That was probably the most anti-climatic end to a job I have ever had. Admittedly, I have only ever had 1 other job and that climax was worthy of a primetime slot on BBC4, but none the less. Nothing happened.
No, I wasn't expecting fireworks and a dancing monkey waving me out the door, but part of me was thinking the team might have got me a card or something. I suppose I wasn't there long enough! I'm not bothered really, it was just a very strange feeling walking out of the door for the last time as an employee. I needed some petrol, but refused to buy it from BP as it would of ruined the moment walking back in 2 minutes later! I drove to Tesco's instead! Besides, it is a whole 1p per litre cheaper!
No, I am happy I have finally left that place. I can't work out whether Mitten has defeated BP or BP has defeated Mitten. Probably the latter, but I refuse to think about it anymore. I am back to where I was at the beginning of 2010, and I don't care one jot. This time round, I know I have a certain future ahead of me, even if it is a whole 7-8 months away.
On the plus side, The Wall, a man I will never have to work with ever again, tried to shake my hand and I completely rejected it. I feel that a handshake would mean I had accepted all the problems he had caused during my tenure, and I have done nothing of the sort! As he wambled off into the distance, I shook Legend Alex's hand, because he is a legend after all, and left.
Simple as that.
Now I am back on the market, and despite telling everyone there I had a job at Ladbrokes, I don't. Yep, I lied just to stop them getting on my backs and telling me to stay and so what. I won't see them again, in a work capacity, and I will try and avoid going there at any time of day, ever again. I have mostly bad memories from the place, if I'm to be honest with you.
Before I had to endure my final long shift though, that ended up feeling like a school detention by the end, we had our usual 90 minutes of football this morning. I knew we only had a bare 11 to use this morning, but it turned out a bit worse than that. Of the 11, there were 2 ridiculously tired night shift workers, 5 who were desperately hungover, 2 that were still drunk, 1 who was very ill, (so ill, he threw up on 4 different occasions throughout the match) and 1 who is technically the Assistant Manager.
Yep, we got battered. Battered like a cod in a chip shop. The result? 2-2. Now, I don't wish to brag but if it wasn't for me, it would of been double figures. I pulled off save after breathtaking one-handed save with ease and was very comfortable in claiming difficult crosses that swerved violently in the brisk Sunday morning breeze. Definitely the best game I've had in a long while and that point might turn out to be a league-winner come May.
Come May, I may still be "NEET" and I don't care! I will look for another job, to take me up until the promised days, but someone, please remind me whether it be in 1 year, 5 years or 50 years, to never ever get a night shift job again. Honestly.
I would rather eat The Wall.
In A Bit x
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