Here’s one for all you service industry slaves, er I mean workers, out there in employment land.
I drag my arse (that’s English for ass) out of bed at the ungodly 04:00 hour (that’s four o’clock in the morning to those of you who prefer the other clock) 5 days a week literally: come rain or shine (and every-fucking-other-weather-condition-known-to-man-in-between).
I drive at highly illegal speeds to a Royal Mail depot in the middle of nowhere. (Royal Mail is the UK equivalent of the United States Postal Service (USPS), for the benefit of my American reader/none-commentators.) There I clock in, trying to maintain consciousness after the thrill of driving like Mad Max has dissapated, long enough to stand – yes, stand they don’t allow us chairs – and sort letters, parcels and flats (large A4 letters or bigger) alongside 800 other sweaty tired and generally pissed off miscreants in nice tidy blue uniforms! Phew that was a mouthful.
We do this from 05:00 til 09:30, when we are finally unshackled from our oars and allowed our ‘freedom’ to venture out into the wilds of the local area to spend the next 4.5 hours delivering the, largely it has to be said pointless, junk shit to the highly suspecting and usually volatile public.
Now, I could regale you with colourful tales of the fancy life of the ‘unskilled manual labourer’ (as it said on the employment service application I filled out – back in 1998), but fear not, fellow cyberspace malcontents, I shall not!
I will simply break it down for you, as I’m sure many of you will work in a service oriented trade, or at the very least you used to do. You will, therefore, know what a pride-swallowing, soul-sucking shit-eating seige mentality the damn jobs are. A postie (British slang for Mailman) is no exception my friends. Suffice it to say you frequently put up with horrendous inclement weather – the sort you’d scoff at from behind the safety of your lounge window if you didn’t HAVE to go out in it. Add a ten tonne weight of shit and bills no one wants to recieve and you can imagine the hostility – thinly veilled and blatently expressed that comes Punched Monkey’s way? Yes?
These fuckheads we shall call the public have some beef about everything. Shutting gates, knocking too loudly, disturbing their sleep in on a Saturday, kicking their dog, kicking their kids, fucking their wife, you name it. Then there’s having to go to the same door you went to yesterday with the same parcel two days running cause they’re too fucking lazy to come to the depot and collect the shit – only to find they’re NOT IN, again. That one boils my piss right in the bladder man! Fight Club’s Tyler Durden wouldn’t stand for it. Remember the scene in Fight Club when he tells some dude ‘Do not fuck with people in the service professions cause they are the people who cook and bring your food, haul away your garbage’? Well that’s pretty much this Monkey’s view on it. Because it ain’t just postal workers who get the shit end of the stick – it’s bartenders, waiters/resses, busboys, clerks, retail staff, school meals personnel
Why does the general public treat us – the working backbone of so-called ‘civilised society’ with such ill mannered obtuse ignorance. I bought an iPod from those lovely people at Apple when I started at Royal Mail. Best thing I ever did. Most people think iPod stands for ‘internet pod’ a TM for the Apple proprietary technology. WRONG!
iGnorant – Phuckhead – Obscurity – Device. that’s what it is folks. It effectively filters out the verbal incontinence a man on the streets just trying to do his job and get home so he can do something less boring instead has to endure from either retired or unemployed cunts with nothing better to do than complain about petty insignificant shit. Punched Monkey humbly asks you: is the fucking world going to end because the mailman didn’t shut your garden gate?