Posted 4:03 PM by Gobbler
Just My Luck

or

Remarkably Good

Walking through my local town after over a year away carrying out little shopping tasks, such as new glass (for the greenhouse that had suffered at my hands due to some nearby over excited shovelling (with a real shovel)), spray paint (for the car, having suffered a new war wound after a minor misunderstanding with a crash barrier), photo albums (Ive got to put 20 films' worth of photos somewhere, but holy rip-offs did you know that the big photo albums from boots cost 17 quid? Extraordinary, the ones at whsmiths, almost the same size, only cost 11 quid) peaches or nectarines (almost as good as melon, was on the lookout for them as well) and other necessary items, I spotted the job agency. I didnt want a job but was aware that at some point it would become a necessary step, maybe in a couplle of weeks or so. Still, it couldnt hurt to stick my head in, ask a few questions, let them know I was back. "But," I slowed my pace along the pavement, "perhaps next week will do..." I was almost past the bright blue door of the agency. "Still- it cant hurt to look I suppose-" I pushed open the door and began to climb the steps to the office, that pleasantly lit, warm and inviting stairway to the office, where the people inside were paid to find you jobs. And jobs invariably mean attending a place of employment and doing work. The stairway to employment. But I didnt want a job just yet.

I entered the room, hoping to find Miec, the bloke with whom I had dealt the time before, who seemed more amiable than Claire who only seemed interested in you getting that job and her getting her cut. But there was a problem, oh yes. One of those silly problems that no-one cares a stuff about, and you didnt five minutes beforehand and wont five minutes afterwards, but at the time are critically important. I wanted to spek to Miec. How exactly was that pronounced again? If only he hadnt told me how to say his name properly I could have gone on pronouncing his name 'Mike' forever, smiling and ignorant. But he had told me. He had told me how to say his name properly, and it wasnt 'mike'. 'Mee-ech'?, 'Mi-ech'?, 'Mi-eck'? this list rattled through my cobwebbed cranium. "Remember, damn you!" I said to myself as I entered the office. In my desperate struggle to remember the correct pronunciation of miec's name I clean forgot Claire's, and now I was in the office. No familiar faces. A new receptionist looked up at me,

"Hello, can I help?" She enquired. Spot on, I guess I must have looked mightily confused by this point. It had all seemed so easy, in truth it all was so easy, but I had managed to create problems.

"Um," I began, "Um, yes. Is Mike, err, Mi-ec, Mee-ech, err, matey guy around please?"

"Pardon me?"

"Err, you know, Mike, funny sounding name, or, umm, Claire,(I had remembered)possibly?"

"Ahh. No, sorry, he (didnt say the name, evidently she had problems too, I was somewhat vindicated) left. Claire's in a meeting. Can I help?"

"I imagine so. I just want to ask a couple of questions."

"You are looking for a job?"

It was the beginning of the end. The "Yes, but not yet" reply was interpreted as a 'yes PLEASE, right away.' and my details were pulled from the computer. It turns out, and this i cant believe, that I scored 97% in a Microsoft Excel test, which is, by the way and in the words of the recruitment lady, "Remarkably good". That may well be true, but it is also, as far as I can remember, remarkably wrong, as I took the test last year, no, two years ago, when the only thing I knew about excel was was my brother had spent one hour teaching me the night before. And Im pretty sure I got about 70% (its not a very tricky test). However, it seemed foolish to argue. I began to argue; the lasy was getting quite excited and it looked for a frightening moment like I wouldnt leave the agency unemployed.

"I tell you, that score must be wrong! I didnt do so well on the test, I remember."

"It says here that you scored 97%. You scored 97%."

"Did I really?"

"Yes."

"Well. Well, well well. Well then."

"Yes exactly. 97% is remarkably good."

And then things began to turn ugly.

"Let me just see if we have anything available at the moment for you." She continued, happy as a sandboy.

"No, no dont do that! There might be something!-"

"Ahh, yes, here we are! Just as I thought!"

"But I dont want-"

"Mr Goulden, I believe we have something suitable for you, they'll want you to start immediately."

"But- really? Whats the position? But, no! I dont-"

"If you could just go and talk to Blueberry in the corner." (she wasnt called blueberry, she was called Olive, Im just changing her name to preserve her anonymity)

"Oh, very well." And so i went to talk to Blueberry, who had just finished on the phone. She carried about her a strange blue aura, presumably the reason for her peculiar name. She was remarkably shrivelled and resembled a prune, a blue one of course, which is particularly remarkable given that the girl cannot have been more than 25. A peculiar specimen indeed.

"Good heavens, what is this?" I thought. "Hello there" I said.

"Youre looking for a job." She declared in neatly punched monotonal syllables.

"Well, not exactly, it depends on the job."

"I think we have the job for you. Your excel skills are remarkably good. You are proficient with pivot tables."

Do to the mechanical nature of her speech I was unsure of whether her last sentence was a question or a statement. I bargained on statement, and remained silent, examining the remarkable Blueberry that sat beofore me, positing myself the question of whether it was likely that she had ever imbibed even half of the recommended eight pints of fluid a day, as set down by some clever people somewhere. My ruminations were interrupted.

"You are proficient with pivot tables."

Had i left it long enough I suppose she would have repeated herself again, like the 'Abort, retry, fail?' error messages on computers, but by now I had realised that she was indeed asking me a question.

"Um, a little rusty."

"You have a remarkably good excel score, you should know pivot tables."

Hang on, I thought. Did she hjust mention that my excel score was 'Remarkably good'? Well I never! I puffed up with pride. But I remembered in time:

"But Im not sure if I want a job just yet, I have only just got home and habe a lot to sort out..." Just then Blueberry hit me with her trump card, the wage.

"Oh really?" I wobbled, "Thats rather good isnt it."

"It is remarkably good."

And so today I accepted my new position within my new company. Not even time to get into a seriously slack sleeping pattern, no pyjamas til tea time, and not what i had in mind at all. But I just couldnt turn t down in the end, and the bank balance will be pleased. And, if I really want to leave, I can just begin throwing pretend epileptic fits until they are forced to give me paid sick leave. That would be handy. And Mr Taylor, if youre reading this, please accept my apologies once again for my outrageous behaviour.


Astute readers will have noticed that this story was not entitled 'Bang Bang! No problem!' as previously advertised. Unfortunately that story has been shot and is now in hospital awaiting surgery. It will be with us once it has fully recovered.

Also, I should like to say that blueberry is not only not called blueberry but isnt at all like i have described. She happens to be entirely pleasant and not at all shrivelled.

Chees'm: steady soldier, hope this will shut you up for a while.
Rach: No.
Evil Uncle: That was an early mistake of mine. After a few weeks I began adopting an american accent and directing them to Salt Lake City. They should be getting on well there.
Anna: Hello m'dear! Numbers the same as its always been, but will email it. Summer 2006 booked in and ready to roll. Have booked ahead with Ryanair for 17 1/2 British pence. They give huge discounts if you book ahead dont you know. WIll also send you postcrad, i might even stretch to a letter./ after all, it would be highly irregular to send you a letter from my home town now wouldnt it? Shite, just remembered that i never sent you a postcard while i was away, sorry! unforgivable. to you and everyone else who suffered without one, apologies. for all those who did not suffer without one, you are a lousy bunch of stinking punks. Especially you glaser.

Posted 11:42 AM by Gobbler
I Cant Live If Living Is Without Blog

WELL THEN...

I just changed my mind, you know how it is. Sometimes it happens. You've come to a decision over a period of time, in this case some months, to do something once you get to a certain point. It could be stopping smoking, I suppose, for example ("After Ive finished this fag I'm a'gonna quit... Maybe after this pack.) (American brethren please take note that a fag is not in this case a happy homosexual but a cigarette. This is especially important to remember if someone comes up to you and says: "Excuse me mate, do you mind if I bum a fag?" He is not asking that you grant him permission to engage in the act of sodomy but to provide him with the means to continue his ongoing lung cancer research program) Another examplke of what i mean might be deciding to buy yourself a new car after youve finished that long road trip, or another fishing rod after that fishing week, or to pop down to the newsagent for a new copy of that magazine- There are in fact what i might describe as a superabundance of examples that i could draw on. I wont draw on them all, four was quite boring enough. Observant readers, and those readers who are ordinarily quite unobservant but have a nose for smut may have picked up on the allusions to pornography which i included at the end of the list to alleviate by a process of lowering, the dull tone. If you get me.

Where am i supposed to be going with all these examples? Let me explain. I made a decision to do something when i got back home, which was to stop blogging. Readers more than a modicum of memory will recall that i mention in my last blog that i wouldnt be blogging very much any more. In fact thats pretty much all i said. It ran something along the lines of 'Chao, hasnt it been a ball.' Well, Ive changed my mind, the Show must go on. It'll probably last a little longer than the last bloke to put that into a song, (not that I intend to sing it, that would be dangerous) Freddie Mercury, on the grtounds that im not dying of AIDS. not as far as i know anyway.

In short people, there'll be more blog. Top of the list is a fine tale entitled:

"BANG BANG!! No Problem!!"

A fascinating tale of trains and watches and the Russian Army (obvious combination)which will arrive soon. But now i must go.