Child LabourThere is a special part of Hell I'd like to reserve for those arses that order every single Sunday paper. Do you know how heavy that makes the bundle of papers some poor kid (ie me) has to lug around? Funny how your papers always seemed to get mangled in your letterbox...
I loved my paper round, but, looking back, I was getting paid peanuts to ruin my back and cycle around in the cold and dark. How were you exploited as a child?
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chthonic, Fri 17 Feb 2006, 12:05)
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The Wonderful World Of WorkFor work experience, (aged 15) me and a friend were both packed of to the local offices of a certain civil service that shall remain nameless. Whereas I had a fab time sitting next to an hilarious woman who was the office favourite for the fine reason that she had amazing legs and a taste in skirts that were so short they stopped a couple of inches south of her belt, my mate had less fun.
He was sat next to a man who seemed reasonably normal. At first anyway. His first clue was at the coffee break when the man got his mug out of the drawer. Not only was his mug in the shape of a ceramic tit but his open drawer revealed a stack of men's muscle magazines. Naturally this freaked my mate out slightly, but nowhere near as much as when his new colleague started gently resting his hand on his thigh while explaining things to him.
Cut to the next day and, after a swift conversation with one of the bosses, my mate was 'working' in a different department and the man with the cermic tit mug had mysteriously stopped coming to work. Funny that.
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Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Mon 20 Feb 2006, 13:48,
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