Zombie.
Monday 24 September 2007
My apologies for the lack of updates of late. The biggest and newest problem is pretty simple: once I get home from work at around 9.30am, I'm too fucking knackered to do anything but go straight to the land of Nod. Before, when I was working doors, cracking out 500+ words at 3am seemed like the right thing to do. At 9.30am, all I can think about is a pillow.
It's going to take some while for me to get used to the shift in general and the overall pattern of my week. I will get there. Eventually.
Here's roughly how my night goes:
10pm-midnight: Just kind of chilling, watching a bit of TV, doing various checks and patrols, etc.
Midnight-4am: Watch a bit more TV, maybe some DVDs, patrols, etc.
4am-7am: Sit around like a zombie, bar the odd patrol.
7am-9am: Try and 'hang on' to the end of my shift.
As I said before, the project is only at about half capacity at the moment and the folks there are there for a reason - they behave. Hence, not a lot really happens. Some new tenants should be arriving soon and things might spice up a bit then. As it is, my work-time at the moment is little more than a war of attrition - it's an endurance test. Staying not only awake, but semi-alert overnight for 11 hours is not all that easy. While I have the privilege of DVDs, TV, music, reading etc to pass the time, it can get incredibly dull. Also, closing your eyes, even "just for a second", is death. Even blinking can be a bit risky.
So, you fill the time with caffeine. Last shift I had four coffees, three Red Bulls, two Cokes and about eight Pro Plus. Sounds excessive - it is excessive. However, whilst one could probably scrape by with far less than this, not being loaded up means time goes by much, much slower. When you're that tired it's very easy to lose all enthusiasm to the point where even putting in a DVD seems exhausting. So, drink your coffee, put on that movie, and watch the time go by just a touch faster. This is, obviously, essential to your survival. A movie lasts 90-120 minutes - you know this, time knows this, your sanity knows this.
Films I've seen at work this week: Goodfellas, Pulp Fiction, The Simpsons Movie - which was crap - Prizzi's Honour, Mad Max, MST3K: I Was A Teenage Werewolf and probably some other things I'm forgetting. Also, several episodes of season five of The Shield on DVD, lots of Family Guy (the BBC has been kind enough to show 2-3 episodes every night this week), and various other shows.
This all sounds great, and believe me, I'm getting paid for this so I'm not complaining, but it's that fucking 4-7am phantom zone that's the real killer. You've just passed the halfway point of your shift and then it all slows down to a fucking crawl.
I go back Wednesday.
posted by Sheamus @ 8:30 am
Hollington.
Wednesday 19 September 2007
Yesterday was meant to be my night off but I got a call from the new boss at about 4.30pm, asking me if I'd go down to another site and supervise an agency security person my firm had sub-contracted to. I'd get paid more than usual. Seemed fair enough, so I did.
Horrors: it was in Hollington.
The irony was, the project there was a piss of piss compared to my place. When I mentioned where I was working to the staff they were like, "Heavens, no, it's nothing like that." Which is a bit worrying, naturally.
This place had no lockdown at all. Tenants were free to come and go as they pleased and to bring back visitors with them 24/7.
I was there for about 2 1/2 hours and it was incredibly peaceful.
The 'agency guy' was actually the boss of a firm that's been established in the East Sussex area for five years. I felt a bit of a pseud telling him how to do his job - my boss told me to say I was the area supervisor - but he was exceedingly pleasant and it's actually turned out to be a useful contact.
One odd thing: there were these flyers everywhere that said in big, colourful letters, WOULD YOU LIKE TO WIN SOME HAIR STRAIGHTENERS? OR A NINTENDO WII?
Now, that alone is a bit of an oddity as even a good set of hair straighteners probably cost less than one third of a Wii system, but I read on, somewhat eager, thinking, yes, I wouldn't mind a Wii actually, now you've brought it up. Then, in slightly less colourful, significantly smaller lettering, it read:
JUST GET TESTED FOR CHLAMYDIA AND YOU WILL BE ENTERED INTO OUR PRIZE DRAW!
There's always a catch. Always.
posted by Sheamus @ 8:30 am
A new beginning.
Tuesday 18 September 2007
Well, the first shift went pretty well.
The area manager got called away to a more serious site and couldn't make it - this left Edmonson and myself working together and alone, which of course was great.
The house is only just over half full at the moment - seven out of a possible twelve tenants. A few big troublemakers have been kicked out of late and while those we met tonight were perfectly polite and seemed fine, there's already a few characters there. One chap has to have daily visits from the police (they arrived this morning at 6am) because he's on bail; another is clearly a dealer and/or a speed freak, as he didn't settle down, let alone sleep, all night; a third is an early 40s peroxide blond, who's kind of a cross between Paris Hilton and Chloe from Fight Club, waif-thin and always accompanied by a chihuahua on a lead. She's also quite clearly a junkie, or a recovering one, spending a lot of time with the speedfreak, naturally exchanging blow-jobs for blow, or whatever (believe me, it was in her eyes.)
The shift started at 10pm and began with immediate bad news - the previous security team showed up to reclaim their TV. It definitely was theirs (we checked), but they must have timed it like that on purpose. Thankfully, we managed to blag one from the staff and tonight I got through Mad Max, Prizzi's Honour, the Washington Redskins vs the Philadelphia Eagles, about an hour of news (Northern Rock, Northern Rock, Northern fucking Rock) and even some GMTV. I bought a bunch of DVDs but neither of us was in the mood, really.
Endurance wise, it was fine and dandy until about 7am, when I really started to crash. We had to put the on-loan TV back at 7.30am and that last 90 minutes just went on forever. Good news: the manageress was on duty when we were leaving and ordered us a new TV (from Argos, don't you know) that should arrive tonight. I'm not back on duty until Thursday, of course, so as long as it's there by then, I don't really care.
Now, you'll have to excuse me: I'm fucking exhausted. Still, two days off, and all that.
posted by Sheamus @ 9:30 am
Shifts.
Saturday 15 September 2007
The new work beings Monday; I'm going in at 3pm, with Edmonson, for a briefing/tour of the new location, and then we'll both be working that night's shift, with the area manager (joy). He'll do Tuesday and Wednesday, and then I'm on for my three days from Thursday.
I have no expectations yet, as I don't really know what to expect. My only concern is adjusting to the new sleep patterns. My shift is 10pm-9am, and so as I typically have a problem winding down immediately after work, most work 'nights' I won't be going to bed until 10am. This could be kinda awkward.
In other news, I'm giving serious thought to using some of my spare day-time to do a home study degree. I quite fancy criminology, to be honest, and have done for a while. It'll certainly fit nicely in with my current career, and as I'm giving serious thought to joining the police force on the right side of my fortieth birthday it'll expedite the old application process there, as well. One assumes.
posted by Sheamus @ 5:00 pm
Training day.
Tuesday 11 September 2007
You'll have noted, of course, that I haven't had much to say lately. This is what happens when you find yourself in-between jobs.
Tomorrow, I go to Portsmouth for a day's training, and then my new position begins next week, either Monday or Thursday depending on the shift pattern Edmonson and myself work out. I'd prefer to do Monday, so I can have the weekend off.
I'm not really sure what to expect from this new job, to be honest. It'll either be the good life, as described by my new boss, or each night it'll be like a new episode of Hellraiser.
Watch this space.
posted by Sheamus @ 12:00 pm
End of an era.
Saturday 8 September 2007
Fair bit of hassle tonight, and for a while it seemed as if the place was trying to prove some delayed kind of point, i.e., you are going to die tonight.
But, forty minutes or so before closing, the complex manager let Edmonson and myself finish early, and we hit the bar... hard. And didn't have to pay for a single drink. Owners, staff, punters... they picked 'em all up for us. Gaymers at my place is £3.75/bottle. I had more bought for me than I could possibly drink.
When people tell you that you've not only been valued, but liked as well, what more can you ask?
Some people were actually crying.
There was a lot of love in the Showbar at 2.45am this morning.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:30 am
Handicapped Toilet Blues.
Thursday 6 September 2007
In the past two days, I've had rather unfortunate run-ins with disabled people. Specifically, at or near their own toilets.
You see, back in the day when I started working at this poxy place, we were informed that it was wisest for us to always use a cubicle when we wanted to go to toilet, even if it was just for a number one. The reason why makes sense - if you've had problems with one or two geezers all night, the last thing you want is for them to follow you into the toilet and smash you over the back of a head with a pint glass when you're having a slash. I mean, even doormen have some level of dignity they'd like to maintain.
So, I mused over this for a while, and figured the disabled loo was an even better bet - one, disabled toilets are always nicer. Have you noticed that? They're cleaner and they smell better. Clearly our limp-legged friends are quite demanding. Two, they come with a greater level of privacy. And three, sometimes, if you're careful, you can nip into one and spend a good 15-30 minutes in there dozing off while everybody else around you works. That's good livin'.
We have two disabled toilets at my place of work - one is down by the main bars and therefore far too noisy. The other is up beyond the restaurant, shielded by walls, and always nice and quiet. It's nearly always vacant, too.
Yesterday I went in there - to have a crap, if you're asking - and was getting down to business, and all was well. Now, when I pay a visit to the carsey at work, I have to remove my radio. You see, it's quite a heavy item, and once I've undone my belt it tends to fall on to the floor. This, clearly, is not productive. So, I remove the radio, and put it to one side. I always turn the volume well down as it can be quite loud when left on the highest point, which is where it always is when I'm wearing my covert earpiece. Oh yeah, I'm all hardcore, me.
Last night, however, I forgot about the volume. So I'm sitting there, and time passes, and la de da. Suddenly, Edmonson comes over the radio: "ADJ, I saw you go into the disabled toilet mate, and you might want to know that there's a handicapped bloke on crutches who's been waiting outside for ages." This, of course, came over VERY LOUD INDEED.
This was bad for two reasons.
REASON #1 - The person outside the toilet heard it all.
REASON #2 - I finally finished up, washed my hands, and opened the door, and said, without looking up, "Sorry mate..." And it was a woman. Bloody Edmonson. Okay, okay, she was fucking ugly, and built like a brick shit-house, but how do you recover from that!? He was laughing for about half an hour when I told him.
Tonight, I decided to chance my bog of choice again. The coast was clear. The restaurant had long closed and there was nobody around at all. So, I go inside, settle down to business... and less than a minute later I hear the familiar (but always hilarious) BEEP BEEP BEEP of some chap's disabled car, reversing up the hallway. In fact, there was a shit load more of BEEP BEEP BEEPs after that as the hallway is quite awkwardly narrow and clearly he had to three-point turn or something. Finally, he's done, and then instead of using his voice to enquire if anybody is inside the toilet, he favours banging on the door instead.
So, I'm rushing to finish - and why is it when you need to do this it's always at those moments when two entire rolls of toilet paper isn't quite enough? - and this bloke is banging away on the door. "Alright, alright," I say, "I'm coming, I'm coming." Not literally, I'll add - that would be very wrong indeed.
"Okay mate," he says, "Let me just back up so you can get out."
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
Oh, the humility.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:30 am
48 hours.
Wednesday 5 September 2007
Just two more days to go.
'Peak season' ended today, and already the place has died a grisly death. It's back to uber-chavs and power-drinkers, but it's blissfully quiet. Really, it's just a case of going through the motions. I'm very blase about the everyday domestics and late-teen posturing now. It only gets exciting when one of those lovely mass-brawls breaks out.
Right now I'm concerned only about two things:
A. That I get paid - in full - this Friday, which means my normal fortnight's wage, the 65 hours of unused holiday pay I'm due plus my first week's arreared cheque.
B. That I haven't heard anything from anybody at my new job since accepting it. It's probably nothing to worry about, but as it was implied it could start potentially as early as the 10th, I'd have liked to have heard something.
Ho hum.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:30 am
7 days.
Saturday 1 September 2007
I handed my notice in tonight. Nothing was said. Quite literally: nothing.
I have a feeling #1 knew what was coming; most of the staff seemed to have heard something about myself and Edmonson leaving.
Either way, tonight provided many reminders about why we're absolutely doing the right thing.
Jabba's not been too well of late, which meant that it was Edmonson and I doing pretty much everything. And we had all manner of cunts in. I was watching one bloke making the moves on his girlfriend, his hands all over her, etc, as she got increasingly agitated. The guy was seriously pissed and he was on thin ice as it was, but when the woman pulled me over and announced she didn't even know him, well he had to go, like, immediately. Especially when the woman's kids started crying over how nervous he was making them. Edmonson and I had to literally drag him out, one arm each, with him doing everything he could to take a swing at one or both of us. Once outside the gates, he did that strange but very typical psychological thing where he started verbally laying into one of us - in this case Edmonson - whilst saying the other one, me, was "a good bloke." I've seen this many times. Usually it's me who is the cunt, but it's almost like these dicks do a kind of reverse-projection of the 'good cop/bad cop' stereotype, maybe in some kind of loose attempt to gain favour or make one of us doubt the other. It never works, naturally, but it's all quite fascinating, simply because it's so consistent. It happens too regularly to just be a coincidence.
However, because of this and various other incidents that occured, Edmonson has decided he isn't coming in tomorrow which basically means I am not coming in, because I'm the only other DS on duty. Jabba has a 4-day holiday. I ain't doing this shit by myself. Even when/if I go back on Sunday, it's just me and Jones. And on Tuesday, just me and Edmonson, assuming he shows up. Now, one realises why 99.99 per cent of all ex-employees didn't give a fuck about their contract/one-week notice and just fucked off, instead. Much easier. Much less hassle. The irony is I figured I'd do 'the boys' a favour and work the week out, and what happens? They all fuck off on me. You really can't make this dogshit up.
The upside? When it's finally all over, I have 65 hours of holiday pay to come. How'd you like those apples?
posted by Sheamus @ 3:30 am