On a day like today, there is no other choice than to write. Write something, anything, to take my mind off the boredom that is professional life.
While people around me drink coffee, eat pastries, and talk nonsense about things I will never understand, I sit perched on a stool, waiting for the phone to ring.
This is the life I lead for eight hours a day. While those around me work for corporate recognition, discussing the share price, market share; I just hope something breaks so I can go fix it. The call I’m waiting for won’t be from anyone particularly important, nor will its content be of a life-saving nature, but it will be the most important thing in the world. Briefly.
It’s been a slow day, not least because the entire network in my office has gone down. It’s now been over three hours since I arrived at work, and so far I’ve not been able to access the internet. It’s no wonder I’ve succumbed to drivelling self-indulgence.
Oooh, a phone call. Exciting, but brief. I thought for a minute I might have to get out of my chair, but sadly not.
God, some of these people are fat. I mean properly fat. I often wonder how people reach that point. There’s a bloke just walked passed who is the spitting image of Mike McShane. With a slab of millionaire’s shortbread in his hand. I saw a report on BBC that said that obese mothers are more likely to produce obese daughters, and likewise fathers and sons.
Three words sprang to mind, the third of which was “Sherlock.”
If pubs are allowed to stop selling alcohol to people who are too drunk, why can’t supermarkets do something similar with “stomachally challenged” people? “I’m sorry madam, but you are too overweight to buy any Goodfellas pizzas”.
I think the reason why I’ve started writing this is because my daughter, who’s four, asks me every day “what did you do at work today?” and I really don’t have anything to say to her. In fact, my answers have become so mundane, that’s she’s stopped asking recently, and I don’t want to live like that. Question is: what to do instead? I can’t be a builder because I am rubbish at DIY. I have trouble assembling furniture from Homebase, let alone Ikea. I think I’ve left it a bit late in the day to be a doctor.
I suppose I could sit here and eat junk food all day. At least I’d fit in better.
While people around me drink coffee, eat pastries, and talk nonsense about things I will never understand, I sit perched on a stool, waiting for the phone to ring.
This is the life I lead for eight hours a day. While those around me work for corporate recognition, discussing the share price, market share; I just hope something breaks so I can go fix it. The call I’m waiting for won’t be from anyone particularly important, nor will its content be of a life-saving nature, but it will be the most important thing in the world. Briefly.
It’s been a slow day, not least because the entire network in my office has gone down. It’s now been over three hours since I arrived at work, and so far I’ve not been able to access the internet. It’s no wonder I’ve succumbed to drivelling self-indulgence.
Oooh, a phone call. Exciting, but brief. I thought for a minute I might have to get out of my chair, but sadly not.
God, some of these people are fat. I mean properly fat. I often wonder how people reach that point. There’s a bloke just walked passed who is the spitting image of Mike McShane. With a slab of millionaire’s shortbread in his hand. I saw a report on BBC that said that obese mothers are more likely to produce obese daughters, and likewise fathers and sons.
Three words sprang to mind, the third of which was “Sherlock.”
If pubs are allowed to stop selling alcohol to people who are too drunk, why can’t supermarkets do something similar with “stomachally challenged” people? “I’m sorry madam, but you are too overweight to buy any Goodfellas pizzas”.
I think the reason why I’ve started writing this is because my daughter, who’s four, asks me every day “what did you do at work today?” and I really don’t have anything to say to her. In fact, my answers have become so mundane, that’s she’s stopped asking recently, and I don’t want to live like that. Question is: what to do instead? I can’t be a builder because I am rubbish at DIY. I have trouble assembling furniture from Homebase, let alone Ikea. I think I’ve left it a bit late in the day to be a doctor.
I suppose I could sit here and eat junk food all day. At least I’d fit in better.
No comments:
Post a Comment