Back To The Rat Race

Nobody likes to work, so it might not seem unusual when I tell you that I really hate it. Only I think that I am unusual, as I am convinced that I hate work more than anyone in the world. Yes, that includes you. No, really. Think of how much you hate work, then multiply it by the largest number in the world, then forget the number that you come up with because my hate for work defies the conventions of puny human mathematics. So, what’s the problem, you ask? Well, it seems I have a job.

If you read my last journal entry you may have noticed that I was going for a job interview. Apparently that interview wasn’t an interview at all. Apparently it was an opportunity for me to go in there and fill out the paperwork necessary for me to take the job. I didn’t even really know what I was doing, and yet there I was, giving them my personal information and signing documents that let the police check my criminal record (which is non-existent, thank you very much). So when did I get the job? I’m still trying to figure that out. You see, my new boss-to-be called a lady who works for my father and asked if she could refer anyone who would be ideal for this position. The lady at my father’s office happens to be mad for me and thinks that I am perfect for an administration role, so she dropped my name. And you know something--I think that that is the moment that I got the job. I think this because when my boss-to-be called me she sounded as though she’d already made up her mind. Or it might have been after I said ‘yes, I gave the lady in question permission to pimp my name for your OH&S job.’ Maybe that meant, ‘yes, I want your OH&S job.’

A small part of me thinks I am pretty silly for allowing my father’s colleague to drop my name. The larger part of me is screaming ’you idiot, you had it made!‘ But whatever, larger part. I can’t mooch off my mum and dad forever. Besides, this is only an interim position and I’m not qualified to take the job on on a permanent basis. I’m just there to fill in for a few months. The work sounds easy, and the money is probably good. I normally would have asked about the cash, but I’ll be damned if I thought I’d ever be sitting here writing about starting a job in anything other than retail. I even tried to sabotage myself by admitting that I wasn’t qualified and making a fool of myself in the interview. I looked pretty hot, though. I bet that’s why I’m sitting here, all employed and un-mooching. Damn my superior genes. I would cut off my nose, but then the mirrors in the house would be sad because I would use them less often. Boo. How could I be so selfish?

In other more important news, I am editing a story. Hooray for me. And hooray for you what gets to read it, innit!

P.S., I am not going to proofread this post before I press the publish button because, damn it, I’m a working woman now and I don’t have time to play silly buggers with grammar and spelling.

P.P.S., pls dun tell teh english i say dat or it will leve me........

P.P.P.S., i fink it alredy nos........o shi-