…comes great responsibility

Having now worked at a certain shoes store for almost 4 months now, things are happening. I was threatened with responsibility today. Not in an evil way, but in a Patrick Stewart turning around and telling you “you have the bridge” kind of way. I am set to ‘run’ the store on some days. RUN the store. That means I will be responsible not only for an entire building, but also for lots of MONEY. Like minimum two thousand. THOUSAND.

This isn’t supposed to be some kind of crazy. I think that at the age of 24, I should be doing this level of work anyway – it’s not like I’m a Saturday kid or anything. I have the knowledge, and the calmness to succeed. But for some reason, the slight mention that I might be someone’s manager for a day sounds terrific. That’s terrific in a sense of terrifyingly exciting, horrifyingly cool. Scarily fun.

Responsibility comes in all shapes and sizes and at all kinds of times in life. But I’ve never truly felt the bite of it as of yet. Sure, as a teacher I felt responsible, watching and teaching all those crazy little kids learning their times tables and so forth. I understood my responsibility as a husband when I married aged 23. Sure, at 21 I realised that I was completely and utterly adulted, and responsible for myself. At 18, I realised my responsibility to vote and be held accountable in a court of law…

None of these things really spooked me though. They were fact o’ life, dealio kind of things. I taught ergo I look after the class, I married, ergo I care for the wife.

I think its the money factor. As a fully fledged adult, having a sorry understanding for the hell that is value, money is something that requires a responsible person. At the end of the day, I alone will be responsible for the amount of money in that till. I will have to count stacks of £20s, £10s and £5s. Eek.

I’m sure when the time finally comes, it’ll be fine. I generally find that taking things minute by minute is the best way to roll with those life punches.

Outside of work, I heard a domestic at a train station. This guy was ranting down the phone at his wife/girlfriend/partner, who had been paranoid about his whereabouts and activities. There were swearwords and anger abound. I was really surprised that he was going for it to be honest – he was surrounded by a throng of people all of whom could hear this craziness.

The single worst thing though, was the technique he was using to ask her to keep quiet. For me, this exhibited in full clarity where the difficulty lay. Much like a certain Mexican dog trainer, he was “tsk”ing her. Actually “tsk”ing. She would be trying to talk and “tsk!” Horrendous. I mean it is like treating her on a lower level to himself. A unity is based on balance. Give and take. That guy was clearly taking the piss.

That said, as much as we’d all love to believe our relationships are 50/50, I think everyone can think of a time when it hasn’t been. So if people do overact, or say something that they (hopefully) regret, be ready to forgive and move on. Let’s all be responsible for being nice!

the internet’s latest economist

I’m harking back to my soap box days. Today its the economical situation of the planet.

By no means am I an authority on the economies of the world, and by no means do I claim to have any true understanding of what I’m spouting here. I just felt like vomiting it onto a page so like it or loathe it, you decide. Text 444 YAY if you like the idea…

We slumped for two quarters so it became official. Recession. Apparently we’re all poor again. It seems like ages ago when the BBC was commenting on the defaulting of American sub-prime mortgages and how they affected us. Ages since Northern Rock, the geordie loan bank flopped out and was bailed back in again. Prices dropped and markets fell. Let’s be honest though, for the vast majority of people, the only thing that has changed is that you can’t take your job for granted anymore. All because some bankers got just that little bit too cheeky with squi-dillions of make believe money.

They took the blame and “fell”. Certainly, it seems that they fell very hard. I think there was one week’s worth of “retribution” at a tribunal where they sat like children that know they did something wrong: heads hung, looking glum and lots of muttered apologies. Then it was back to the office and on with the money train. If I had the nous of a broadsheet journalist, I’d research the pay of top level chairmen and bankers in proportion to other staff members in more detail. I don’t and I won’t. I’ll assume though, that a solid performer, a business with a sound footing in the current market climate does not have a massive inbalance on the pay structure. There isn’t a difference of 500,000 between the top man and the office cleaner.

I mean honestly, what do they do with the money? Really? They have the capability to buy oodles and caboodles of luxury things, but surely it gets to a point where there’s nothing left to buy?!

Although, in true hypocrite style, I’d certainly swap salaries.

Dear bankers with large salaries. Take a cut. Donate something to charity. Show the people you fired that even your almighty-ness has been affected by the cutbacks. Perhaps sell one of the four Mercs that you have. Show the world that really, when it all comes down to it, you do care about other human beings.

We work to enjoy the highest level of comfort we can afford. The more you earn the more comfortable it gets. With job losses all over the shop, it kind of grinds my gears that the CWU are striking currently. I’m sure that perhaps somewhere within this strike there is a mission to right some ill, but clearly striking isn’t endearing you to anyone, least of all the Royal Mail. Don’t be surprised, when the Temporary workers come in and surprise us all by actually managing to put a piece of paper through a letter box if all of a sudden, the Royal Mail says “screw you CWU, I’m going home.”

Perhaps then you can ask why your union director, your strike orchestrator, earns a hell of a lot more than you and still has his job.

The outcome of the recession, in my opinion, has actually been quite positive. As a whole, people are a lot more aware of the money that they are spending. I for one have been much more thrifty when it comes to food shopping – alcohol has become a rare treat rather than a commodity, we buy chicken whole (1 whole £5 chicken at 3kg gives about 1.5kg of meat which is equal to 3 of those 500g £5 chicken breast packs. Believe it) and as a household we’re analysing where the money is going. If we had more money, like the majority of the nation we’d be saving (current stats indicate 7% of the average UK income is being saved source: my lecturer @University of Surrey)

Saving money and being more economical? That’s good right?

Things seem to be calmer now. But considering that we’re merely commentating on upcoming banker bonuses, rather than actually acting and restricting them probably means that unlike Mr. Brown’s claims that the “boom and bust years are over”, we’ll be flipping our economy back and forth till it flips no more, and then we all get held accountable for it.

RAWR

approved warranty

So, days come and go. The things that pass by the most at the moment are money, pages and food. All three have one thing in common, in that they come into my life and leave it very quickly. Indeed, my abilities to spend / read / eat are very well developed.

Having a birthday meant that cash flow was freed slightly, in order to allow purchase of some choice items: Some games (including the 1992 classic Super Mario World), a pad, a meal and some very inappropriately expensive plane tickets. Flying is always something special for me. I remember the first time I flew, to Majorca on holiday. The acceleration of take off was exhilarating, thrilling and spectacular (more so because the pilot had stopped at the base of the runway for a power charge take off of Thunderbird proportions). It was still the era of cabin visits, and I got to see the sheer volume of crazy dials that pilots and flight engineers have in front of them. From that day I was awed by the complexity of those roles, only to be told by my father that the dials were for show and it was actually really easy. Well, I still think it looks hard.

Having a birthday meant that my literature collection got to expand. Despite my current intellectual state, I am a very bland individual when it comes to reading. I have a Luddite-like streak in me that tells me only to read trusted writers. Unfortunately the only writers that meet this criteria are ones I read as a child. Which means Terry Pratchett lives off my purchases. I’m getting better, but I secretly laugh at how many times I can read the same book and enjoy it. We’re talking double figures. Anyway, my expansion was twofold this time round: A Hat full of Sky, and the Bromeliad. The latter holds a special place in my heart as one of the first library books I trundled through. It needs to be made into a film, although such production would never live up to it’s potential.

Having a birthday meant that my stomach could enjoy some choice culinary delights. I visited a restaurant where a most enjoyable time was had drinking wine and eating nosh. I have a terrible habit at the moment. I go to fantastic restaurants where there is all manner of steaks, game pies, stews, lamb shanks, mussels and salmon. Everythyme I visit these fantastic restaurants, I order sausage. The chefs at these places must be dying on the inside. They can create all manner of fabulous dishes and the most creative I allow them to be is in the creamy-ness of the potatoes and the thickness of the gravy. Very nice gravy job, praise to the chef.

Ho hum.

In other news, the title for this story comes from an interesting experience with a garage recently. Having had a knocking noise in my car for a while and upon the insistence of my wife’s claims that it could possibly have LETHAL consequences if left unchecked, I utilised my warranty to full effect and took it in. The problem, it turned out, was minor, a bracket was loose on the exhaust. Cue free exhaust. Then something unexpected happens. The mechanic approaches with a solemn look on his face. It bears a look of two possible outcomes in me, the customer’s mind: the “oh christ this is going to be expensive” look, or the “in fixing your car we’ve managed to slaughter your family, terribly sorry” look. Thankfully neither was true. What was true was the fact I had been driving around with false number plates on. Ooops. Still, a new exhaust, cleaned and valeted car with new plates later, I haven’t paid a single pence. I heart warrantys.

PS: New idea I’m going to try. If you have something you really want me to write about, I mean really write about, feel free to either write it in the comment box below or the forum esque page titled “the ideas”. Then if it takes my fancy, or if the challenge is issued in a delightful manner, I will write about it for you.

How d’ya like them apples?