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First Stop: Shit Station

Look–it’s the weekend and that means it’s time for me to have some wine and fraternise with the cats. Because this is what I do Monday to Friday:

But no, really, I work an admin job in the public sector and it’s very life affirming to toil in social services and know that I make a difference. Like, when […] calls every Wednesday at his allotted time to shout at me, I know that deep down I have made his week brighter. And when […] summons me over to her desk to beg my expertise in attaching a pdf to an email, I feel fucking amazing about my skills.

Seriously, seriously though, I at least work in this really cool part of ‘London’. I don’t want to promote it too much–bring it too much positive publicity (it might become overrun with hipsters and then it would be totally lame)–so I won’t reveal its true name and instead I will affectionately refer to it as Poowich.

There was a beheading a block away from my office a few years ago in Poowich, so I figure lightening can’t strike twice and it’s really the safest place to be in London. When the trains operate (when there is no sun, rain, wind, bird, suicide, insect on the track, conductor illness), Shit Station is the best station to pull into. There is a major sewer problem at the station that means I can pleasurably smell my stop coming from miles away. This rich aroma is a welcomed scent pre 9:00am–a real anticipation builder!

As my favourite coworker once said, ‘Ah, another day where it’s raining only in Poowich!’ Like, even on days where the sky is lustrous azure when I change trains at London Bridge, I can rest assured that it hangs in perpetual grey Armageddon over Shit Station.

Because Shit Station is actually the portal to the Upside Down.

There are so many demogorgons to dodge between Shit Station and the office building that I sometimes pretend like I’m a character in a video game. Or like George Costanza crossing the street with the Frogger Arcade.

I feel like I’ve lived a hundred lives by the time I heroically, pantingly make it to my desk at 8:30 in morning. And then I turn to my right and look out the window.

The building across the street from my office was demolished last year and now the lot bears an uncanny resemblance to Dresden. For an exciting few months, a caravan of gipsies set up camp on the bomb site. During those months, I often gazed out the window in a fit of ennui and felt envious of their bare-chested day drinking.

But I digress. The aim of this blog, I guess I mean to say, is to survive working in the Upside Down by writing to you from the Right Side Up. I do hope you will stop by from time to time for a laugh or a think while I attempt to infuse meaning and life into a sometimes dreary and mechanical world.

xWG // #dazeandweekes

 

 

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