Pissed OFF!

The last few days got off to a shit start last Friday. In Asda I decided I'd be a bit adventurous and try and new recipe or two, so I bought some utensils (a colander and a roasting tin, to be exact), along with a slightly bigger shop than usual. The bill came to £46. I only had £50 to work with that week. Only £4 left for an entire week, which was used to buy a carton of milk and do my laundry.

Then began work. I have noticed something.

Saturday: My shift coincides with bitchy supervisor. It sucks.

Sunday: My shift coincides with other laid back supervisor. In spite of the fact that we're flat out all day, it doesn't feel too bad, as we're left alone to get on with things.

Tuesday: My shift coincides with main manager. He's just about alright, but having to stand at a till all day - 8am to 5pm - with only one hour break, along with the attendant back ache, results in the shift being only barely tolerable. At about 3pm, the bitchy supervisor comes on, and the moaning about the insignificant begins again.

This is the problem. I'm listening to this woman whinge about how the £20 note compartment is jammed while I'm serving a queue of ten fucking people, bitch about how I have to ask for change for my till, and make a production of anything in general that has to be done. The other guy delegates, or else gets it done without any noise. Management has be the biggest area of underperformance on the planet with some people.

It might raise an eyebrow to hear my complaints about the job only this far in, but I've managed to put the finger on what the overall problem is: I'm not afraid of exertion (as long as there isn't too much of it), but the kind of work where you are constantly watching the clock, willing your shift to end, is the kind of work that has always done my head in. Sometimes this reminds me of the days when I used to work in a factory, always looking at the clock with longing. I've worked in places where there were no small amount of physical demands, but I didn't mind it, and the time seemed to fly.

There are jobs going at the pharmacy down the road from the shop. I've applied. I am praying. If it comes down to a choice between software testing in Dublin again this summer, and having to support myself in Brighton by working in the supermarket, I don't know if I could tolerate the latter.

I nearly fell over myself trying to make it in time for a lecture in malaria this morning, only to get there and find out it was cancelled. Aaaaarrggh!

At least the recipe I tried out - oven roasted vegetables with steak and peppercorn sauce - didn't turn out too badly, though I must remember for next time, peel garlic, NOT aubergines, and use less olive oil.

Delia Smith must be quaking in her boots.