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It was a normal Saturday, one full of surprises, backstabbing gnomes and poorly marketed fish ponds.
Awaking at 5am, I thought it was my noble deed to run around the house, ensuring I would not be alone this early in the morning. Funny people with funny ideas and funny gnome obsessions live next door, so paranoia always strikes me.
After successfully waking everyone up, I went to raid the fridge. A pile of food consisting of a Cheesetring, half an onion, some Lucky charms and pasta shells was quickly concocted, and it wasn't long before I had to make frequent trips to the bathroom.
9:00Am came, start of work.
After a 10 minute journey that seemed to last for, well, ten minutes, I entered through the automatic sliding doors. A strange smell hit me, squarely in the chops. It was a pungent smell, one very much like a smell you’d expect to find in, say, a swimming pool full of toddlers who don’t wear swimming nappies.
I was quickly given my walkie talkie, before heading out the back into the heat.
That’s where *she* was.
“Right maaaaate, I want a gnome for me gaaaaaaaaaarden.”
“Ok. Well, erm, this is the herb section…”
“Oooooh really? I didn’t know thaaaaaat, *insane giggling*”
*Clenches fist*
“They’re… over… there!”
“Riiiiiiight. Come help me, wudya?”
“Erm, ok then.”
We wander over to the gnomes. Now, the garden centre has two types of gnomes. The little multicoloured ones or the big grey stone gnomes. She wanted a big multicoloured stone gnome.
“Nooooooow then, I saw these piddly gnomes inside, but I want a big one, all colourful like. Wudya be able to paint it maaaaaate?”
“Personally no, for it is not my responsibility. I am only a mere weekend monkey boy, who has very little privileges. I’ll get someone that can help.”
I call David, my boss, on the Walkie-talkie.
”She wants what?”
“She wants a gnome painted…”
“Bloody madness! I’ll be over monkey boy…”
*weeps*
So then, after that minor occurance, I had a job to do. Watering the specimens. Now I normally wouldn’t mind, say, in October, but watering plants in a big tunnel in this heat really sucks.
“How ya getting on?”
“Same as every week, I’m spraying.”
“Hahaha, funny lad, funny lad. No, really, how are…”
“Plants are fine”
“Ahhhh, nice to know, nice to know.”
He called me bubbles last week. Bubbles. I think someone’s had their head in the greenhouse for too long…
So, was about an hour away. It was swelteringly hot, there were no customers and the plants were dying. What would I do to pass 60 minutes?
It then came to me. It was so simple, yet so amazing brilliant!
Attack the boss with the hose.
Now, bearing in mind this is a pretty powerful hose, he would get soaked.
I took aim, released the catch, when a customer popped up out of nowhere.
She was old, really old. And I sprayed her. Lots.
“HOWARD?”
“Uh… yes?”
“WHAT IN GOD’S NAME DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”
“Hosing”
“I CAN BLOODY WELL SEE THAT! NOW, GO APOLOGISE!”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re the little scally wag that soaked me!”
“Yeah, about that…”
And before I can say anything, she was gone.
Lunch came and went, and all the jobs were done. It was around 5:00pm when something interesting happened. A load of rubbery fish paint had spilt all over the hot concrete and had set. Me, being the Slave monkey boy that I am, had to clear it up. With a broom.
Never, ever work in a Garden centre.
Awaking at 5am, I thought it was my noble deed to run around the house, ensuring I would not be alone this early in the morning. Funny people with funny ideas and funny gnome obsessions live next door, so paranoia always strikes me.
After successfully waking everyone up, I went to raid the fridge. A pile of food consisting of a Cheesetring, half an onion, some Lucky charms and pasta shells was quickly concocted, and it wasn't long before I had to make frequent trips to the bathroom.
9:00Am came, start of work.
After a 10 minute journey that seemed to last for, well, ten minutes, I entered through the automatic sliding doors. A strange smell hit me, squarely in the chops. It was a pungent smell, one very much like a smell you’d expect to find in, say, a swimming pool full of toddlers who don’t wear swimming nappies.
I was quickly given my walkie talkie, before heading out the back into the heat.
That’s where *she* was.
“Right maaaaate, I want a gnome for me gaaaaaaaaaarden.”
“Ok. Well, erm, this is the herb section…”
“Oooooh really? I didn’t know thaaaaaat, *insane giggling*”
*Clenches fist*
“They’re… over… there!”
“Riiiiiiight. Come help me, wudya?”
“Erm, ok then.”
We wander over to the gnomes. Now, the garden centre has two types of gnomes. The little multicoloured ones or the big grey stone gnomes. She wanted a big multicoloured stone gnome.
“Nooooooow then, I saw these piddly gnomes inside, but I want a big one, all colourful like. Wudya be able to paint it maaaaaate?”
“Personally no, for it is not my responsibility. I am only a mere weekend monkey boy, who has very little privileges. I’ll get someone that can help.”
I call David, my boss, on the Walkie-talkie.
”She wants what?”
“She wants a gnome painted…”
“Bloody madness! I’ll be over monkey boy…”
*weeps*
So then, after that minor occurance, I had a job to do. Watering the specimens. Now I normally wouldn’t mind, say, in October, but watering plants in a big tunnel in this heat really sucks.
“How ya getting on?”
“Same as every week, I’m spraying.”
“Hahaha, funny lad, funny lad. No, really, how are…”
“Plants are fine”
“Ahhhh, nice to know, nice to know.”
He called me bubbles last week. Bubbles. I think someone’s had their head in the greenhouse for too long…
So, was about an hour away. It was swelteringly hot, there were no customers and the plants were dying. What would I do to pass 60 minutes?
It then came to me. It was so simple, yet so amazing brilliant!
Attack the boss with the hose.
Now, bearing in mind this is a pretty powerful hose, he would get soaked.
I took aim, released the catch, when a customer popped up out of nowhere.
She was old, really old. And I sprayed her. Lots.
“HOWARD?”
“Uh… yes?”
“WHAT IN GOD’S NAME DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”
“Hosing”
“I CAN BLOODY WELL SEE THAT! NOW, GO APOLOGISE!”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re the little scally wag that soaked me!”
“Yeah, about that…”
And before I can say anything, she was gone.
Lunch came and went, and all the jobs were done. It was around 5:00pm when something interesting happened. A load of rubbery fish paint had spilt all over the hot concrete and had set. Me, being the Slave monkey boy that I am, had to clear it up. With a broom.
Never, ever work in a Garden centre.
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*dons toupee*
*Wakes Clazon up after giving him a reverse mohican*
*Jumps into Tardis and disappears*
*Jumps into Tardis and disappears*
*takes out chainsaw from back pocket and instantly goes for mask and hair*
*hedfix now has a reverse mohican*
*i laugh and chant aussie, aussie, aussie*
*hedfix now has a reverse mohican*
*i laugh and chant aussie, aussie, aussie*
*Ties hair back and dons a hockey mask + several pounds in weight*
*chases in a heavy breathing muderous style*
*Screams*
*Runs in a manly fashion*
*Runs in a manly fashion*
*grabs shaver and trapeses towards hedfix*
mwahahahahaha
mwahahahahaha
Berty Longbarrow the Gnome once sat in my garden with his bright yellow beeches and turquoise tunic. But one summer's night he got nicked, along with Basil Buttercup and Hector Humperty-trump. I wonder where they are now?
El ® ö B ì Ñ . wrote:
> I thought that its allright to say that, if you are getting a job and
> they say that to get the job you need to cut your hair or something,
> then to get the job you have to do it.
> Like to work in Disneyworld, you are not allowed a beard, tash or any
> visable tattoo's.
I think they need to give you a clear idea before the interview.
Making it a condition in an interview is apparently illegal.
> I thought that its allright to say that, if you are getting a job and
> they say that to get the job you need to cut your hair or something,
> then to get the job you have to do it.
> Like to work in Disneyworld, you are not allowed a beard, tash or any
> visable tattoo's.
I think they need to give you a clear idea before the interview.
Making it a condition in an interview is apparently illegal.
Hehe.
Pubs are worse.
Run run run for no appreciation!
YEAH!
Pubs are worse.
Run run run for no appreciation!
YEAH!
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