Work is stabilising. Soon my weekly shift changes will alternate between a 3 pm start and a 5 pm start. Now that’s what I call civilised hours. Early starts will only happen when someone is on holiday.
The new uniforms appeared. Proper shirts instead of the polo shirts. No ties, which was a little disappointing but then, imagine what it would look like after being dipped in a few horrible things. Trousers do not require razor-sharp creases. Good. My ironing skills are not up to it – I’d have those trousers looking like a major railway intersection in no time.
These new shirts have ‘Hygeine Team’ embroidered on the back. The other two find this embarrassing, but I have decided that I will henceforth refer to myself as ‘Doctor Clean of the Hygeine Team’ and the other guy can be ‘The Mopman Prophet’. I will find a suitable name for the Boss Lady at some point. It has to be something that won’t get me fired on the spot and then beaten to a pulp.
It’s a stable income and an increasing one, since the reduction from four to three Secret Ninja Cleaners means more hours for all. I’m just glad that most of mine will be after that evil noon stuff is all done and out of the way. I prefer to only see the sun when it’s going down.
There might be some income left over to start saving up for a car. Not some big fancy racing thing. I’m not interested in going fast, just in getting there. And mostly in carrying a lot of stuff so I don;t have to clean it out too often. Then again, I don’t want some girlie little shed on wheels that looks as though fifteen clowns might get out of it.
This, I like. Can nowhere near afford it yet (and it’s in America so I can’t have it anyway) but the car project is in its infancy. Tomorrow I might well revert to not wanting one at all, once the whisky wears off and I get to thinking about insurance and road tax and petrol…
.Since that eBay link will eventually vanish, here’s a pic I pinched –
Perhaps it’s because I’ve been eating after midnight again, perhaps it’s the whisky, but the idea of kerb-crawing behind pensioners with a big grin and a big top hat has a certain appeal. I could even run a book on how many I can get to accept a lift.
It has the rollers in the back so you can load crates of booze easily and nobody will be surprised to find me crawling along at walking pace. Insurance must surely be cheap since at least one of the occupants is presumed to be already dead anyway, and you know it’s been serviced and has not been involved in beachfront racing (except perhaps to collect some of the results). They look really good too. Add a few wheel arch flames with pitchfork-weilding devils, a skull on the gear handle, a few more skulls for good measure and you could hire it out for weddings, children’s parties, etc. Perhaps that’s not my best ever business idea, on reflection.
Anyway, the whole car thing is far in the future. When (if) it happens, it is very likely indeed to be something unconventional.
It is definitely NOT going to be a Prius. That’s like one of those disabled buggies with a shell on.