Tag Archives: argos


This could go either way – it really could. On one hand it could be the greatest decision I’ve ever made in my life (after buying the netbook). On the other hand it could be a completely stupid, pointless waste of money and end up being an unused burden/impromptu clothes horse in the corner of my room. Yes folks: I bought an exercise bike.

Naturally it’s a part of my new found ‘be less fat’ thing that I seem to only be able to talk about, and double-naturally I’ve chosen the option that combines one thing I’m trying to do (“exercise”) and one thing I genuinely love to do all of the time (“sitting”) (unless I have to stand up, or do something else, or at one point today when my leg felt funny so I had to walk around for ten minutes).

I’m guessing it will mean I’ll end up with thighs bigger than those of Roberto Carlos

and the ability to pedal for ages without stopping. I don’t know, like thirty seconds or something. Unless, of course, I let my inherent laziness get the better of me. If that happens, it will just end up being a £139.99 clothes horse. From Argos. Plus about £5 delivery. Half price. Better than the Davina bike option.


I do want a Chinese takeaway though. How long would I have to pedal to burn off 3,000 calories? About four weeks without breaks, I think.


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Clash of the Titans did not involve this place

I think I’ll offer a bit of insight into my life now. Only a bit, mind you. Don’t want any crazies hunting me down like this is the Blizzard forums*. I used to have a job. Hard to believe, I know, but I did. Back in the day this is, when working meant something and we had to really scrape the bottom of the barrel in order just to survive. I mean, I was lucky enough to avoid getting sent down the pit, but this was almost as bad.

For three (and a bit) weeks, I worked in Argos. I told you it was hard to believe and in fact I probably should have instructed you to take a seat before letting this revelation loose. I sincerely hope the shock hasn’t killed any of my reader.

But yes, I worked in the place with the laminated book of dreams((c) Bill Bailey and every other twat in the world that repeats him), and it was… special. Working on the tills, for example, meant I constantly had a dry, scratchy throat as you did nothing but process the cash or card transactions. It was the abattoir where you sent the customer’s wallet to the slaughter**.

But the warehouse – oh! – the warehouse. It was everything you hoped it would be and more: floor to ceiling high with all the goods of the catalogue, arranged in such a haphazard manner that to call it ‘arranged’ would be an affront to anything that’s ever actually been arranged. How you plebs ever got anything you ordered is beyond me. Though that’s mainly because I used to get lost just wandering around, as well as the time I spent 15 minutes at the top of a ladder looking at TVs. Or the time some arsehole ordered the last individual gel pen we had in stock and I had to root through about 2,000 pens just to find it.

I didn’t find it.

But my favourite was the front bit where you handed people their stuff. Ah, technical names. For one, people were always happy with you here as you were giving them what they wanted. And for two, a couple once asked me to show them a mirror they were thinking of buying. I dutifully opened the cardboard it was contained within, not realising til a second or two later that the sliding motion I had used to open one of the flaps had sliced the tips of two of my fingers quite deep. I noticed, the couple didn’t. They said they would like to take the mirror, and I started wrapping it back up – while doing so, I bled quite a bit on the mirror itself. Again, I noticed, the couple didn’t.

You think McDonald’s workers spitting in your burger is bad? I fucking bled on someone’s mirror.

Ah, Argos. You were a strange three (and a bit) weeks of my life. I think my quitting part was the best though, as I just stopped going. They didn’t even ring me to check, they must have just been used to it. Great days***.

*ERROR – contemporary reference already out of date.

**ERROR – shit metaphor.

*** ERROR – shit days.

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Timewasting blog #2385

I have a spare half an hour in which I’m being forced to wait around. There are free snacks, coffee and drinks on which to gorge, but I am still doing nothing for thirty whole minutes. Still, I am doing this on the LucasArts campus in San Francisco, so it’s not actually annoying me that much. Or: at all.

We should compare this situation to those of my jobs* in the past. Let’s see: at Argos the microwave was broken and I had to share a locker with a bloke who would never give me the key, meaning I had to wait until he needed to use it to grab my stuff. Also the job sucked balls.

At CEX I was asked to help a new store open, which involved staying in a hotel for a week and bossing newbies around. “Great!” I thought. Then I realised it was in Hull. I went anyway, as getting freebies from that job was a blood from a stone situation. The first night there I got food poisoning. I also had to pay for my own hotel, which wasn’t reimbursed to me until I threw a bit of a stez. And expenses only covered one bottle of wine, which was downright irritating.

So yeah, I’m fine waiting half an hour here. Plus writing this wasted some time.

*Haha, as if that should be plural.

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