So how do we rectify this? The short answer would be, as my Dad, and pretty much anybody else over the age of 45 with a chip on their shoulder would say, get a real job.
So I did. And guess what? It sucks.
You know when you're watching E! True Hollywood Story, and the guy narrating the thing is babbling on about how Angelina Jolie used to flip burgers or some equally degrading shit like that? Well my job is one of those jobs that hopefully some dude on E! is going to talk about on my Hollywood Story in years to come.
I work for Tesco. For the English readers, you all know what Tesco is. For my American readers, let's just say that Tesco is the equivalent to your Wal Mart, only more grocery based. You know how you wake up one morning to find that some asshole has rudely just built a Wal Mart on top of your house or somewhere else inconvenient, because the world is crying out for another one? Well that's Tesco for you.
I work for the .com division. Those people that have never had the displeasure of working for Tesco can be forgiven for not understanding how unpleasant it actually is.
My day starts at 4.30am. Now I don't care what time you go to bed, waking up at 4.30am isn't natural. I can go to bed at 4.30pm the previous evening and still wake up the following morning feeling like it's just too early to be awake. There's a reason the Earth revolves around the Sun. It's to keep people from going out at ridiculous times of the day. 4.30am is a ridiculous time, and I'm most certainly wide awake to appreciate it.
By 5.30am I'm at work. Outside. It's dark, and cold all the time, and thanks to the geographical lottery that my country so clearly lost, I can guarantee it's going to rain all the time. From here on in I have 8 solid hours of lifting and sorting heavy boxes full of food for customers that can't be bothered to travel the 3 minutes down the road to the store, so instead choose to shop from their computer. Seriously, it's not a big country. Surely it's not so 'out of the way' to drive to the store and do your own shopping? Isn't there like an obesity epidemic or something? Whatever.
Anyway, the point is, my day starts too early in the morning for me to be able to get the bus. Public transport doesn't start running till something like, 7:30am. So I had to invest in a scooter. I look something like this:
Honestly, that's not photoshopped in the slightest. I actually have a turret gun grafted to the front of my vespa.
Now, around Christmas time, it can get pretty frigging cold outside at that time in the morning. Cold + wet= ice. If you've ever ridden a scooter, or any two wheeled vehicle over black ice, then I can guarantee you've only done it once. I had to find out the hard way that this is a 'no-go' area. I skidded like crazy, threw myself over the handlebars, and then next thing I know, I'm calling my manager whilst still lying in the road. I didn't go to work that day. Instead, I WALKED MY BIKE HOME.
Fast forward by about a month. I'm back at work. I only took a couple of days off. No big deal. I'm thinking, 'hmmm, it's been a month now, and my leg doesn't seem to feel any better. In fact it seems to be getting worse'. I wasn't prepared to believe that I'd broken anything. For starters, I can drink quite a bit, and that always leads to manic dancing, and I know I'd been doing that shit at least twice a week every week since the crash.
Imagine my surprise, when I walk into casualty for an x-ray, just over 3 weeks after the incident, to be told that I shouldn't really be able to walk. My leg looks something like this:
Pretty cool eh? Well I think so. Turns out it's a perfect break. basically every time I put my foot down, the bones fit back together, and then move apart when I take pressure off it.
So they've casted me, crutched me, and I scored a sweet two weeks off work.
If there's one positive out of all this, I have nothing to do but work on my animations.
And my new blog of course.
K x
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