Working for a Living

What can I say? I'm deeply unimpressed by this working for a living lark.

It means I have to get up in the morning! Not only that, but there are two 6.30s in my day! Appalling. I mean fancy having to be up, and thanks to the change of seasons, before the sun? No more sleeping in, rolling out of bed at 9, maybe 10 o'clock. No more wandering around in my pink fluffy dressing gown and getting clean and dressed a few hours later. No more casual surfing on my favourite blogs and waiting to see what response my comments get. No more staring at my navel, Facebook, the garden, the Cat and my To Do List.

They expect me to turn up on time! What is it with these employers who expect people they've paid (reasonable) money and expect me to arrive at the same time every morning? Unreasonable. Everyone knows my time keeping is hampered by my West Indian heritage and my Pagan beliefs. I arrange all of my social activities with an 'ish' attached to the time agreed. Depending on my level of organisation that day, that 'ish' could be up to half an hour. Also, also, get this...they expect me to stay all day. Bitch please. Why would I want to be in one place that isn't my bed, for the whole day?

Not only that, they insist I be smartly dressed. Now I'm not opposed to dressing up, as well you, my loyal readers will know. But I'm a woman of extremes. I'm either comfortable in jeans and trainers or dressed by Karen Millen. My employers expect me to wear skirts, trousers and proper shoes. My less-than-sociable habit of having the odd unwashed day has had to be relegated to the weekends.

That leads me to my other major complaint about working Monday to Friday, 9 to 5.30. How the hell am I supposed to fit in my other necessary appointments? Like getting my hair done and the essential wax? Not to mention coffees in my favourite deli, 103. When am I going to be able to fit in going to the cinema in the afternoon with the Great Ursus and his Lovely? There goes our leisurly lunches in the Turkish cafe. Not to mention being able to call in and annoy Dave...he gets busier at the weekends seeing his new grandbaby and saving souls. It means if I want to do Yoga or a martial art I have to do it after work.

It's ridiculous. It really is. My employers want me to be pleasant. Both to their clients and to my colleagues. If you work, do tell me how you've mastered this art. I'm genuinely interested. I'm pushed to be civil to Boy and to the Cat before mid-day. I'm not a morning person. I come with a health warning before my first cup of coffee. No one wants to be around me until at least 11 o'clock. Why do you think Boy goes to school? I'm not even polite to the milk man for Heaven's sake! Jeez.

And then, to top it all off, they want me to work. As if the sacrifices I've laid out above, aren't enough. Being graced with my presence isn't enough for them. Oh no, they want me to do stuff. Imagine that? Answer the phone, sort out problems, find things, do filing, the list goes on. Ungrateful bastards.

I have to do all of this for a pay check?! Really? Humpf.