A tale of tedium...
The young Gunter strode carelessly from university: fresh faced, full of ambition and excited about what his future held. He had gained a Desmond, to use the parlance of our times, in his music degree and felt content that he'd balanced fun and study as well as he'd intended.

He was also on the verge of releasing an independent album with some friends (only 1,000 CDs pressed), which represented the realisation of his dreams and, he was convinced, would be the first step on the path to success and glory. More than that; it meant his music would be heard by people all over the country, perhaps even the world (he was a very naive boy back then) and that made him smile, and smile he did.

The initial plan had been to last long enough without gainful employment to be eligible for the generous donations meted out by local government in support of those without any income. However, a fondness for the "smelly green shit" soon eroded any funds that had survived the final few months of study and, growing weak from an absolute absence of sustenance, our hero was forced to abandon his lofty plans of going on the dole, and to take up a job with Parcel Force.

Now this was by no means a step on any rung of the career ladder. If anything he'd tumbled down a ditch at the foot of the ladder, and would have to reach ground level again before beginning his rise to the levels of mediocrity he currently enjoys. But if throwing boxes around put food on his table and weed in his rizla, then he would throw boxes for all the hours that were absolutely necessary. He worked with a few friends and he had loaded lorries and stacked pallets before, so this was nothing new. This is a man, after all, who's upbringing was decidedly rural, so there was no fear of physical labour.

He did, however, find this job to be particularly tedious. Perhaps as a result of the stimulation he'd received from three years of study. Or maybe because his mind and attentions were firmly fixed on the musical success that surely lay at his feet. Most likely as a result of the copious quantity of skunk that was fouling his lungs on an hourly basis; his efforts waned and his commitment was soon called into question.

Ultimately Gunter found it increasingly difficult to drag himself out of his pit each morning just to hurl boxes about for 8 hours. The incidents of sickness increased, while productivity decreased. Tardiness became more and more of an issue and there was more than one occasion where his boss requested a 'brief chat'.

The final one of these chats ended quite abruptly as, in no uncertain terms, the young Gunter made plain to his boss that he wouldn't be requiring their less than generous pay slips any longer. The meeting ended amicably enough, but that didn't stop our hero helping himself to a little parting gift courtesy of Sony, as it happened, as he meandered out of the warehouse and into the sunshine beyond.
( Moey, Fri 23 May 2008, 13:51, 5 replies)

Nicely written
Especially the last line about wandering out into the sunshine.

However, I don't approve of helping yourself to Sony goodies. Bad boy!


Does that last bit sound as creepy as I think it does?
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 23 May 2008, 13:56, closed)

You're absolutely right...
I wouldn't dream of doing so again, but I was young(ish) and foolish and thought that I was sticking it to the man!
( Moey, Fri 23 May 2008, 13:59, closed)

You should be a
WRITAH
( whenanimalsattackhumans clad in global hypercolour, Fri 23 May 2008, 14:03, closed)

No he shouldn't.
He just wrote all that guff to say: I was skint, so got a job with parcel force. I didn't like it so I left, but was a thieving little cunt whilst I did it.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Fri 23 May 2008, 14:50, closed)

That's right Edenmonster.
I admire your capacity to summarise so succinctly.

I could have saved myself a whole five minutes.
( Moey, Fri 23 May 2008, 15:01, closed)