House of Jamie - The work of Jamie

The work of Jamie

2008-May-12

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A deep sorrow has inflicted me recently. A realisation born out of shock and dismay. A simple thought, that manifested into horror. A hand over open mouth, Al Pacino in Godfather Part-III silent scream that if wasn't silent, would deafen those living within 300 miles of me.

I cannot articulate any other way, the pain that bestowed my mind today, when after speaking to Stacy about our past and present jobs, realised that my favourite job, was the four and a bit years I spent at The Q Group, other than to compare it to jumping into a swimming pool of rat infested shit, only to realise that you actually quite like it.

My first job, was a paper round when I was 13. I had to stuff 300 papers a week with spam leaflets. The paper itself, was dire. The amount of real news it chose to ignore in favour of weekly Gardening tips was impossibly ridiculous.

I'd meticulously spend hours stuffing these papers, knowing i'd spend the rest of my life watching the other kids play football on the fields next to the houses I was delivering the papers too. It wasn't that I needed the money, it was that my mum and dad felt it necessary to show me how to work for my money, all £10 of it. £10 to stuff your life into a shit newspaper, and then post it through doors in which most had what sounded like a really angry, starving dog with a taste for 'arm-of-boy' sitting in wait.

Eventually, I got bored of it. And so dumped most of the papers in a ditch every week. It never occured to me that people might actually start complaining. Which inevitably, they did. Which consequentially led to my downfall in the Paper-delivering World.

Next, there was Leicester Tigers Rugby ground on the Welford Road. I worked in the Curry House, which you worked in 4000 degree heat for five hours, serving drunken idiots, and then watched in wonder as the left over rice and curry wasn't given to you for dinner, but rather thrown in the bin. That sure felt good.

I eventually just stopped turning up for work. No one ever said anything. For several months after that, i'd receive a random pay slip from them, given that my friend who worked there was also named "J.Smith" and they mixed it up on occasion, yet we still both got paid. Weird.

Of course, I never mentioned my past experiences of being sacked for dumping papers, or refusing to turn up for work but still claiming money from the Tigers, when I went for my job at 16, at The Q Group. I barely spoke for the first six months. Until I realised it was just fine to ridicule Giles for his hidden gayness, then I piped up.

The first thing I actually remember, is the Chairman telling Sallie and Jeremy ('Elisla' and 'Jeremy' on here. Who became my line managers, and good friends to this day) to try not to 'corrupt his young mind'. I laughed it off. If only I knew.
Since then, through those two, i learnt what felching is, what a juicer is, that every Christmas they expect I get a dildo on a long stick, so one person can sit on one side of the room, whilst vigorously 'dildo-ing' me sat at the other end, any time I left the room, i'd re-enter, only to be asked "Were you being bummed by Tim, in the toilet?" and of course, the joys of a 'hot lunch'. Luckily for most of you, a hot lunch is simply that and nothing more. To me, whenever the words 'hot lunch' are uttered, I feel ever so slightly ill. Despite this, I do feel I owe them a lot.

I enjoyed The Q Group. It did get crap toward the end of my time there. Alot of bitching, backstabbing and office politics. Apart from that, I got comfortable in the role I had, and it became a routine. Even lunch time, became routine. I liked most of the people, I liked random chats with them, I even got used to how incompetent big-earners actually are with a PC. I'm glad I got out when I did, otherwise I may have become even more bitter toward the place.

I then moved on to Countesthorpe College. My boss there, little Indian fella, hated me from day one. He'd follow me from room to room checking everything I did. I'd presume he did this in the hope of finding something to be able to sack me for. He'd watch my desktop from his desktop. When I caught him doing that, I stormed out the office, said 'CUNT' as loud as possible, and he never spoke to me again. I absolutely hated the man. So, I quit, and went back to College.

Most recently, I worked at The Belmont. I liked everyone I worked with. A few people frustrated me. Given that I had no bar experience, and I don't really drink, I had absolutely no idea about anything drink related. I had no idea how much Vodka goes into a Vodka and Lemonade. I had no idea if a Shiraz was a Red Wine or a White Wine. That's how bad I was.

Two people helped me massively on my first couple of shifts, I will never be able to thank them enough. Another BITCH, treated me like shit the first time I was on with her, giving me dirty looks whenever I tried to do something new. Until, I quickly became better and faster at my job than her, and could do the exact same thing back to her, whenever she fucked up (which was alot).
I hated the main boss.
I hated some of the customers.
I hated the shit pay, for what they expect of you. You're basically just a slave.
I hated the shit staff room.
Apart from that, I quite liked it.

Regardless of how much I may have liked or disliked my other jobs, nothing compares to The Q Group for drama. One minute I liked it, the next, I hated it with a passion. The range of people I worked with, in quite a relatively, new yet small office building, made the days much more interesting. I don't think I will ever work at a place like it again.

There is a danger with this kind of blog, of making it sound like I loved working at The Q Group. For most of it, I liked working there. Good people, easy going atmosphere, it was actually a nice place to work. Then, it went down hill. So the danger is making it sound like I loved it hugely. When infact, chosing between my jobs, trying to decide which has been my favourite so far in my short twenty-two years, is the equivilant of having to chose between being bummed by a bear, or swimming in a pool of man fluid.

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