Drivin'
When I was a student in the armpit of the world known as lancashire (rain and hills in any combination are an absolute swine), I got so desperate for beer n drugs money that I decided I'd better supplement my student grant with a - ahem - job. I got a job as a driver for a small family run DIY store. Which was great. Good rates of pay and didnt have to start work til midday, which suited my body clock fine which was, for the duration of my course, tuned into the same timezone they use in the Galapagos. Unfortunately, my plan for lots of spare income was scuppered on the third day when my boss inquired why I had spent all my time rearranging tins of paint in the store room instead of delivering bathrooms to the smelly unwashed of Bolton. I left very shortly afterwards never to return. You see the thing about a driving job, the really important, essential aspect of a career in the world of driving, is that you NEED A DRIVING LICENSE and have to have at least LEARNED HOW TO DRIVE. Neither of these things I had bothered to do (still don't drive now ten plus years later, which is great by the way and I recommend all of you drivers to forget how to drive immediately so your mates can chaufer you everywhere while you get bombed out of ya head's). Later that evening when I was in the bar I had to explain to my clan of half witted mates why I had been sacked. We thought it was a bit unfair so went and nicked all the plastic garden gnomes from round the back of the DIY place. For the next three years we lived in a very poor replica of Narnia, complete with resplendant gonomage - each with an empty beer can as a special pedastal.
(TexMex2000, Tue 28 Feb 2006, 16:07, Reply)