Needed some dough. Hairy man and I are planning a trip to Bordeax for a week at the end of this summer. I need money. For that, and for groceries, and for my winter training camp, and for my own piece of mind. (I really hate living on savings. It makes me terribly worried every time I have to make a simple purchase, and I'm sick and fucking tired of living off Sainsbury's basics pasta. *gags*)
So needed a job.
I needed a temporary (summer only), part-time job. (My visa only allows me to work 20 hours a week.)
They are few and far between.
At the Hairy Man's suggestion I hit the pavement and spent an afternoon walking between temp agencies with a stack of CV's in my hand. As luck would hav it, there are no fewer than ELEVEN temp agencies within a 2-minute's walk of my flat. Scary.
I hit all eleven. Most of the told me to bug off. A few took my CV. The last one, the very last temp agency in Bristol, hired me on the spot.
Now I work 15 hours a week at a DHL shipping depot.
This is my job:
I scan squarish things with a scanny thing that beeps.
I make beeping noises. *Beep, beep!*
I stick sticky things on the squarish things.
(Unless the squarish things aren't squarish, but lumpy. Then sometimes the sticky things don't want to stick and I cry.)
Then I shove the squarish sticky things down the rolly things and they go bye-bye, and the next squarish thing appears in front of me. Magic!