I waited until the cheque cleared before I posted this
I always knew it probably wasn't my best idea, but I could see the benefits. The money. The calories burnt. And then there was the money. But the two days I spent delivering leaflets now has the unenviable position of being the number one worst job I have ever done, or probably will ever do, in my entire life. I've never worked so hard. I should've realised how hard it would be but all I thought about was getting paid and paying for my flight and I never took into consideration things like letterboxes that are inexplicably below waist level, my funny knees that can't handle anything out of the ordinary, overly enthusiastic bouncing dogs, and the sheer unbelievable weight of a bundle of leaflets. I don't do hard work. I can take shit off customers in call centres or pubs all day long but I can't spend a shift doing anything that requires me to be fit, or strong, or lift anything heavier than a telephone or a pint. Actually one of my main reasons for leaving my last bar job was because they kept making me lift tables. I like jobs where I can sit back and read a magazine and don't have to deal with the rain. I have a renewed respect for postmen (except my postman because he's a useless drunken fucker).
The first day I spent forever wandering the streets in the pouring rain wishing for blocks of flats to sprout up in front of me because despite there being (I'm estimating) 500 or so addresses in the area and me not being able to access around 25% of these addresses without a resident letting me in (short of breaking and entering), they still expected me to get rid of 1000 leaflets. When I said that I was running out of places to deliver to, the guy asked if I'd posted to any businesses. I almost hit him. No, I hadn't posted to any businesses. Because if I could just refer you to paragraph 8 of my fucking instruction sheet which clearly states 'these leaflets must not be delivered to business addresses'. But oh no, he now wants them delivered to businesses. He claimed there were 'loads' of offices nearby. Yeah, loads of offices if I fancied crossing a few picket lines. 'Excuse me, I know you're fighting for your rights out here but if you'd just let me past I'd like to leave a few promotional leaflets'. The offices that weren't council buildings all had their entrances blocked by hoardes of smokers huddling in building entrances having a cigarette, cursing the start of the smoking ban. Obviously I was too embarrassed to fight past them when I had absolutely no business being in their building and no idea where to go once I was inside. I went and sat in a juice bar for half an hour and threw the rest of the leaflets in the bin.
The second day, I had to dump some leaflets ('some' being almost half of them) in a bin and go home early. I just couldn't. I actually walked around crying for a while, it was that bad. I thought I was just being a drama queen making a 'I'm going to burst into tears' face but then I did actually start crying (which still makes me a drama queen, but I must stress that I was a cold, wet, tired drama queen wearing inappropriate shoes and carrying a very heavy bag). That was right after I realised I'd delivered 20 leaflets to an old peoples' home (as if I care, a letterbox is a letterbox). I must've looked crazy. I'd walked too much, the bag was too heavy, it started raining...the train station (not the train station I'd got off at - I'd walked so far I was at the next station along) was nearby (and by that point, half a mile away did seem nearby)... I just couldn't go on (I'm writing this as I watch a documentary on Captain Scott's trip to the South Pole and I realise that my two days leafleting probably weren't quite as bad as his expedition, so maybe I should stop dramatising). Are you getting the picture that the whole day was sheer hell? My instructions said optimistically 'you may take a 45 minute lunch break'. Yeah, right. The instruction sheet writer has obviously never spent any time in this area (lucky fucking desk job 9-5 bastard). There was literally not one single place to stop for anything to eat. There wasn't even a bench I could've sat on had I thought ahead and brought a carefully chopped fruit salad from home (my kind of lunch these days) or stopped off at Tesco for sandwiches before embarking on a 3 mile walk away from civilisation. I was kind of hoping someone would take pity on me and invite me in for lunch. I went into the ultimate Old Man's Pub for a drink after I almost dehydrated wandering round some endless estate, where 3 Old Men were sat around the bar like they probably do every single day of their lives talking about bird flu and their wives, but after that there was nowhere to be seen for miles. Literally, fucking miles. No one mentioned walking 5 miles when I signed up for this job. In fact, the phrase 'local area' was very much stressed. The only thing that kept me going was The Libertines on my iPod. When I wasn't crying I was singing along pretty loudly and fuck anyone who overheard because without music it would have been impossible.
I can't emphasise enough how absolutely hellish those two days were. I definitely need to get my knees seen to because I can't bend my legs properly or straighten them. I knew they were a bit dodgy but having never been pushed quite so much before, it's not usually a problem. I have a blister on my toe that actually has taken over my entire toe. A workman let a huge metal gate fall beside me and it missed me by like 3 millimetres. Oh dear lord god I saw a dead rat. Lying on someone's wall... it was huge and fat and it's fur was all straggly and wet, and it had massive ears and a big (I feel sick) thick tail. I almost went home after I saw that because of the trauma, and that was only 15 minutes into the job.
I might (might) laugh at this one day, when the stiffness in my legs has disappeared and been replaced with new muscles, and I'm getting drunk in Chicago and this is all a distant memory, but right now I wish I hadn't bloody bothered.
The first day I spent forever wandering the streets in the pouring rain wishing for blocks of flats to sprout up in front of me because despite there being (I'm estimating) 500 or so addresses in the area and me not being able to access around 25% of these addresses without a resident letting me in (short of breaking and entering), they still expected me to get rid of 1000 leaflets. When I said that I was running out of places to deliver to, the guy asked if I'd posted to any businesses. I almost hit him. No, I hadn't posted to any businesses. Because if I could just refer you to paragraph 8 of my fucking instruction sheet which clearly states 'these leaflets must not be delivered to business addresses'. But oh no, he now wants them delivered to businesses. He claimed there were 'loads' of offices nearby. Yeah, loads of offices if I fancied crossing a few picket lines. 'Excuse me, I know you're fighting for your rights out here but if you'd just let me past I'd like to leave a few promotional leaflets'. The offices that weren't council buildings all had their entrances blocked by hoardes of smokers huddling in building entrances having a cigarette, cursing the start of the smoking ban. Obviously I was too embarrassed to fight past them when I had absolutely no business being in their building and no idea where to go once I was inside. I went and sat in a juice bar for half an hour and threw the rest of the leaflets in the bin.
The second day, I had to dump some leaflets ('some' being almost half of them) in a bin and go home early. I just couldn't. I actually walked around crying for a while, it was that bad. I thought I was just being a drama queen making a 'I'm going to burst into tears' face but then I did actually start crying (which still makes me a drama queen, but I must stress that I was a cold, wet, tired drama queen wearing inappropriate shoes and carrying a very heavy bag). That was right after I realised I'd delivered 20 leaflets to an old peoples' home (as if I care, a letterbox is a letterbox). I must've looked crazy. I'd walked too much, the bag was too heavy, it started raining...the train station (not the train station I'd got off at - I'd walked so far I was at the next station along) was nearby (and by that point, half a mile away did seem nearby)... I just couldn't go on (I'm writing this as I watch a documentary on Captain Scott's trip to the South Pole and I realise that my two days leafleting probably weren't quite as bad as his expedition, so maybe I should stop dramatising). Are you getting the picture that the whole day was sheer hell? My instructions said optimistically 'you may take a 45 minute lunch break'. Yeah, right. The instruction sheet writer has obviously never spent any time in this area (lucky fucking desk job 9-5 bastard). There was literally not one single place to stop for anything to eat. There wasn't even a bench I could've sat on had I thought ahead and brought a carefully chopped fruit salad from home (my kind of lunch these days) or stopped off at Tesco for sandwiches before embarking on a 3 mile walk away from civilisation. I was kind of hoping someone would take pity on me and invite me in for lunch. I went into the ultimate Old Man's Pub for a drink after I almost dehydrated wandering round some endless estate, where 3 Old Men were sat around the bar like they probably do every single day of their lives talking about bird flu and their wives, but after that there was nowhere to be seen for miles. Literally, fucking miles. No one mentioned walking 5 miles when I signed up for this job. In fact, the phrase 'local area' was very much stressed. The only thing that kept me going was The Libertines on my iPod. When I wasn't crying I was singing along pretty loudly and fuck anyone who overheard because without music it would have been impossible.
I can't emphasise enough how absolutely hellish those two days were. I definitely need to get my knees seen to because I can't bend my legs properly or straighten them. I knew they were a bit dodgy but having never been pushed quite so much before, it's not usually a problem. I have a blister on my toe that actually has taken over my entire toe. A workman let a huge metal gate fall beside me and it missed me by like 3 millimetres. Oh dear lord god I saw a dead rat. Lying on someone's wall... it was huge and fat and it's fur was all straggly and wet, and it had massive ears and a big (I feel sick) thick tail. I almost went home after I saw that because of the trauma, and that was only 15 minutes into the job.
I might (might) laugh at this one day, when the stiffness in my legs has disappeared and been replaced with new muscles, and I'm getting drunk in Chicago and this is all a distant memory, but right now I wish I hadn't bloody bothered.
posted by Pixie at 1:02 am
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