» I Quit!

Of jobs and quitting....
I once found myself stuck in the mother of all shitty helpdesk jobs.

A very small firm, no regulation of software releases - dealing with the retail industry, and forcing it's staff to work 14 hours (7am to 9pm) on a Saturday, one weekend in 3. The developers had a fantastic habit of releasing untested software updates to the various retail chains that used the companies hardware / software, and the support (me and 2 others) had to try and pick up the pieces the next day when 400 + stores would call up, telling us to sort it or else.

The managers ground down your soul until you were convinced that this was it, you couldn't do any better and you were going to spend all eternity there, at their whim.

Life was shit.

One Friday, after a particularly crappy incident, when displaying proof of others ineptitude to the managers, I was told to "Sit the fuck down and be grateful that you've still got a job." I wrote my notice by hand, there and then, and handed it to my boss.

I didn't have a job to go to. But fuck it, the dole was better than working in that shit hole. I had never before considered being on benefits, but even the vast quantity of marijuana that I was partaking in at the time wasn't enough to block the pain that place brought upon me.

So, the days moved forwards towards my impending departure. It dawned upon me that I had been slowly destroyed as a human being over 18 months, and my blood began to boil.

As it turned out, I had managed to get my last day as a Saturday, and would leave the place at 9pm on that day.

Preparations were made.

I stopped going to the toilet on Wednesday. I managed to avoid crimping a length off for 3 days, and I increased my food intake until I was barely able to walk, such was the strain placed upon my balloon knot.

Arriving at the office on Saturday, walking like John Wayne, and with a thin sheen of sweat on my forehead, I calmly took my appointed place at my desk and worked. 13.5 hours later, it was time.

They only had 2 single toilets in the building, each one a self contained cubicle with bog and sink. The ground floor was my first target.

As I sat on the throne and gritted my teeth, I wondered if I had made a mistake. My vision went slightly blurry as I strained to unleash the beast within. Thankfully, I was the only person in the building, so no one else could hear my howling as I began giving birth to a U-blocker of epic proportions.

I started to wonder if I was going to need to call the hospital after I was done on that toilet, but, slowly, the pain passed, and I found myself in a position to crimp off a log early, splitting the winnings if you will, and tactically move up to the second toilet located on the first floor.

Thankfully, the second pan-cracker passed more peacefully than his brother, although it too had the desired effect. Soon, both chod bins were loaded with what could only be described as a scale model of the andes mountain range.

I walked slowly back downstairs and finished the last part of my shift. I had shed about 40% of my mass in those 2 toilets, and when the end of the day came, I left, without flushing, and leaving the doors wide open, never to return to that hell hole.

I heard that when the staff for the next shift turned up, not only did the entire building smell like Satan's ringpiece, but the attempt to flush was met with complete failure of the 80's plumbing.

Apologies for length, but it was a 3 day accumulation....
(Thu 22nd May 2008, 14:22, More)

» My most treasured possession

That which cannot be replaced...
Firstly.... *pop*

I've been reading some of the replies to this question and I find myself thinking that of all the things I could rescue in a fire, the only single thing I would rescue, in all honesty, possesses me to a far greater degree than I possess it.

My Fiancée.

I really think that everything else could burn to the ground, and my life would be no poorer for it.

On a slightly more philosophical note, when you're faced with a question such as this, it forces you to consider what really is important in your life, be it material, sentimental, or something that is very much a part of what you do, or who you are at the moment. Most of the replies here have lifted my heart somewhat, as I think we all need something that we value more than our own existence. Surely if we don't, we are poorer for it?

Thanks for your time, length jokes will appear in future posts.
(Fri 9th May 2008, 17:38, More)

» Thrown away: The stuff you loved and lost.

Lost it? I never even got it!!
I recently discovered that my fiancee sent me a really cool present on my 22nd birthday (that's now about 6 years ago.) - She lived in Germany at the time, and sent me some congac and congac dipped cigarillos as a birthday present (con-incidentally, it had been a remarkably crap year that year, and had I received said gift, it would've been the nicest thing to happen to me in that entire 12 months.)- however, they never turned up and it turned out that year was the lowest in my life ever.

I only found out about that gift 6 months ago, when the missus and I were talking about gifts. For the last 5 and a half years, she thought that I was just ungrateful, and didn't want to thank her.

It may not have been worth millions, but in the year that it was sent, had it arrived, it would've been priceless, and very well recieved.

Royal Mail let me down big style on that one.
(Fri 15th Aug 2008, 12:24, More)

» Accidental innuendo

Of Supermarkets....
When in the supermarket with Mrs. Ryushin, we were looking to cook a satay chicken Dish, with me making the stir-fry. From the other side of an aisle, the Missus, after searching for Satay Sauce, loudly announces:

"Darling, I can't find any of your nut-sauce."

You could hear the entire supermarket grind to a halt, and me laughing. Lots.

Not to be outdone by this, we made our way over to the beer & Ales section, whereupon I happened to pick up some ales, without looking.

At the checkout, I loudly announced that I was going to enjoy said ales, picked up one bottle and began the sentance:

"Yes, tonight, I am particularly going to enjoy this, erm, Mann's Brown Ale."

It was her turn to laugh.
(Thu 12th Jun 2008, 12:58, More)

» Public Transport Trauma

German Public Transport...
Many moons ago, I was fortunate enough to live in the German city of Munich. Well, technically, a reasonable sized 'dorf' outside of Munich, a little place called Gauting. It was a lovely idyllic little town, with a nice little railway station which linked it to the City - part of the "S-Bahn" infrastructure. Almost identical to the tube system, but mostly overground, until you reach Munich proper.

Munich, renowned as a City of great culture, and Beer. The Oktoberfest rolls into town every year, at the last two weeks of September, and the first couple of days of Oktober. The breweries bring out the special beer, and drunkness descends upon the city.

It's worth a visit. You've not lived until you've seen a city get pissed en masse, and peacefully at that.

Anyway, during my yearly pilgrimage to the alter of beery drunken-ness, it would entail complete reliance upon the efficient, cheap, German public transport system. This was always flawless on the way to the 'fest.

I should probably share one of my problems with you now. I'm a sympathetic vomiter. The sight, smell, or sound of barf, and I begin my own technicolour wonder-yawn.

Imagine the Scene - Young Ryushin leaves the HB Haus (one of the larger beer tents, popular with the tourists and english speaking crowd), pleasantly steaming, and walks, mostly sideways, back to the S-Bahn station to get back on the last train out of Munich. As this is the last train, it's heaving. Being the end of September in Munich, it's also Hot.

It began almost as soon as I got on the train. The stench of sick, as people had liberally thrown up on the train throughout the evening. I tried, in vain, to block it out by breathing through my mouth. I noticed that some other people were starting to go a little green in the face. Then, from the back:

"Hngrrrl.... Hukk.... BAAAARF!!" - Oh fuck.

The distinctive sound that spew makes as it hits the ground rang through the carridge, and the passangers began to swell towards the exit door and the next carridge, hoping to avoid the puddle of barf ebbing towards their feet.

Being caught up in the throng, I had no choice but to move with them, being pushed away, whilst choking down my own bile.

The carridge we moved into was already crowded, and someone had done the same in there.

And the next carridge, and the next one....

Every. Single. Carridge.

Puke on the walls, seats, floor. People being actively sick amid the layer of stale puke in the train. The September heat making the stench unbearable.

Amid all this, I had moved into the dangerous territory of Just-about-to-cry-huey. I looked at the people stood around me, a mute pleading in my eyes as I felt the first wave move towards its final destination: The train floor. Fortunately, they were smart, and I was rapidly moved to the outer edge of the crowd, near one of the larger puddles of vom, and there, I hurled. I hurled, and hurled, and once more for good luck. I threw up my toe-nails. I threw up meals I hadn't eaten yet.

I then had to spend 20 minutes dry-retching on a train, amid looks from passengers of equal parts sympathy and disgust, until I arrived at my train station, and got out.

Fresh air never tasted so good.

Apologies for length, but my right hand has never once complained.
(Fri 30th May 2008, 12:09, More)