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The Earley Edition has officially moved to My dot com, that is. Thanks for joining me.

Friday, December 03, 2004

I'm dreaming of a heat-wave Christmas

With my consummate work skills, vast industry experience, dashing good looks and obvious propensity for genius I have, this semester, managed to find gainful employment. It promised to be the perfect job to balance my pursuit of academic excellence with my desire to save the world. Those who know me could be forgiven for wondering why I haven't yet achieved the latter, given the former... whatever. Naysayers.

The point is, I work three nights a week in a supermarket. Stacking shelves. Usually between nine and midnight. Sometimes till one or two in the morning. As you can imagine this isn't particularly exciting, which is why this is my first post about it. Oh, yes I could tell you the time I dropped a 2-litre bottle of Pepsi, the ensuing crack causing it to spin like a dervish, wildly spewing its sticky contents on myself and everything else in a five metre radius. Mmmm, Pepsi-apples. Or the time two ten-packs of Coke continued in a straight line as my speedy trolley took a right, their dull thud followed by the muffled PSSSHHHHhhhhh of cans exploding in a cardboard box. Oh the fun, the frivolity of it all!

But no, this is about Christmas. The quanitity of schmaltzy Christmas tunes and painfully reworked carols you hear in stores is, I guarantee you, in a directly inverse proportion to the number of days remaining before young children are led to believe some fat man in a full beard, boots, stockings, winter jacket and head-warmer is going to climb down their non-existent chimney in the 40°C (102°F) heat of an Australian Christmas Eve. How can I guarantee this? Because I'm working in a store where it's happening. The dosage is insidiously being upped each time I return to work.

I feel for the employees who work during the day, I really do. They have no choice but to listen. I, on the other hand, am in the store after it closes. There are no customers to hear either these 'songs' or the in-store advertisements that accompany them. Advertisements I can repeat verbatim and that inform customers about how to maximise flybuys points, join the 'baby club' and how much we would "appree-see-ate" being informed of any problems in the store. Problem? I would appreciate it if you would pronounce that word correctly or, failing that, allow me to work in silence tonight and so spare me the agony of hearing you say it 15 times.

It is all a sophisticated form of malicious torture and I have a good mind to report my employers to the International Criminal Court in The Hague. I can't take it, and I will be dead before Christmas if this madness continues.

the earley edition - Posted by Dave @ 12/03/2004 12:24:00 pm || || Return to Top