Well, haven't I had a laborious week? The answer to that is most definitely a yes, beginning with me and my housemates attempting to empty and clean our entire house in the space of half a day. (We did originally have a whole day, but we wasted the morning fannying around complaining, then decided we'd had enough and went to McDonalds leaving us with just a few short and stressful hours in the afternoon to complete our task). Over the course of the day, many items that should probably not have been hoovered up ended up being so, thus by the time my turn came to use it I found myself sat on my bedroom floor speaking words of encouragement to our little Henry whilst picking up various small items and feeding them into the nozzle. In hindsight, I could have just thrown said bits away, but my bin was downstairs soaking in the bath and I felt that given it was my last night in the house a little bit of ingenuity in the name of laziness was a fitting tribute to the way I have lived for the past 3 years. (I don't know why I thought leaving university would make me less lazy - I found myself nursing a hangover in bed the other morning whilst trying to will it away with brain power instead of having to go downstairs for some paracetamol).
At least someone benefited from our house clean though - after all the work was done we went into the alley at the back of our house to find that all the bin bags we'd put out earlier had been ripped to shreds by someone we assume to be a tramp. Naturally, most of the stuff was mine and as such a variety of items ranging from old bank statements to a pack of porn star playing cards Megan bought in first year (don't ask) were strewn all over for the whole world to see. As me and my housemates stood staring at a collection of my bras and knickers, I started to regret throwing out the bag of laundry that had been under my bed for a year. Apparently the tramp was pleased though as when we went back to check later a cardigan and two bras were missing from the pile (and probably a few bank statements, too), so if you see a tramp sat in a pub in Chester playing with a pack of porn star cards, wearing a green cardigan and a Primark bra and brandishing a HSBC letter addressed to myself, claiming to be me - it isn't.
I had one last day of freedom with Jayne during which we went to see Harry Potter and then I was back to laboring as I began a horrid 59 hour week at work. I am only into day 5 and already my feet hurt and my body feels like how I would imagine an over-worked coal miner's would. (That is probably a bit dramatic - I don't even do that much work, I spend most of my time walking from the deli counter to the walk-in fridge or going for a wee because I am bored). I have found, however, that now I've finished university a lot of people expect me to be doing something incredibly interesting, or at least more interesting than selling pork pies, anyway. The other day a woman from down my road came in and asked me what I was doing now - I must admit, I did feel a bit of a tit handing her some ham and just saying, 'erm... this...'. (To be fair, at the time I had a massive label gun stuck to the neck of my apron as I'd put the neck through it and then realised I couldn't get it back out, so that was probably the main reason I felt like a tit...) I am already starting to get rather frustrated with the general public though - especially those who assume we are all intellectually stunted because we work in a supermarket. I had a customer today come up and ask for 'four slices of ham'. We sell about six different types, so upon my asking her to specify a type she simply stared at me and said, very slowly and clearly, "FOUR." For a moment I considered just giving her four slices of beef but I refrained. I could not stop myself, however, staring in awe at a customer who asked me if I could take the peas out of the keema and peas curry. I don't know if she expected me to put on a pair of gloves and individually remove each pea or what, but she did not look too happy when I asked her if she wanted the onion taken out of her onion bhaji. Really, though. I also spent ten minutes yesterday explaining to a woman that her kitten would not die a horrible, painful death if it ate ox tongue but, just to be on the safe side, recommended she buy ham instead - or even push the boat out and buy it actual cat food. Why people spend so much money on the most expensive meats for their pets, I will never understand. I imagine domesticated animals to be somewhat similar to myself - if they are fed, they are happy.