I hate my job. Its the most boring thing in the whole of the world never mind Wales. I have to sit on a till and speak nice to loads of wierdos every day. Iv tried other jobs like being a barmaid but im baaaaddd at pouring a pint which is shocking considering im a Welshie. Plus I was talking to the fit lads and ignoring the old mens orders. Them old geezers had it in for me anyway cuz I thought Dominoes was just the pizza place at first and I used to smile when they lost the pub quiz ha ha ha.
Then there was the time I tried being a 'photo girl' for my local club. Id spend half my day and night getting ready with shit loads of lip gloss and backcombing my hair like Amy Winehouse (RIP) just to ask did anyone want there photo taken and put in a right cheapo keyring. I would not of bought one myself but the pissheads thought it was dead smart. I gave up that one though because I had to stand outside for two hours with a big carboard arrow above me saying "photo here". I could not take the shame and there was loads of perves out trying to buy ME and not the keyring. "Il give ya £50 for a feel babe" Urgh get out my life you freak this isnt auction.com and £50! Cheek!. Thats the tip of a big old iceberg of jobs and here I am stuck in this one. Theres as much chance of me getting a new career as Ashley Cole has of being faithful (no offense Chez I still do all your dance moves).
Heres some of the strangies I have had to deal with while working in this right shit hole.
First there was JUNGLE MAN. He was about 70 and mad as a box of welsh frogs wearing a holey knitted jumper and ORANGE shoes. He did fight in the war though he said I dunno which one like. Then he started telling me about how he had ended up in a jungle somewhere for loads of months and could probably kill with a pen or survive with only a stick and a leaf I thought big up to you pal cuz id need a lot more then that but he was still mad. Plus id only asked him did he want help packing.
Then there was MRS JONES. I aint pally with her like I only knew her name cuz she had it in big gold writing on the front of her top. To be honest I thought that is proper chav love id of been ashamed if it was me. I only thought that Chrismas catalogue did that on dressing gowns. When she spoke she had some right Simon Cowell snow smile going on she deffo wasnt a normal Welshie cuz we got tidy teeth anyway so we dont have crap like that unless your that Imogen Thomas (urgh). Then she asked me could she have her bag of COTTON WOOL in its own bag cuz she didnt like it with anything else. This woman had more probs then her top I reckon.
Next was DRUNK SKUNK. Oh my welsh days she was like proper hangin. I wont lie I was creased looking at her but I had to keep a straight face until she had gone away. It was only 13:00 hours but she was swaying in the queue like me at a Shirley Bassey concert. Diammonndds are foreevverrrr ANYWAY. By the time I got to her she was proper doing this mans nut in behind her cuz she kept staggering back into him and saying SORRY MATE like well chavvy. She then started telling me about how she was gutted her boyfriend had left her and took there staffy dog called Pixie (after Lott) with them saying she wasnt seeing her again. I thought to myself I can see why he has done one now get away from me.
Last but not least was Frank. He didnt have a white chav t shirt on like he just told me his name. I think he took a right shine to me cuz I told him I liked his red hot nail varnish. Yes a long haired, bearded man with bright red tallons. Then he started telling me how he wanted to wear make up and could I help him with colours. Well am not being funny but I dont get paid to be a make up advisor so I told him to go to Boots. Give them snobby cows something to do.
Can it get any worse. Probably