Thursday 21 July 2011

Oh look a new blog.

So, I've been let go from my job for not being very good at it. Essentially. They didn't say that, nor did they imply it, but I'm not stupid. They made up a "logical" and "believable" reason, the bastards.

That's not what you want when you're sacked though; you want to hear that terrorists said they'd blow up the Queen's face if you weren't fired, or they'd keep Piers Morgan alive if you weren't given your marching orders; just something to make it all seem worthwhile. Instead, in what was a great boost to my self esteem, I was just told that I wasn't particularly competent at carrying out menial tasks.

When told by my nervous boss, over the phone, I was just surprised at the indignity of it all. Now, maybe I've been watching too much of The Apprentice, but I almost expected a black cab to turn up outside my house the moment I lost the job. I also wanted an attractive girl to be sitting at a desk outside my room. Neither happened. I did have an annoying, grey haired old man pointing at me shouting "you're fired", but that was just my Dad being a knob.

I'd have liked the world to have been in outrage, and uproar, and other words that start with directions, but nobody really cared, and quite rightly so. I'm not even sure I cared; my immediate reaction wasn't horror, but a huge feeling of anti-climax. It was just a bit dull. However, I must not wallow in self pity, nor must I start a campaign against my ex-employer fuelled feelings of righteous indignation (partly because I don't have any).

I must, once again, embark upon the journey to occupation, hop aboard the employment barge, and set sail for Jobsville. Is it as easy as that? Probably. According to my annoyingly employed better half, I need to "pull my thumb out," which is as good advice as I'd get in any job centre or similarly pointless governmental centre. The sooner I stop whinging and walking around the house in my Y-fronts, I'll be one step closer to finding a new job.