Nothing, compared to some of the stuff on here......so I don't really know why I'm posting it. Will kill a few minutes, I suppose.
Anyway, I used to work in a supermarket putting meat on the shelves. I started work at 4:30am, spent an hour sitting in the cold room in a tatty, ripped coat, and then went out to put meat on the shelves. My boss decided everyone should have a nickname, and because I was thin he decided to call me 'Jarvis' (after cocker, I hope, not the building contractors). Not even my forced sarcastic laugh could convince him he was being a twunt. Anyway, by nine in the morning I couldn't feel my hands, and so I didn't notice the multitude of cuts on my fingers, palms, backs of hands, and forearms, caused by the sharp edges of the plastic meat containers.
Two hours after finishing work, though, when the feeling had returned, I'd often have a good scream at the pain.
I could, however, mark down the cost of meat and hide it at the back while I clocked out, thus ensuring a cheap supply of sausages for the month that I put up with the job.
(,
Mon 10 Nov 2003, 16:15,
archived)
Anyway, I used to work in a supermarket putting meat on the shelves. I started work at 4:30am, spent an hour sitting in the cold room in a tatty, ripped coat, and then went out to put meat on the shelves. My boss decided everyone should have a nickname, and because I was thin he decided to call me 'Jarvis' (after cocker, I hope, not the building contractors). Not even my forced sarcastic laugh could convince him he was being a twunt. Anyway, by nine in the morning I couldn't feel my hands, and so I didn't notice the multitude of cuts on my fingers, palms, backs of hands, and forearms, caused by the sharp edges of the plastic meat containers.
Two hours after finishing work, though, when the feeling had returned, I'd often have a good scream at the pain.
I could, however, mark down the cost of meat and hide it at the back while I clocked out, thus ensuring a cheap supply of sausages for the month that I put up with the job.