Tag Archives: jobs

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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2005: An Ian Odyssey

Something has become very apparent over the last few days. I have been analysing myself in some ways, thinking about the past, looking over old photos, rooting through my clothes and arsing about with my stuff and I have come to the conclusion that I stopped evolving as a person in 2005. Now, this isn’t to say things in my life are the same as they were – if that were the case I’d still be living in Leeds (in many ways I wish I was), I’d be either unemployed, doing some bizarre freelance for very little money or working at CEX, I’d be single, I’d still play PES over FIFA and I wouldn’t be as grey (or fat) as I am now.

No, things like that have indeed moved on. I abandoned Leeds in 2008, I got a job in 2009, I bought a rent-a-bride from Switzerland in 2008, I moved back to FIFA in 2008 and I got a lot fatter and greyer through 2005/06/07/08/09/10. That’s all inevitable. Change – that’s real change, and not the “real change” promised by a certain shitty political party – will happen.

But there are so many things about me that have stayed exactly where they were. My clothing options, for one, have remained pretty much exactly the same since 2005, to the point that right now I am wearing a shirt I purchased from Tesco for 50p in that fateful year and some shorts I picked up around Christmas the same time. I have my Xbox 360 switched on, which was delivered to me by a man from Woolworths on December 2, 2005. I still have the kind of facial hair I decided to grow (more accurately: “not shave”) from around that time. A Wilhelm Scream are still my ‘current’ favourite band.

This isn’t an exact science, there are discrepancies and inaccuracies in my claims, but it doesn’t change the fact that I feel very much like I stopped at 2005. I ceased to develop, instead remaining the man I have become, stuck in a state of arrested development for what seems like perpetuity. Just with less Will Arnett.

On one hand this could be seen as a failure on my part, becoming stuck in my ways, failing to advance or grow as a person and being so shit I haven’t actually bought any new casual shirts since five years ago. On the other hand, though, it could just be that I achieved absolute perfection in 2005, so I have subconsciously decided there is no need for me to change any more. I’ll leave it up to you to decide which it is.


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