Catch 64

I didn’t mind having a dead-end job so much when it was really just a sideline to something else. Like, say, my gap year spent cheerily serving dubiously cheap cider to obvious terminal alcoholics, or the year and a half of my university tenure in which the cinema became less of a burning passion for me and more of a burning pit full of oiks, snobs and incensed fathers who are happy to let their kids piss on the carpet but get uppity when you tell them that the popcorn’s still the same astonishingly unreasonable price it’s always been. That I could deal with because it wasn’t my life. My life was somewhere else, in the future or to the side, waiting in a lecture hall for me to turn up ten minutes late and rush to my seat all embarrassed so my life could continue in a timely fashion. My future, mercifully, lay not in the service industry.

Until last week, that is.

I’m certain I’ll write more about this in the coming weeks so I won’t bore you with unnecessary details, but as most of you are aware I’ve returned to York – the place I had just left when I began this blog a few months ago – permanently, and the thing with living somewhere permanently that isn’t owned by close relatives is that there’s rent to pay.

So I got myself a job at a supermarket, as you do. I actually got two jobs, but we’ll get to that some other time. This first one wouldn’t be so bad on the surface – it’s just stacking shelves with booze for eight hours a day. I’m not exactly in the coal mines and I don’t have to work a till, so it’s already theoretically the best crappy job I’ve ever had (aside from that summer I spent on the docks with bunch of sailors…Why are you looking at me like that?), but it dawned on me as I came home that first night that four days a week of this might just be the worst thing I could do to myself.

Sounds pretty lame, I know. I have to pay the rent somehow, and the pay’s not completely shit, but four days of heavy lifting in a row leaves you unwilling to do any kind of thinking until your second day off, which is when I’m writing this, and then it’s only another day until you’re back at the grindstone. I haven’t worked on the feature since I started, and the two days I did on last week’s I Am Tim shoots weren’t particularly fun for me purely because I didn’t have the energy to put my heart into it, and I’d much rather be poor and able to do what I actually enjoy and fulfils me than become one of the solvent walking dead.

…And that’s when I stopped writing this post a couple of days ago, shortly before discovering that Nintendo are releasing a new console this week.

Fucking hell.

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