Into The Wild Blue Yonder

So I am now employed, though I think that it is nothing more then a calculated insult by those who have requisitioned my services. Before I give you details first I'll give you a little background information so you know the deal. For about two years now I have been doing temp work at the Ordnance Survey, the map people.

I first chose to do temp work because I was horribly unemployed and have never done well at interviews. I look stupid in a suit and while things may go well at first I usually have to say something and things quickly go down hill from there. I am not very good at talking to people, or even just a person but I do try. Anyway doing temp work through an agency eliminated this step, I would give them my details and do a single interview and then they would do the rest, sending me off to do slave labour for the lowest bidder. This is how I first ended up at the OS, doing menial computer work on a buggy system that on a good day would only crash a handful of times. I did various things and met a large number of horrible people and a small number of interesting people, though I'm pretty sure that they all hated me in some way. As a result of the many projects I've had to endure I've been shifted all over the building and seen it's many wonders, things like the warnings of asbestos filled walls or the lift that never aligned with the floor it was meant to stop on, all things that you would expect in a safe working environment. I was also amazed at how incompetent the permanent staff there were, many of whom were unable to operate a computer in all but the most basic fashion.

Fast forward to the present and once again I am working in this cruel and unusual hell. This time however I am not doing any fancy computer work, there are no exciting projects for me to finish because the permanent staff have become bored with them, no, this time I am doing archiving. What this means is that I spend my time scrawling down reference numbers onto the back of paper maps so that they can be shipped off to the National Archive to be stored. Future generations will look at these maps and be perplexed by my illegible handwriting, asking themselves "What does this mean?"

While the job itself is mind-numbingly boring and requires little more then the ability to read, write, use a computer and possess a working music player to help fend off the insanity gnawing at your subconscious there are some perks. For starters I don't have to wear a suit, or even any form of smart clothing. In fact I'm pretty sure that I could get away with a burlap sack so long as it covered up my grotesque body. Also I get to listen to my mp3 player as I work, the steady stream of music keeping my brain from shutting down altogether. Not only that but me and the other guy I am to work with can do so with little to no supervision from the powers that be. We are left to our own devices and the hopes that one of us will kill the other, meaning that the OS only has to pay for one temp and can thus save money.

The most interesting thing though is the location at which we work. See, if you were to enter the OS from the front of the building and use the front lift or stairs you will notice that there is no second floor, both go from the first to the third floors. I however work in a warehouse that is situated on this hidden second floor. I dare not delve too deep into the Escher like construction of the building so I have yet to figure out how this can be, but I suspect that it may have something to do with portals. It does not matter how this place exists, it just does and so long as I am being paid to do next to nothing and listen to music I am content.

The aforementioned warehouse itself is quite pleasant place to work in comparison to some of the other floors I have had to slave away on. Though it is a large structure (I have a dislike for large open spaces) it is full of boxes, shelves and all manor of other boring items. The front and rear walls have vast windows in them that let in more light then I am accustomed to, though this does mean that I do not have to work under those annoying strip lights that frequently give me headaches after prolonged exposure, which is a plus I guess. I work at a small desk with a ageing computer with only one monitor, a downgrade from my usual two, situated behind a pillar that means I am hidden from anyone foolish enough to enter the construct. Again I class this as a benefit rather then a hindrance. As I mentioned the majority of the building is filled with shelves of various sizes that hold the paper maps on which I am expected to mark. Due to my repeated playing of many first person and third person shooting games I am all too familiar with the importance of large shelving units. They provide a good source of cover from attackers and allow one to sneak around and outflank their quarry if they wish to do such a thing. I imagine that this will be useful when one of the members of staff finally break and go on a rampage. Not only that but the variety of items stored in the warehouse will allow me to make many a improvised weapon given the prep time, something that I am thankful for. Other then this it is a dull and uneventful place. I hope that I manage to stay sane, or at least dispose of any bodies I do make to throw off suspicion, least I have to find employment elsewhere.

So there you have it. If I am left alone long enough I may try and take a few pictures, but don't hold your breath, you'll suffocate long before I return.

Filler

I meant to write something today, but now it's tomorrow so instead I'm going to post this.

One step closer to the grave

Oh look, it's a post! After much time spent procrastinating I have stirred, and with good reason. You see today is a day of celebration, and I don't mean because of Easter, that bastard zombie Jesus stealing all the attention like the whore that he is, no, you see today is my birthday! You see 25 years ago to this day I shot from my mothers vagina like a pilot ejecting from his plane before it engulfs him in a fireball.

Like so

I am now a full quarter of a century old, and I must say that I feel that this life has been wasted on me. Honestly, I have done exceedingly little with my life to date but have a plan and things will hopefully change. You see, while I was growing up I had many dream jobs that I wanted to do. As a child these were steam train driver, astronaut and deep sea diver. I wanted to do all of these things because they were awesome, but alas it would seem that the very world was preventing me from fulfilling my dreams. Steam trains had been replaced by diesel and electric ones so that was not to be and my faulty brain meant I had epilepsy, so that was astronaut and diver out the window. I can see who this would make me unsuitable for these roles, just imagine if the life support on the space station was down and I had to go fix it but at the critical point, just as I was about to save everyone's lives I had a seizure and while I was flailing and twitching in my space suit the other astronauts could just watch in horror before suffocating to death. This can also apply to diving if you replace space with water. Still, I found it unfair. So after a number of years of having no dreams for the future I finally found some that could not be thwarted by my crap brain. These were games journalist and hacker. Both of these careers were actually inspired by books I had read. Journalism was inspired by the great Hunter S. Thompson and his masterpiece Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. After reading this I wanted to be the maverick games journalist, writing crazy drug fuelled reviews of the latest computer and video games. The idea of being a hacker came about after reading the Sprawl trilogy by William Gibson. These three books are equally brilliant and paint an awe inspiring dystopian future controlled by corporations where the lowly hacker is the anti-hero.
The first I actually took seriously, I studied journalism at university and even passed with an adequate degree, however it was in vain, for I was to be cast down again. You see in the journalism industry it doesn't matter how good you are at writing, all that matters is who you know. I literally spent years after I graduated writing articles and sending them in to websites, magazines and newspapers but nothing came of it. To pay the vast credit card bills I had run up in university I did temp jobs, all of which were crap and offered poor pay. I still haven't paid those cards off or escaped my overdraft but at least I have been trying. Anyway, with al hope of becoming a journalist failing I gradually became empty and just kept doing temp jobs like I enjoyed the suffering that they offered. I would work for a couple of months and build up a good stash of money, only for that to be drained in the following months as I looked for more work and then the cycle would start anew. This is no way for a person to live or even exist.
As I said though, I have a plan. You see I have one dream job left on my list: hacker. Now I am not saying that I going to be lurking online hacking into high security servers with a bunch of kids and saving the world from the evil businesses who wish to make a profit from creating a disaster, that would be creepy even by my standards (the hanging around with kids part that is). No, I am aiming to teach myself coding. Some say that I may be too old for this shit, but I don't care. I need to expand my skill base and something like this is perfect for me. I am use to sitting in front of a computer for extended periods of time and having little to no contact with other humans, so that aspect is covered. As for the actual learning of programming I have started to mess around with that and it seems ok, I reckon I should be able to pick up the basics fairly quickly so long as I don't get distracted and play games or anything. Of course now that I say that I'm going to get nowhere with it and fail on a major scale.

Before I go I feel obliged to point out that today is also International Landmine Awareness Day, so join me in handing out live landmines to all the good boys and girls in the world, nothing says awareness like a active landmine in the hands of a small child. Just be sure to tell them to hit it hard on the top to get the treats hidden inside!