, I wrote a macro and spent the rest of the day hanging around the arsholiest jeb ends in the office, asking them if they wanted a coffee - most times, they'd be in the middle of trying to discern which was indeed their arse and which might be their elbow, or struggling to keep track of a large amount of figures, and my question would either infuriate them with my carefree free time attitude, or cause them to have a brain fart where they'd have to start over. And then, of course, it was a matter of pride not to accept my offer.

A while later, it was noticed that I had too much time on my hands, and I was given the job of couriering documents between the two offices, about a twenty minute drive to the next town. No way was I going to sign up to their appalling offer of mileage allowance, so instead I got given a Smart car (company car that nobody had chosen, I suppose), a credit card for "FUEL ONLY" and sent on my merry way.

Thing was, nobody actually notified the other office when I was sent out, and handling paperwork or waiting for the manager to come back so I could deliver "in person" was known to take up to an hour, more if he was on lunch. The number of times I used the little Smart to pick up stuff from the supermarket I lost count of. The fuel card could be used for chocolate and crisps from the non-itemising petrol station (sure, a longer drive away, but I wasn't paying for it!).

Best of all, though, was just before I got the sack. By timing things right on a Friday, I could keep the company car - insured, fuelled, and un-needed - for the whole weekend. I'd just carry a brown envelope out of whichever building I'd finished in at half past 4, and it was assumed I was heading back to the other office.

By this point, I'd been working there for over a year, and with the extra duties got £12.50 and hour. Add in the copious amounts of Lion Bars, Smarties and those crinkly crisps, and it was a pretty sweet deal. No pun intended.

Length? Was able to pull off taking the car for the weekend for about two months before someone noticed and I was shown the door.
(Thu 9th Sep 2010, 17:27, More)

» Brain Fade

Art
I'm sure I'm not alone in this...

Being a casual artist, I would sketch then paint the occasional bit of tat. No Monet, but I was self-taught, and the point was that it was fun. I'd made myself learn because I was going through a phase of "Anyone can learn anything!" and had never been able to draw.

It was about at this time that photoshop dickery began to take off. "That," said I, "Is another thing I can't do, but something I'd like to know how to do!" So I spent the next few months getting to grips with image editing software, completely neglecting my paper and pencil and paint.

When I realised I hadn't drawn anything in a while, I sketched, and at the first mistake I made, my left hand instinctively jumped to the bottom-left corner of the page, little finger and middle finger.

Sketch pads do not come with Ctrl-Z. Duuh.
(Fri 22nd Mar 2013, 10:25, More)

» Drunk Parents

It was shit
I've got a whole range to tell you, from being picked up from school drunk (not good when you're in the back seat) to standing in front of the car begging the parent in question not to walk out on us.

Instead, you get a happy tale.

When I was about five, my dad thought it'd be funny (and to be fair, he was about half a bottle of rum down at this point) to give me some. IT BURNED LIKE HELL. I can't express the fire that was in my mouth that night. Him and his friend took a git of figgles, and do you know what? It worked. For a long time, I hated beer, and for several years after that would only have one can and call it a night.

These days I'm into my wine, but here's a tip to all parents: if you don't want your kid to be a teenage drunkard, let them try the stuff when they're five. Put me off altogether for about twelve years.
(Fri 25th Feb 2011, 13:26, More)

» What was I thinking?

Two birds with being stoned
So we'd been on a night out and I'd been on the pull. Walked this girl home (fresher's week at uni) and found her accommodation. On the way back, this guy pissed out of his skull tries to muscle in on the act. No way, thinks I. Apparently, she's not too taken with him either, and we dump him off as soon as possible and carry on.

Now, long-term relationships are something I find it hard to come by, but she's lovely. I mean, REALLY lovely. Not stunning, not drop-dead gorgeous, but funny, bright and genuine, and you would have: but for some reason, I didn't.

I didn't want it to end up as a one-night drunken/high encounter and lose her to the chemicals, so we swapped numbers and she said she'd be in touch.

On my way out of the accommodation block, I passed the kitchen. A quick sniff confirmed that somebody had a nice bit of bud going on in there. The kitchens only had heat detectors, not smoke detectors, so nothing but a fire would set them off. Made sense with students who'd never cooked before, and saved Burnt Toast false alarms. In late September, this led to a lot of smoking in there, due to the weather.

So, on a roll, I decide to slip in and see what's happening. I'm a sociable sort and get on well with people even if I've never met them before. I open the door ready to sponge a few tokes and -- three girls and a hookah on the table. Score!

So, introductions, I sit down, start huffing, two aren't interested but the yank girl from New York is. Personally, I think it was a matter of accent over appearance - everyone wants a Hugh Grant of their own if they aren't from these shores.

Stay a few hours chatting - I was pleasantly mellow before, now we're all a little stoned and it's time to go to bed.
"Let's go watch a film," says she
"Sure thing," says I, the girl from earlier still on my mind, but no harm in a film, right? I truly was enjoying the conversation, and it's nice to be sought after, but it would only be a film: Girl From Earlier was still on my mind.
"So... where's your room?"
Alarm bells. Maybe it was pot paranoia but I didn't want her to be some crazy stalker and know where I lived.
"You don't want to go there, it's a mess."
"Yeah, well so's mine, where's your room?"
"No, really, it's a shit tip..."

This cringeworthy exchange went on for a good two minutes as we tried to convince each other to let the respective other let us into their room. I don't know what her reason was, maybe the same as mine, maybe the walls were thin and she was embarrassed, I don't know. What I do know is that it ended with us going to our own beds alone.

Next morning, Lovely Girl is nowhere to be found, and one of the other two Kitchen Girls informs me that the New Yorker was good mates with Lovely Girl, and after turning her down she'd proceeded to make out like I was gagging to get her into the sack.

I should just have chosen one and not cared if they hated me the day after, like anyone else who was my age, but being relatively inexperienced and highly romanticised by Hollywood (fuck you, Hugh Grant, next time tell me it like it is!) I believed Lovely Girl might truly have been The One, and paid through the nose for it.

Shy types take note.
(Thu 23rd Sep 2010, 17:34, More)

» Drugs

Salvia
I've only dabbled in drugs occasionally, and nothing really strong. So having wanted to try salvia for a while, I finally went and got some. I tried rolling it in a spliff with baccy - nothing. Tried skinning it and smking it on its own - nothing except a bit of lightheadedness. So, getting frustrated (it's always hit and miss whether drugs will end up doing anything for me) I piled a huge wad of it into my pipe and burned it with a constant lighter flame. Started to burn my fingers, but then something strange happened.

I was standing on the back step looking over the patio, small terraced house with a fence on either side at about one in the morning. Suddenly, everything went bright colours, the sky was baby blue, and I swear the trees looked a little like candy canes. I'd made my mind up beforehand not to stop huffing until I was really high, but the thing was that all this began to seem normal. It's like my brain had decided that this was how the world *should* look... so I kept huffing, taking really deep breaths and holding them.

I began singing Sesame Street at the top of my voice and bursting out laughing. Wrong theme tune, because the world reminded me heavily of the beginning to Playdays. As it finally began to fade, I began to desperately hold onto the high, until I was left, twenty minutes after I started, Sesame Street stuck in my head, standing in the drizzle on a cold night in Leeds, staring at a weed-ridden patio, and wishing so hard to be back in my little Playdays world.

Haven't touched it since, but only because I don't want to be disappointed and screw the memories of that first, excellent Salvia trip.
(Fri 17th Sep 2010, 8:48, More)