And now for something… slightly different.

I once had a workmate who I caught googling ‘what to write on a going away card.

No shit, that exact phrase.

Honestly who the fuck doesn’t know to write ‘goodbye’ on a card. Maybe a ‘goodluck’ as well just so you don’t come off like a prick.
There were a couple of factors in play with this discovery though which made it slightly less surprising.

Firstly the chap in question was slightly socially awkward (lots of time spent on 4chan if I’m not mistaken) which is an odd trait for a career commission salesperson.

Secondly, it was the boss who was leaving so it’s more than likely that he got lost in googles rabbit hole as he tried to find hints and tips on how not to write an unfathomably inappropriate message that falls just short of smearing your own faeces on the card when your brain is screaming that it’s the absolute right and polite thing to do to such a gent.
And if that’s the case then I’m stunned more co-workers weren’t researching the same thing being that the boss wasn’t the kindest of humans to a fair few of them, plus when the old ‘changing of the guards’ happens with proprietors in that business it would completely eradiate our accumulated leave hours if you lived in any state other than Victoria.

I mean you always got the hours paid out but once the tax department was done you generally only have enough left for some painkillers and Vaseline.

The latter of which would have been way handier if it was around before the tax man showed up and whispered in your ears to ‘bite the rope and grab your ankles’.

Still, kinda weird that he had to look it up.

But then again, I found myself the other day sitting across from the Wif on our couch, I had just dropped about a thousand words onto the tablet and slammed it shut then flung it across the couch. She picked up her megaphone and shouted something barely audible at that distance (our couch is unnecessarily huge) but I think it was along the lines of ‘What were you writing?’
To which I replied over my own PA, ‘I don’t fucking know’.
She shook her head and texted ‘You get so angry when you write! And so angry when you can’t write!’ followed by that emoji that looks like a kind of melting half jelly bean sad face.

And she’s right.

I’ve got a pretty bad writers rage issue especially when it comes to the blog because I don’t know what to blog about.
Shit, I don’t even know if blog is supposed to be used as a verb!

So after I went off in a huff, clipped my fingernails, cleaned up the shattered window that caught a stray billion-kilometre-an-hour fragment of my talons and made a cup of coffee, I pulled out my phone and honest to god, almost googled ‘What to write about in a blog’.

I almost threw my phone away in disgust at myself! (A bad idea being that it would have gone out the now open window and plummeted a storey down shattering my second phone this month. I don’t wanna talk about it.) This isn’t how I solve problems! With thorough and well thought out research! I don’t play that game so sir.

My style is more to ignore the issue and keep ploughing on ahead doing what I’m already doing, occasionally changing it when I feel the whimsical desire to do so and generally making a big fucking mess of shit and not getting anywhere.
Which you’re well aware of if you’ve read a few blog posts.

But then I had a thought.

I was talking to a different work colleague the other day.
We’ve just had automated self opening doors installed after opening them the old fashioned idiots way for decades like a pack of Neolithic fools but many of us are still falling back into the old pattern of tapping our swipe card on the sensor which used to unlock the door, then tugging on the handle in a frustrated panic because we still think it’s locked. Meanwhile, they eventually groan open slowly in our hands after a several second grace period at a pace akin to an avalanche of treacle.
Both of these things have been meticulously calibrated to waste as much time as possible and frustrate retail staff who want nothing more than to have the day and possibly their lives end.

The colleague and I were discussing the above fact and how it’s annoying that you forget the auto doors and think that your card isn’t working and the doors have remained locked and I asked the question,
‘Do you ever pull on the door, find it doesn’t open then expect poison gas to flood the room and you’re left standing there all like “so this is how it ends”?’.
He laughed, then replied ‘I can’t say that I have ever had that thought before but I wish my brain worked that way.’
To which I replied, ‘No; no you don’t, it’s exhausting, terrifying and mostly ridiculous.’

Then I tucked the sock puppet back into my pocket and went back to work.


But it got me thinking. And I realised that I’m accosted by several of these kinds of thoughts a day. Not only that, I actually have the ability to articulate quite a lot of them.
So, once again, I’m thinking of doing something a little different with the blog. Something to look forward to.

I’ve already tried it in part with ‘Babysitting the pallet pt1’ but I think I should give fair warning that over the coming months, you may see some shit written here that doesn’t exactly stack up right.

I mean, beyond my normal dumb shit like an enormous couch with a PA system or an avalance of treacle or the thought that I could even land a friend like a sock puppet.

In short, I’m probably just going to start throwing around little stories without any fucking notice so buckle up and I hope I don’t weird you out.

I’ll think of some sort of signature or some shit for the end of them so you don’t end up thinking I’ve gone off the reservation.
Well, any more than I already have.

Just out of interest, the work mate that was bordering on socially inept because he didn’t know how to write a goodbye note?
One of the best sales people in the store. They called him the smiling assassin.
Totally fucking weird.

– Jacob

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