Model Worker

Despite a deep set resentment towards the whole 'work' thing, I almost pride myself on having never took a day off sick in my six years as a wage drone. Never been late, either.

I'm not sure why this is but despite waking up every morning with a groan of 'fuck, fuck, fuck', I always manage to get out of bed and to the bus stop. Perhaps I should blame my mother, who always kicked me out of the house to school throughout my youth, ensuring I only missed five days in seven years. It must be that Methodist work ethic: it's a small mercy she just passed that on, and not any of the actual religious side of things.

Related to that is that despite my work-shy, dossing ways, I always ensure the work gets done on time. Principals mean that I won't mess up some other poor sod's day by being a lazy bastard. In the same way, much as I would love to spend my days at home eating chocolate bourbons and watching episodes of Monk and Ironside, I won't do so unless I have the money to do it off my own back. I've spent time on the dole, and it's no fun at all.

Part of my spotless attendance record is that I'm lucky(?) enough to never really get sick. Bar a bout of tonsillitis when I was 23 (and I was unemployed then anyways), I've never had anything worse than a bad cold. And while I can be a bit pathetic when this happens, it's not enough to keep me away from my desk. Unlike some people, who'll claim it as flu and enjoy an extended weekend. At times, I'm almost jealous of them.

All this reminds me why I never liked the magazine "The Idler". I read through a couple of copies once and it seemed to me to celebrate a certain kind of middle-class laziness, for people who had enough money to get away with it. While I embrace being an idle get, I know it requires a certain kind of style to get away it when you also have to work to pay for rent and beer tokens. For example, the simple act of me writing this right now would suggest that I'm busy at work to unsuspecting others.

This was a lesson I learnt in my sixth form days. During free periods, we would be expected to study. Fuck that, thought I, I'd rather stare into space. One particular teacher would wander round, check what we were studying and test us to ensure we were working, the bastard. Therefore, I took one of my geography textbooks, learned three pages and kept the book open at that point. So when I was picked up on my apparent slacking, I was easily able to explain population patterns in post-war Europe.

My slacker idol was always my grandfather. An odd choice when you consider he spent the best part of 50 years working down a coal mine. However, by the time I entered the world, he was long retired and had resolved to spend his remaining days (all 20 years of them by then), lounging on the sofa and studying the racing form in the Daily Mirror with occasional trips to the pub/bookies.

Some people try to use their retirement to travel the world, do the things they always wanted to, etc etc. Granddad basically sat on his arse (in my lifetime, he only left his hometown once that I can think of) and played tricks on my mother to amuse my brother and I. Now, everytime I slump into my sofa with a bottle of beer to watch 70s detective shows, I salute his memory.