The Late Train

Hate them all you will - and we will - but you've got to give it to London Underground; commuters of the grey cloud city have been handed a mother of a 'late pass'. We freely tap our snooze buttons; take time to prepare our cups of tea; indulge in generous helpings of BBC Breakfast; wait for trains less congested to arrive, and even stop by stores en route for doughnuts and coffee, knowing fully well that if we are late to the office, no real explanation is required.

'Sorry I'm late boss, the trains were a nightmare.'

And they probably were, at some probable time, on one of the probable lines you probably should have been on a lot earlier.

What's so sweet about this setup is that everyone from the new recruit to the office veteran has been screwed-a-plenty by our nation's national treasure of a public transport service – God bless our Queen. The phrase, 'Sorry I'm late boss, the trains were a nightmare.' does not raise alarms of deceit, but instead rings with familiarity.

Pick a card, any card; someone was taken ill on a train, someone was found under a train, or someone has pulled a passenger alarm on a train. You mavericks of unrelenting disturbance, I say thank you on behalf of London City. For on our mornings of gross lethargy and disregard for time, your past endeavours can be recalled promptly to generate an often fabricated nightmare of a journey.

Without taking the gloss off of our heroes in blue, there are two additional saving graces for any late employee:

Firstly, it doesn’t matter how late you arrive at work, as long as a departmental colleague arrives later. If you do happen notice a few absent colleagues, don’t be too hasty to pull your ‘Train Card’ (these lose value with excessive use). Instead, take your seat as if you’re 10 minutes early. You might as well be. The only person who’s actually late is the last to arrive in the office. In fact, even if you arrive 5 minutes early you’re still late if you’re the last to arrive. It’s office law.

The second is more of a desperate manoeuvre than a grace. You’re late, and you know it, but it’s Thursday and you’ve already used two ‘Train Cards’ this week. Unless your travel route makes the news – you’re now desperately praying for a crash or power outage – you’re screwed, and all recent displays of tardiness will be brought to the table. There’s only one thing for it, Krispy Kremes . . . for everyone!

More often than not this could all be avoided by resisting the urge to hit that all too easy snooze button. That snooze button which only serves the purpose of multiplying the number of times you’re angrily woken up in the morning.

But in reality, who really wants to be early for work anyway? The cleaning lady and the milkman, that’s who.

A to the . . .

‘Thank you for your application…’

Not only are they thanking you for submitting your generic covering letter, they’ve also been dazzled by your embellished CV. Great stuff, but don’t pop the cork just yet, there’s still work to be done. If you’d like to be relieved from the despair of daytime television, Jimmy’s Fried Chicken & Kebab, and conversations with the postman, you’ll really have to nail the interview. Follow these reliable steps and you’ll be nailing jelly to the wall.

ONE. Wear a bowtie – Yes ladies, you too. Nothing says ‘I can get the job done.’ quite like a tuxedo. You weren’t just going to wear the tie were you? That’s the kind of half-baked mentality that will make you ‘unsuccessful on this occasion.’

TWO. A pipe never fails to impress.

THREE. Establish your character with a firm handshake. It’s likely you’ve spent most of your time ‘in between jobs’ putting more hours into the PS3 and bashing all hell out of your bishop than applying for jobs, so try not to crush the interviewers hand.

FOUR. Research the company. Inside information will have employers feeling like you’re part of the team before the interview is up. Who’s sleeping with who? Who got kicked out of the local last Friday? Who used a sick day to get their Christmas shopping done?

FIVE. Put your feet up. Drag a chair over; plant them on the desk, whatever. It’ll make you appear comfortable.

SIX. Smile. Don’t be afraid to show some teeth. A nice smile can put a room at ease, especially if you have the kind of face that found its way into the adoption program.

SEVEN. If you don’t have an iPhone, rent one.

EIGHT. You’re going to want to appear like the hottest prospect since Mylie Cyrus, so get a friend to call you a couple times. ‘Sorry, could you give me a minute? I have to take this.’ Step out of the room, make a show of it, take a few tokes of that pipe.

NINE. They are going to want you ask a few questions of your own. This is a great chance to sell yourself, not the time to ask about the boring stuff you could have Googled. Try something suggestive like, ‘Is there a local gym?’ Flex the biceps a little.

TEN. ‘We are impressed by your visual eccentricities and the past experiences documented on your CV. But could you share with us some of your weaker points?’ Every candidate goes silent at this point. It’s a question you never take the time get your mind around, so when asked all you can think about are the weak points you don’t particularly wish to share. ADD, your disregard for authority, anger management sessions, the real reason you’re unemployed, rehab, your criminal record, the lady under your floorboards, it’s not really your iPhone, etc. Don’t say ANY of these things! Instead, with a face straighter than Ron Burgundy’s say, ‘I don’t have any.’

Now if you don’t get the job after that you may just fancy reassessing what you plan to do with the rest of your life.

A to the . . .

The Lunch Hour

Without a doubt the quickest hour of the working day. What to eat? Where to get it? How much to spend? . . . The possibilities are far from endless and as exciting as watching paint dry . . . in a paint pot . . . with 3D glasses.

There are options, limited ones, but options nonetheless.

If your day’s not too busy you’ve probably been weighing up these options from about 09:15 or so. You’ve just finished a bowl of Kellogg’s Special K (or a real breakfast if you’re one of the few people left not on a diet), and you’re staring at a monitor thinking, ‘what should I have for lunch today?’

It’s quite an important decision as it could affect how your afternoon rounds off. How do I feel? What did I have yesterday? Do I need a shit?

There’s always the safe bet, a sandwich. The marvel we know as sliced bread was created solely for this purpose. I can’t help but drool wondering how large sandwiches were before sliced bread was invented. The good old days when a chicken sandwich may have actually contained whole bones! Now you buy it, you open it and then wallow in self-pity. This is what my life has become, sandwiches on the bench in between the high street’s two longest serving crazies as they argue Brown v Cameron.

…worse still if you’ve been to Subway. Then you feel like a kid in a carnival trying to knock down three cans with one ball.

An alternative is the usually cost effective grease box – not as in soliciting, although there are similarities. Junk food, the nation’s favourite mass pastime after X Factor (there aren’t figures to back that up). It’s cheap, bad for you and ready to go. We feel good whilst eating our oil drenched chips and deep fried jumbo sausages, but the comedown is horrendous and it’s so hard to shake off the shame. Society is filled with wannabe health freaks that couldn’t tell a tomato from a pomegranate. ‘Do you know how many calories are in the chips alone?’ Nope, but I’m guessing not as much as your muffin tops.

Payday, lotto winnings (not enough to quit your job) or a colleague’s birthday can set up the best lunch of all. The sit down meal. We’d all love to eat out of the gold plated trough five days a week – and could probably afford to if we walked 14miles instead of taking the train – but it’s just not feasible. So when the opportunity does arise the concern isn’t why we’re eating out, but where we’re eating.

…’Oh, happy birthday by the way.’

As the month draws to an end and funds begin to run low, out comes the Tupperware. As sure an indicator of poverty as putting £5 worth of fuel in your car . . . and paying with coins . . . lots and lots of coins. Of course some people purposely cook for lunch, their meals contain meat, veg and some sort of side – it’s balanced. However, it’s most likely the dregs of last nights’ meal crammed into a plastic pack and your granary roll isn’t fooling anyone. Once done with the microwave are you greeted with, ‘Hmmm, that smells delicious’ or ‘Erm, that smells in-ter-res-ting?’

Seeing as you can (and most people do) spend most of the day eating at your desk anyway, it’s unlikely that the appeal of the lunch hour is food. We are of course at times hungry enough to eat a horse, though rarely given the opportunity to test the theory. The appeal of the lunch hour is knowing that for at least 60 minutes you’re free from the hassles of your job that make you wonder why you don’t just turn the alarm off each morning and stay in bed instead of pressing snooze. What’s a snooze really, other than a soon be reason as to why you were late and will as a result work through your lunch break?

A to the . . .

iHustle

Are their any good builders out there? Finding one isn’t as simple as getting good crack in the eighties is it? Damn, they lock up all the drug pushers and let the real cowboys roam the streets. Every time these dusty boot crooks leave my house they get a wad of cash and leave what appears to be a job well done . . . “Cheers Bob, thanks once again.”

. . . that is until you turn the tap and find it’s still leaking, or take a good look at walls and find that the paint job is uneven. My days . . . bet you never see him again . . . “If I ever get my hands on Bob!”

Maybe I should have been a builder . . . I’m not joking.

• You don’t need any qualifications
• You don’t need to apply to any companies
• You don’t even need to actually know how to complete the job you’ve been assigned

All you really need is some dirty overalls, a pair of old boots and a little bit of marketing. You’ve got 66.6% of those things lying around your house. Invest in some tools . . . I’m sure you have some already, but it won’t look too professional if you’re screwing in nails with a table knife.

Another great aspect of this hustle is that all money earned is tax free. If you’re not contracted to an organization you’ll be paid cash in hand . . . which turns into cash in bank. No tax, no National Insurance and the student loans bureaucracy can kiss my asshole! Cheeks spread and all! . . . Excuse me.

When speaking of hustling the drug game is unappealing to me because apposed to the builder’s trade it is too risky and has way too many expenses. In the builders trade customers are charged for additional supplies or equipment. Need some pipes? Your clients have to pay for it. Need some tiles? Your clients have to pay for it. It’s a cost effective hustle. In the drug trade you pay for any additional supplies i.e. scales, utensils, packaging, weaponry, etc.

If you want to sell drugs you need cash up front for your supplier. That’s already investment spending . . . as we business minded folks are aware, no investments are certain. You could splash out on some stock and:

• Get jacked by a rival gang
• Realise that the market is too competitive (you must sell stock at a lower rate)
• Law enforcements could confiscate your narcotics
• You may forget it on the train
• Your girlfriend might smoke it all (bitch)

Far less hazards are met as a builder, but they do of course exist. To maximise your hustle you must stop thinking like a drug pusher who is worried about being shot or arrested and start thinking like a builder. Here a few pointers that should make life a lot easier for you.

One . . .

It’s worth noting that builders don’t ride public transports; it’s not just an image. They need to lug about heavy/large equipment. So get yourself a van or lorry. Don’t worry they’re dirt cheap on the second hand marker. Yes this is an investment spend, but it will pay itself off and can also be used for leisure . . . I’ll pick you up at eight ; )

Two . . .

You’ll need to network with builders who are actually skilled. I’ll tell you why . . . whilst on a job you may be asked to additionally take care of a tricky task which maybe electrical or of the plumbing nature for example. Now instead of blowing a fuse or flooding the ground floor for the extra cash, take on the job and call someone who can actually do it. When the job (you didn’t do) is complete take a share of the profits. Two birds, one stone, simple.

Three . . .

Take into consideration that the builder’s hustle involves a lot more labour than trafficking drugs. So even though you’re not doing the job properly, you’re still going to have to work for your money. The house isn’t going to paint itself now is it? Cut back on time by not applying an undercoat if you’re painting . . . tell the occupants that it’s supposed to look like that until it dries . . . by the time the notice the difference you’re long gone.

Let’s be real . . . do I really need to pull up sources to suggest that more people have been ripped off by builders than by drug distributors? And how many builders get prosecuted each year for crappy jobs? . . . Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Now if you’re nodding along while reading please note that in order to be a dodgy builder you must be more unethical than our salesman of choice (the drugs pusher). As far as business is concerned, drug sellers are more loyal to their customers. This is because their business is set up with some of the basic customer service ideals:

• You want substance abusers to return
• Good business will multiple via word of mouth
• You make yourself readily available (business number)
• You trade at competitive rates
• You don’t want stoners grassing you up to law officials

In order to be a successful dodgy builder, scrap all that sh*t above. Returning customers will try and take you to civil claims courts; word of mouth is will almost always result in slander; you can only be available for fast money jobs; and as for competitive prices . . . never hold on too tightly to a builders quote. It always ends up being a ‘bigger job’ than first predicted.

I hope you’ve learnt a thing or two from today’s economics lesson. There’s a lot of money to be made out there, legally and illegally. Just be careful before you decide which avenue to pursue, make sure to weigh up the pros and cons. You’ll to maximise your revenue and minimise your expenditure . . . simple stuff.

A to the . . .

Ak-Man’s Top 5 Reasons To Get A Job

Who wants some free money?

OK, it’s not totally free, you have to ‘work’ for it . . . well actually, if your fortunate enough, you just have to turn up to work. You don’t even have to arrive there on time.

“Of course profits drive most companies to get the most activity out its employees for the least amount of payment that they can get away with. So it would serve an employee well to get the most amount of payment for the least amount of work. A balance must be struck between employer and employee.”

– Eugene D. Gibson (An Islander’s Outlook Of The World)

If you already have a job, GREAT, you’re halfway there . . . just try not to leave your monitor exposed while you read this. Most of us are being overworked and underpaid, so I’m about to reveal my Top 5 Reasons To Get A Job.

5. LUNCH TIME

Some employees are fortunate enough to get paid for their lunch breaks . . . how great is that? You could almost call it a free lunch . . . almost. Others are not so fortunate but it’s okay. If they give you an hour’s lunch, leave 10mins earlier and come back 10mins later. That’s 20mins of free money. Now sit at your desk and settle down for another 10mins . . . that’s 30mins worth of cash you didn’t ‘work’ for . . . welcome to my world.

4. HOME TIME

Simply the best part of the working day. You’ve been looking forward to this since your alarm went off in the morning. Unless you work in a small office environment, or have to clock in and out like Fred Flintstone, you really have no excuse for not slipping out 15 – 30mins early. You aren’t chicken are you? I thought you wanted some of that free money. Get up and stroll out as if you are supposed to be leaving that early.

Always have someone else to blame (who isn’t around) if you get caught by a superior.

3. SICK PAY

There are several reasons to take ‘sick days’ . . . try not to waste them when you are actually sick. Ever notice how so people turn up to work feeling like crap? Coughing all over the place with red eyes and running noses? It’s because they don’t want to waste their sick days in bed with no one to look after them. Take sick days when you’re feeling well, that way you’ll get paid to recover from a hangover, watch TV and play computer games . . . or even go to an interview for a job that pays more and requires you to work less.

2. HOLIDAY PAY

Quite similar to sick pay, but offers less spontaneity. I have a higher regard for holiday pay because if you’re fortunate enough, you may actually be going on a holiday. Somewhere nice where the inhabitants don’t understand what you’re saying, and you’re never sure if you received the correct change from the shops. Your employer can’t phone you with annoying questions or ask you to come in for a half day. You’ll return to money in your bank, that’s money you earned by enjoying yourself in another country and not thinking or work at all.

1. Turn Up And Do Nothing

As ‘they’ say, it’s the small things in life. The Number One reason to get a job is that you can get paid a days work and do nothing but . . .

Take A Power Naps – Lean back on your chair, close your eyes and catch up on some of the sleep you lost the night before. Alternatively, fold your arms on top of your desk and use it as a rest for your head.

Make Personal Calls – Not only are you costing the company money by not doing your job, you’re also running up their phone bill.

Have A Snack Break – Isn’t it funny how no one will question you if you’re sitting at your desk eating a choc bar. Only a fool would ask you what you’re up to. Totally acceptable in the workplace.

Check Your Emails – If you don’t know how to do this, you really shouldn’t be working in an office environment . . . get yourself a McDonalds application form and learn the value of an hour.

Chat To Your Friends via Instant Messenger – Compare who’s wasted more of the day; make social arrangements; discuss prior arrangements; moan about having a job; send each other cool web links to check out.

Check Out Cool Web Links – http://islanderoutlook.blogspot.com/

I’m sure you can think of several other ways to escape working while at work (pretend to go to the toilet), there are loads. If you’re really bored, try and calculate how much of your working day you actually spend working. You might be surprised by how much free money you’re stacking up.

“So it would serve an employee well to get the most amount of payment for the least amount of work.”

- Eugene D. Gibson (An Islander’s Outlook Of The World)

A to the . . .

Rush Hour(s)

Just when you thought that no one else could possible fit in the train, ten more people push and squeeze in.

When the train pulls into another station (one stop closer to work) you see a crowd of people, and you’ll question how many of them will get onto the train . . . then answer is ALL OF THEM. Apart from the ‘particulars’ everyone has places go . . . or places they should already be.

The bright side is knowing that eventually your stop will come. If you’re quick and strong enough, you’ll be able to get off the train before the doors close and move on.

Is it really that bad?

. . . Most days, yes.

Does it bother me?

. . . Most days, no.

A to the . . .

Answers From A Former McDonalds Employee

It should now be common knowledge that I did hard time at McD’s. Shortly after my release I began rehabilitated myself and slowly integrated myself into a modernized society once more. A model citizen, some might say.

A few scars remained however; pictures still vivid in my head. The nightmares used to feel so real; they’d wake me out of my sleep . . .

“Can I get a cheeseburger with no cheese please?”

“A hamburger?”

“Are you deaf? A cheeseburger with no cheese moron.”

So I opened up the forum, and said I’d write up a response to your comments. Here’s what we got . . .

Eugene D. Gibson said...

Aa a former worker of McDonald's here in the Bahamas I understand your plight.I like your content keep it up!

I’m sure you do Eugene. Same company, different parts of the world. And it’s not exactly a glamorous establishment which entices interesting (or even well-mannered) folk. Just hungry people who want cheap, low quality food . . . and they want it now.

Shrink Wrapped Scream said...

Ah, I used to work the till at Woolies. I hated it. It was before the days of security tags. My way with getting even with the system was to give three for two on every purchase I put through. Seems I was way ahead of my time..

Ahead in more ways than one Carol. I used to dish out a few bits and bobs . . . not to get back at the company though, my case was pure negligence. And if people complained about not having enough fries I used to go over the top and cram in as many fries as the carton could take.

Bart said...

What exactly IS the secret sauce?

How much food gets nuked as opposed to fresh grilling/heating?

How the f do sesame seeds stick to the buns?

The secret sauce is such a secret that even employees don’t know it. The packets had no info about the ingredients. They used to deliver the boxes in unmarked vehicles.

Surprisingly, not much nuked at all. Only pancakes got the microwave treatment. ZAP! The rest was fried, grilled or toasted.

Sesame seeds on buns? They are holding on for their lives. What purpose do they have except being eaten? Either that or end up getting flicked off a table. I’d cling too.

Xymyl said...

I never had the McJoy of getting McPaid. I never even bothered to apply at my local McDonalds. Everybody there had 4 year degrees, and I was a high school drop out. I knew I would never be accepted as part of that elite group.

I wish they had Indian McDonalds in the U.S. They probably wouldn’t have hired me either because I most certainly would have been in a lower McCast.

I could really go for a McAloo Tikki right now.

You’ve got me thinking about the possibility of a Nigerian McDonald’s (not a McDonald’s in Nigeria).

Fried McChicken with McJollof and of course, the nation’s favorite beverage, Supermalt. It’s bedtime after that inexpensive, belly bulging meal deal.

Deborah Gamble said...

In the United States they have strict rules like the Happy Meal paper bag must be folded twice down at one inch creases. Same for the UK?

I used to just scrunch the top of the bag and hand it over with a compensating smile. I have no time for company policy. “Next”

If there was a rule about Happy Meals I didn’t obey it.

Shareen said...

McDonalds!!!!!!!!! Dont it bring back memories? I actually liked working there for a while as well, but only when i was doing kids parties, until i realised they were taking the mick out of my life! Il neva regret working there still :)

I don’t regret working their either. I regret staying as long as I did though. Four years later and I still get grub from there, and see people I used to work with. I wonder if they’ll ever be released. Some were there before me.

Doug said...

Hey ak-man,

The horror,the horror.

I too worked in fast food longer

than I wish to remember.

Nothing like coming home with

a layer of grease on your body.

I'm returning to my blog two

days a week so come by and say

howdy.

Cheers,

Doug

I used to come home stinking of fast food. I also used to bring some home on many occasions. I ate way too much of that trash and never got sick of it. I made my own custom burger; it was called the Ak-Mac (I really did this). It was a heavy duty burger; I was only allowed to make it when certain managers were on shift. Quarter buns, two slabs quarter meat, lettuce, Mac sauce, and some other ingredients that weren’t what they appeared. Hmmmm . . . tasty.

I could do with a McChicken Premiere right now actually. Make it a large meal with a still Fanta and an apple pie.

A to the . . .

Ask A Former McDonalds Employee

It’s not something I keep a secret, nothing I’m proud of either. But I did indeed work for McDonalds for twenty-three months . . . yes it’s true.

This was my first official job and they trapped me for twenty-three months. I experienced a lot there; good and bad times were shared with my crew members. I well and truly learnt the value of a single pound coin (you’ve seen the 99p menu right?) and swallowed my pride on several occasions.

‘Can I take your order please?’ - Ugh, that brings back memories. Considering that you wanted the food more than I wanted to serve you I don’t get why I was forced to ask this question . . . with smile . . . and wearing a tie! What was the tie about? Were we supposed to look like executives?

‘Excuse me sir, would you like to upgrade that to a large meal for just 30p extra? Trust me, I’m wearing a tie sir’ – No shame, no damn shame.

At one point I did actually like the job . . . REALLY . . . there was a point where I liked working there. It was a fifteen minute walk from my house, they paid me every two weeks and I had quite a few work mates there. McDonalds funded my PS2, Sony Mini-Disc player, two week trip to Tenerife, countless nights out and so much more. I’m watching the Sky News on the TV they funded right now.

*** When I say they funded it I mean that I worked for the money and they paid me on time ***

So I’m opening up the forum almost five years after I waked out and told them that I was moving on to bigger and better things . . . Marks and Spencer’s.

Feel free to ‘Ask A Former McDonalds Employee’ whatever you want. It’s been a while but I remember it like it was yesterday . . . I really do, a lot went down. Leave you’re questions in the comments sections and I’ll do a write up with replies.

Clock In, Clock Out.

A to the . . .

Get Me Off Of This Train

Preferably before I SCREAM!!!

I just generally don’t like other people, especially when I’m tired or hungry. If I’m both then you may see a tear swelling in my eye if you look close enough. This shouldn’t be hard to see considering how closely we’re crammed into this train carriage.

What happened to personal space?

Rush hour is only tolerable when you have a seat; life looks better from that angle. It’s easier to read a book, a newspaper or whatever. You can relax you legs and crank up the volume on you mp3 player. You can wrestle for the armrests. If you’re extremely tired you can use the adjacent strangers shoulder as a pillow; you might get a troubled look but you’ll be sleeping so who cares? It’s a free world after all.

I grabbed a copy of the Metro this morning while I sleepwalked my way to work, and noticed an interesting little piece about the stress of commuting and how we deal with it. A few interesting points were made.

One . . .

Singing, humming or talking to ourselves

Huh?
I don’t know how this helps people deal with stress. At best people will discretely veer away from you, providing you with more of that precious personal space. You might even be lucky enough to score a seat . . . falsetto.

Two . . .

Planning for the day ahead or after-work activities

It’s just way too early for this . . . and if I’m on my way home, then it’s way too late also. Unless it’s a Friday and this that case I’m probably banging out text messages.

“R U Cumin 2nite?”

Three . . .

Working on a laptop, writing or reading and always make the effort to travel outside of rush-hour

Is travelling outside of rush-hour even an option for most people? I’ll drop this issue right here, but only because the Metro is a free newspaper. You won’t see this kind of crazy talk in The Guardian. Yes, everyone, stay at work till seven and then . . . oh, that’s the original problem, we’re all leaving at the same time.
OK, I really will stop now.

Four . . .

Getting angry with other commuters or admiring attractive people

I don’t know who writ this, or if their job is even secure. OK, yes it was in bullet points but I just don’t understand whether or not they are giving me permission to ‘wild out’ on public transport. I try to keep my cool when people annoy me on the train, but I might just have to reconsider if it will help me to ‘de-stress’.

I like how they have fused anger and lust together so casually. The two emotions that can fast-track your applications to jail and Hell.

Five . . .

Listening to music or audio books

Yes I must listen to my music this loud so stop looking at me like that before I exercise point four!

Six . . .

Oral gratification – from chewing gum, talking on a mobile, chatting with other commuters or eating

Yeah, I was disappointed too, thought they were going to take this in another direction.

Seven . . .

Abusing substances such as tobacco and alcohol

I was waiting for a train last week and was offered a beer (Stella Artois). I’m usually up for freebies but politely declined the generous offer; this didn’t stop him from taking to me though. I felt sorry for the guy; his wife won’t let me bring alcohol home . . . I guess she is cool with him coming home drunk though.

Eight . . .

Meditation or prayer

This requires a focused mind, especially with ladies breasts pressed against you and sweaty men’s armpits in your grill (how’s that for ambiguity?). I’m 6’2” though so it’s not an issue for me (the armpits, I’m still a man).

Nine . . .

Seeking counselling or medication to cope with stress

I’m guessing that they don’t expect you to do this during rush hour. Wouldn’t it be cool to unload your problems to someone while you travelled home though?
“Ak, this is just between you, me and all the people in this carriage”

Please . . . just get me off of this train.

A to the . . .

Good Morning Glory . . . FIGHT!

Morning, the unpleasant time of the day that involves waking up isn’t always so unpleasant. Some mornings you wake up and feel on top, you feel good, alive and ready for combat.

I don’t think my Pops saw it coming this morning, but before he left for work I managed to ‘son’ him twice. I don’t think he was looking for beef, but that’s usually the case when you find it.

Round 1 . . . ‘ding ding’
My parents’ room has a built in toilet and shower (en suite), my Pops has appointed himself gatekeeper. I ignored the gatekeeper this morning and strolled into his room to get some bog roll. There wasn’t any left around the house so my parents’ room was the last resort. Surely enough there was one chunky roll of toilet paper on the holder. I took it off and was heading out of the room.

“Where are you going with that?” he snapped.

He was ready to go into a rant when I told him that I bought it (which i did) and there is none left in the house. His brain started thinking of a counter attack as my mum watched to see who was going to come out tops in the stand off.

He couldn’t say a thing.

I wouldn’t usually class this as 1-0 but I was in a good mood this morning and started dancing in his face with the toilet roll in my hand. My mum was laughing hysterically and he couldn’t say a word. Just as he was about to say something I turned around and walked out of the room . . . toilet roll in hand. 1-0 to Ak-Man.

Round 2 . . . ‘ding ding’
My Pops must have been looking for the equaliser; we had another showdown about 15mins later. Not enough resting time if you ask me.
As I finish brushing my teeth I was ready to get a shower. I left the bathroom my pops bursts out of his bedroom holding a blue shirt.

“Iron this” he commands gleefully.

I started whining like a twelve year old and to make matter worse my younger bro is watching . . . not gangsta! I’m trying to explain to him that I have to get ready for work; he just tells me that I have to do it. Ugh, he’s making me feel like a house servant! This isn’t cool at all. Then to seal his equaliser he imitates the dance I did in his room and my bro starts laughing at me. It’s levelled up at one a piece now, but it cant end like this.

Round 3 . . . ‘ding ding’
His shirt is ironed but he has another problem.
As it turns out, I was the only person in the house who had any shower gel this morning. I waited patiently for a few minutes . . . he then came out of his room and nonchalantly strolled across into the main bathroom. I knew what he was looking for and I let him take it . . . just so I can take it back.

“I’ll be having that” I told him.

He looked at the shower gel and then at me. I had a grin on my face and was ready to take him out of the game.

“I know you’ve got more” was this his attempt and salvaging his pride?

I took the shower gel out of his hand and told him that it was my last one (which it was) and I was ready to jump in the shower. Fortunately my brother was watching the duel, and nothing makes you rub it in harder than having an audience present. I waited for myself and my Pops to be in good view of my brother and then did a little jig which cracked up my brother and we both laughed at my Pops. Not too hard though, never too old for an ass whooping. 2-1 to Ak-Man!

A to the . . .

Good Morning Glory

I’ve got money to make, so I have to get from my bed to my desk before 11am. Yeah I know, I’m lucky too start at 11am but I still find time to sleep whilst at work. Here is how it goes down.

07:30

My alarm goes off (or does it go on?) . . . Anyway, it’s just a teaser to help me slowly wake up. I lean over to my desk and reset my alarm for 08:00 and go back to sleep.

08:00

Half an hour flew by and my alarm is making noise again, I lean over and press snooze . . . back to sleep again.

08:10

. . . Snooze

08:20

OK, I really have to get up now; I’m 20 minutes behind

schedule. I drift off into a tiny snooze, shake it off and roll out of bed. I get off the floor and put on my ‘house clothes’ (AKA old clothes), switch on the hot water and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

Brushing my teeth takes between 10 and 20 minutes (seriously). This is for two reasons: 1) I do everything extremely slowly in the morning until I get out of the shower and 2) I think I have a psychological problem . . . it’s like my teeth are never clean enough (obsessive compulsive?)

08:40

While I wait for the water to heat up a little bit more I do 120 press-ups. These are done in reps, four sets of 30. They also help me to wake up and keep me busy if the bathroom is occupied. After each set of 30 press-ups I pose in my mirror ‘looking good’. I used to do 8 minute abs in the morning but I put it on hold to tone up my upper body (arms and chest).

08:55

Shower time! I get clean . . . what more can I say? I don’t sing and I don’t play with a rubber duck.

09:25

I get out of the bath and attach my iPod to my speaker system. I choose some music that matches my mood and get dressed while rapping or singing along. This process involves more mirror posing, but I’m awake now so it’s serious posing, get ready for another day posing, ‘you’re the man’ posing, ya dig?

09:50

I should be leaving the house now but I must grab a few things before I go. I fill up two bottles with tap water and make two slices of toast. I’m good to go.

09:55

Bopping to the train station listening to music . . . good times.

10:10

I get to the station and see a big queue of people waiting to get their travel tickets or top up their Oyster Cards. I laugh to myself ‘Ha ha ha, imprudent fools’. I walk past them extra happy and ‘tap in’.

There are a few things I REALLY hate about Dagenham East train station. Firstly, no one ‘works’ there so everyone has to wait to use the only ticket machine there, or just walk through the gates and pay (at least £4) at their destination. Secondly, it’s on the District Line. The only lines I know that run less frequently are the East London Line (which should be called the South London line) and the Silver Link line. This means that getting to the station early doesn’t mean you will get to work early . . . or even on time for that matter! Apologising to your boss is not gangsta.

10:15

I’m (hopefully) on the train now and heading towards Barkin station where I will catch the 10:28 C2C train to Fenchurch St. I’m usually reading a book, listening to music or reading The Metro (my favourite newspaper) if I’m lucky enough to get a copy.

10:45

I get of at Fenchurch St. and head over to Pret to get some grub for my shift. Two slices of toast is just not enough for a growing lad so I buy over priced food to satisfy my gut.

Even when I’m late I stop to buy food, I rarely leave the building at work so it’s now or never! I used to splurge at Benjy’s but it seems they have closed down. This troubles my soul; Benjy’s was the house of bargains! I used to get ham and tomato rolls for 25p each! I shed a tear in loving memory; plus the girls that worked there we’re better looking than the Pret girls who all look they used to work on a farm.

10:55

I’m in on time, look around to see what’s been left for me (paper work), and sign on to MSN Messenger . . . ‘Morning Rainbow Drop’ . . . ‘What’s up Razor’ . . . ‘What’s Poppin Boiji?’ . . . ‘Aye Aye Nigga’.

This is my typical weekday morning.

A to the . . .