course, came a list of all the bad words the delinquent dog could say. I looked at the twins swearing happily, their Punjabi mate between them, and I looked across at Mum, her back to a sink piled high with dirty dishes, laughing as she drank a watermelon Bacardi Breezer. I felt real pleased with her for pulling through her little adventure so cheerily – not to mention myself, for setting it up so well. We were like some warped sort of Waltons – only more fun. Personally, I was well proud of us.
Well, my love life seemed to be sorted – the foxy doctor was a sure thing, the way I saw it – my social life was sound – when the Baggy-Aggy collection came out, I was gonna be getting free goes at every bowling alley in town – but I still needed a rotten old job. And I still had this dream of getting out of Brighton, nabbing some private dick – heh heh! – and searching for Kim; sorry, REN. Well, both of ’em – Ren for Mum and Kim for me. But no need to tell her that right this minute!
So because Susie thought I was intending to get Ren back and do the brave single-mother stuff, she said that even when I got another job, I could still live at home rent free so’s to be able to save – she’s good like that, not too bright; I like that in a mother. Which is why I s’pose I could take or leave motherhood myself – there’s just this whole side of yourself: intelligence, selfishness, enjoyment, that you’re meant to kill off in order to be what people think of as a ‘good’ mother. But without them, so far as I could see, you weren’t any longer a real person, just some sort of robot programmed to wipe asses and blow noses. Well, my mum’s a Catholic and my husband’s a Lutheran and I never really got a handle on either except that the first lot go in for a lot more confessing, but I do know one thing – if the good Lord had intended me to be a robot, I’d have a little panel on my chest that opened up so you could tell me what to do.
So that Thursday morning I bought the Brighton Argus , wrapped up warm and took it down to the beach for a read of the jobs. It’s a good thing I’m not depressively inclined, or I would have drowned myself in the briny right there and then. The first job that caught my eye required a Chinese-speaking employee, which of course made me think of my foxy doc; get this – you had to be IT literate, and have at least two years experience! And for this, you got the skanky sum of £6 an hour. And they wonder why kids become ho’s and drug dealers! It’s a little word like RESPECT – and ho’s and dealers get a damn sight more respect from their clients, the way I see it, than ‘decent’ employees get from employers. At least they pay a decent rate for the goods!
I could’ve quite fancied working at the Spud-u-like (FRESH – HEALTHY – SATISFYING) but was put off by the fact that I knew I’d be the size of a house by the time I reached eighteen. And as for the call centre, which sported a smiley face by its logo – don’t make me laugh! As has been pointed out from time to time, I’m a gobby cow, and within days of acting as a punchbag for some pissed-off consumer’s ear-bashing, and not being allowed to answer back, I’d be gurning with rage, not grinning with glee.
Then I saw it –
FOR A NEW CAREER THIS YEAR, VISIT THE STANWICK AIRPORT CAREERS FAIR.
Free admission. 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. Drivers – Retail – Hospitality – Passenger Services – Flight Attendants – Aircraft Grooming – Catering
I know this sounds dumb, right, but airports are really glamorous places to me. Maybe it’s something to do with Mum never having taken us on holiday, but when I was about twelve, before I discovered shagging, sometimes I used to get the bus up to Stanwick and just sit in a Macky D’s watching the planes flying off to who knows where. That line of white they leave behind . . . it’s well my favourite sight in the world; it makes me think of freedom. And stands
Well, my love life seemed to be sorted – the foxy doctor was a sure thing, the way I saw it – my social life was sound – when the Baggy-Aggy collection came out, I was gonna be getting free goes at every bowling alley in town – but I still needed a rotten old job. And I still had this dream of getting out of Brighton, nabbing some private dick – heh heh! – and searching for Kim; sorry, REN. Well, both of ’em – Ren for Mum and Kim for me. But no need to tell her that right this minute!
So because Susie thought I was intending to get Ren back and do the brave single-mother stuff, she said that even when I got another job, I could still live at home rent free so’s to be able to save – she’s good like that, not too bright; I like that in a mother. Which is why I s’pose I could take or leave motherhood myself – there’s just this whole side of yourself: intelligence, selfishness, enjoyment, that you’re meant to kill off in order to be what people think of as a ‘good’ mother. But without them, so far as I could see, you weren’t any longer a real person, just some sort of robot programmed to wipe asses and blow noses. Well, my mum’s a Catholic and my husband’s a Lutheran and I never really got a handle on either except that the first lot go in for a lot more confessing, but I do know one thing – if the good Lord had intended me to be a robot, I’d have a little panel on my chest that opened up so you could tell me what to do.
So that Thursday morning I bought the Brighton Argus , wrapped up warm and took it down to the beach for a read of the jobs. It’s a good thing I’m not depressively inclined, or I would have drowned myself in the briny right there and then. The first job that caught my eye required a Chinese-speaking employee, which of course made me think of my foxy doc; get this – you had to be IT literate, and have at least two years experience! And for this, you got the skanky sum of £6 an hour. And they wonder why kids become ho’s and drug dealers! It’s a little word like RESPECT – and ho’s and dealers get a damn sight more respect from their clients, the way I see it, than ‘decent’ employees get from employers. At least they pay a decent rate for the goods!
I could’ve quite fancied working at the Spud-u-like (FRESH – HEALTHY – SATISFYING) but was put off by the fact that I knew I’d be the size of a house by the time I reached eighteen. And as for the call centre, which sported a smiley face by its logo – don’t make me laugh! As has been pointed out from time to time, I’m a gobby cow, and within days of acting as a punchbag for some pissed-off consumer’s ear-bashing, and not being allowed to answer back, I’d be gurning with rage, not grinning with glee.
Then I saw it –
FOR A NEW CAREER THIS YEAR, VISIT THE STANWICK AIRPORT CAREERS FAIR.
Free admission. 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. Drivers – Retail – Hospitality – Passenger Services – Flight Attendants – Aircraft Grooming – Catering
I know this sounds dumb, right, but airports are really glamorous places to me. Maybe it’s something to do with Mum never having taken us on holiday, but when I was about twelve, before I discovered shagging, sometimes I used to get the bus up to Stanwick and just sit in a Macky D’s watching the planes flying off to who knows where. That line of white they leave behind . . . it’s well my favourite sight in the world; it makes me think of freedom. And stands
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