Staff rooms at work are depressing places. They're a place that nobody really wants to be, where solitary members of the work force drown their sorrows with excessive amounts of caffeine, wondering how they came to be 42 years old without ever becomming an astronaut or a fireman as they'd always assumed they would. Mysery at Primark is more or less compulsory. Perhaps that's what the 'void' room is for, removing excess cheeriness from those who didn't know any better. Maybe they just play The Feeling over and over again, or something equally horrdenous like removing finger nails. Celebrity magazines adorn the tables, a gateway to a better world, to a time when the Bay City Rollers ARE in fashion, and all name badges are given the care and attention they deserve.
aaa
Today I am approached by another employee with a haircut of times gone by, who curiously asks, 'why are you like, always so cheery like? How come you don't like, make any mistakes?' I'm a patient enough man, but after hearing no fewer than seven 'likes' in four sentences, I decided enough was enough. Sadly if I hadn't made any mistakes up until that point, then I'd just given away my mistake virginity by striking up a conversation here.
Today I am approached by another employee with a haircut of times gone by, who curiously asks, 'why are you like, always so cheery like? How come you don't like, make any mistakes?' I'm a patient enough man, but after hearing no fewer than seven 'likes' in four sentences, I decided enough was enough. Sadly if I hadn't made any mistakes up until that point, then I'd just given away my mistake virginity by striking up a conversation here.
aaa
'I used to be cheery, but then I was like, I'm not cheery like, so why should I like, pretend to be you know?' Was the general jist of a conversation which was dragged out torturously over no less than 17 minutes. A quick glance at the montone mess that seemed to have been worn down by years of discount clothing made those cheery days look very far away indeed. It also transpired that this unfortunate girl was rain monitor. The rain monitor has one specific job. Whenever the heavens open, they make it their responsibility to tell as many people as possible, in as quick a time as possible, that it is in fact raining. Watch out for it, there's on in every work place, every school, every pub. I'm not sure how they're appointed, or if you need any form of qualification, but it's a widespread phenomenon. 'Wow, it's raining really hard outside!' Was the conclusion that only the partially sighted could have found even vaguely informative.
xxx
Perhaps the highlight of the day was someone courageously calling Bay City Roller Jr a gobshite, to which he angrily retorted 'I am not a gobshite George! And anymore out of you and you'll be up in Mr Williams' office again with another disciplinary! How does that sound?' Ahhh yes, 'Mr Williams'. Surely having respect in Primark is a contradiction in terms, but these offical job titles seemed to be doing their best to strive for it. I've never really been sure why the store manager is 'Mr' Williams. Perhaps he has an undesirable first name he'd like to keep under wraps, or perhaps, he's just a twat.
Perhaps the highlight of the day was someone courageously calling Bay City Roller Jr a gobshite, to which he angrily retorted 'I am not a gobshite George! And anymore out of you and you'll be up in Mr Williams' office again with another disciplinary! How does that sound?' Ahhh yes, 'Mr Williams'. Surely having respect in Primark is a contradiction in terms, but these offical job titles seemed to be doing their best to strive for it. I've never really been sure why the store manager is 'Mr' Williams. Perhaps he has an undesirable first name he'd like to keep under wraps, or perhaps, he's just a twat.
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