Eggs or Cheese…that is the question.

Ive had to make a lot of decisions in my life, but this is one that im really struggling with.

So I quit my job – and its secure income , and its soul removing tendancies ,not so long ago now- mainly in a bid to ‘follow my dreams’ and all that – thought Id get another job, part-time, that would allow me to do more with myself. Easy right?

Negative.

Not easy. Not easy at all unless you want to pack cheese in a factory, or indeed pack eggs in another. 25 hours a week the advert says; £6 an hour and a loyalty bonus.

So im sat in front of the paper, phone in hand – what would I rather put into packaging – eggs or cheese?

Erm…

What has my life come to? What have I done?  I mean, fuck it, I might do a morning shift packing cheese and an evening shift packing eggs – then have an omelette at luchtime just for the irony of it.

Seriously.

Ever wake up with a disurbing image in your head? This is mine:

Morning Sam!

 

So next time I blog I’ll be suicidal, but stuffed full of protein.

 

Every cloud…

 

 

 

 

 

 

27 days to go.

So. Notice handed in. The countdown begins.

27 days. That’s 648 hours.

_______________

Dear Diary,

Jackpot.

_______________

I cant wait to get out of here.  People tell me that its given me ‘valuable life experience’ – true, I guess.

Oh, no, wait, wait a minute, hang on, let me just check..no it hasn’t.  My experience bucket is well and truly empty. Bone dry in fact. At second glance there seems to be quite a significant hole in my bucket – large enough to, lets say, let any experience of any value shoot right on outta there.

Im not sure ive even learnt much. I mean, I can polish a spoon, shine a glass, I can even carry a whole plate (with food on it) across a room, AND PUT IT ON A TABLE.

Where will I ever benefit from this. Tell me, where? I can see myself at future job interviews saying ”No sir I don’t have any experience at all, but what I can do sir, is carry your coffee (unaided) all the way across your office and successfully place it in front of you. No spillage. Guaranteed.”

Yup that’s me. I carry stuff.

But boy do I do it well.

I’ve been planning my departure from gastro hell for a while now. I’ve decided to go out with a bang and pretty much sabotage the business from the inside. For example; may be I could make a few alterations to the menu? Ya know, mix it up a little. I’m thinking on my last shift i’ll change the menu to read like this..

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Nuclear Arms

Drink-Eat-Fuck off

 

Starters

Lamb broth with chunky bread    6.00

Five spiced roasted Quail with sesame and soy

Marinated vegetables, sharp nails and disappointing sauce   6.50

Duck hash topped with a fried Duck egg and seasonal leaves    6.50

Steamed Cornish mussels with cider, bacon and shallots   7.00

Mains

Local, over-priced and tasteless pork and leek sausages with creamy mash    10.00

 Aubergine ragu with fuck all    11.50                                                                                

The Stapleton arms Dexter beef burger with triple cooked chips    12.00

Vomit inducing and roasted pork loin with carrot mash, Dorset greens and homemade gravy    12.95                                                                     

Roasted rack of Lagan farm lamb with underpaid staff who, quite frankly, don’t give a shit anymore because they’re leaving    16.50

Ribeye steak with triple cooked chips, burn in hell, and stay there for eternity      17.90                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

Bread and water (for two to share)   46.00

 

ALL OUR MEATS ARE LOCALLY SOURCED FROM NICARAGUA.

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Just an idea anyway. I was also thinking about hiring the cast of ‘Willow’ to hide under all the beds in the hotel rooms and get them to force the residence into some kinda weird orgy kinda thing, but that’ll take planning.

I thought I could write to all the people that have pre-booked for Christmas too, ya know, like

Dear Sir/Madam,

We are no longer open for business and will be closed this Christmas, because we hate Christmas. And, in fact, we also hate you. Santa isn’t real, Rudolph is dead, and ‘all through the house, nothing was stirring’ because Christmas is shit.

Regards.

Management 

I’m all over it. I cant wait. Life begins in 27 days. Must find new job. Stat.

 

 

Wrap. Stack. Pack – no thanks.

Job hunting.

That’s me. I’m on the hunt.

At first I was open to pretty much anything – but now I’ve got my heart set on a big ol’ life change.

I live in a tiny village in the English countryside. Quaint, yes. Exiting, no. This week our local papers headline was ”Sheep gives birth.”

Yup. High-octane stuff.  Its amazing. No-one seems to know anything about the outside world here. Its a ”Sheep gives Birth” kinda place – subtitle ”Barrack Obama invades Russia” kinda place.

I started looking for Jobs in the employment section recently. It wasn’t long before I realised I probably wouldn’t find what I was after – who was I kidding.

I considered a warehouse job. ‘Wrap, Stack, Pack’ was the title. I could imagine myself on my first day – ”OH! I get it, sorry, its wrap, stack THEN pack..”

So I turned to the internet.

See, I want a job being creative. I want to write stuff. Vague I know. But I want to write stuff that makes people laugh – or think – or both. I’m a guy with very little. I don’t have a degree, or much experience. I’ve got £21 in my bank account and a car that doesn’t work when it rains, and that’s pretty much it.

So I sat.

I sat in front of this computer screen as I do now, and went on some kinda Job hunting rampage. I sat here for hours; applying to every humor writing job I could find –  It got to the point where I was filling in forms with ”Sam Drury.26. Hilarious” and hammering the additional notes section with ”I must re-iterate, just how funny I am, Im talking laugh out lound shit your pants funny.”

No response as yet….

Maybe I should try ”please respond to this, my eyes are starting to bleed”

In fact I might even go to these places. I wont drive if its raining, but I’ll go to these places – walk on in there and start writing.

Who knows.  Going from A to B might be harder than I thought.

I better take the bus.