Crivvens! Jings! And Help Ma Boab!
Malatesta’s got a Job!
Crivvens! Jings! And Help Ma Boab Indeed! Well the English Defence League has as much life as the haemorrhoids on Winston Churchill’s bulldog because in case you’ve been dead, ‘Sir’ Tommy Robinsnest has abandoned his ailing goon squad as it was apparently taken over by ‘right wing extremists.’ He nicked off to try and construct a meeja career leaving behind a small coterie of losers, deluded nazis and drunks who, having exploited the death of Lee Rigby like good patriotic ghouls, are reduced to poorly attended and little reported demos.
So, whit tae dae? Well the Cosmodemonic Parcel Company depot finally opened in Auchenshoogle and they were taking on Christmas casual labour so Nanatesta said that seeing as I was the only one half way fit and semi-sober I should perhaps offer myself unto them otherwise she was gonna kick me oot the caravan and it was gonna be a dry and Lenten xmas all round. So gainful employ, albeit temporary, was secured and armed with a company manifesto and a hideous ID card, we got on the job.
At the training session in the ‘reception suite’ of the Cosmodemnic H Block, they read out a list of the casuals’ names and unsurprisingly about 1/3rd had failed to show. Despite that we were told that Cosmodemonic employees are all ‘one big family’ and that ‘we are all equal’ which almost had me choking on my Tunnocks. We were shown what were probably the naffest training videos ever seen on how to lift boxes and security: here’s a tip, if the Cosmodemonic Parcel Company want people to be secure, give them a proper job! Then on to the shop floor. The depot processes packages and there are 4 types: A, B, C and D all of which are fairly interchangeable and no one seemed to be able to differentiate between a wee padded envelope and a small package. Me and 2 others were put on the conveyor belt after having 30 seconds training which was basically ‘put A’s into this dumpster, B’s into this one etc.’ I think. The noise from the shopfloor was so intense no one was sure. After 15 minutes we’d fucked it up 3 times and each time they had to stop the conveyor so we were put elsewhere so we could fuck that up as well. All the different sections at the depot seemed connected like a giant mechanical octopus – if the octopus was a fuckwit with no sense of co-ordination.
We were given instructions from 3 different guys who had 3 different accents and 3 very different ideas about how the job should be done. And indeed, what the job actually was. Eventually, they left us alone long enough to fuck it up as usual. Luckily no-one gives a hoot if you go wrong, which is frequently, as morale is so low, as indeed are the wages. At one point the fire alarm went off and most workers stood there going ‘do you think it’s real?’ It wasn’t, but by the time anyone found out we would have all been incinerated. After 4 hours, folk started asking ‘have you had a break yet?’ Which, of course, no one had. There was no line manager – who apparently we could confide in if we were being bullied or harassed sexually – so folk ‘followed their own initiative’and went and ate their jammy pieces. Nanatesta had packed me a piece for my break but I ate it on the bus so only had a couple of coconut Snowballs to coax me into a semi-diabetic coma.
The whole depot seemed to be in total confusion, which was amusing as was the Scottish/Estonian interface which proved particularly challenging for everyone.The general attitude of the casual work force ranged from total apathy to baffled over-zealousness with people trying to do a job they didn’t understand whilst being told to do tasks they weren’t trained for. Although by no means a fan of Fordism, perhaps the Cosmodemonic Parcel Company could have a wee peak at the fascist loon’s production line techniques if they’re going to deliver anything before Christmas.