Harry Bath - A Walking & Talking Disaster (Chapters 1-19)

MY JOB - PART 1

Greetings. I'm Harry Bath. If you're looking for mind numbing, eye opening stories that will send your cringe-o-meter over the edge, then you've come to the right blog.

I was a good few weeks into sixth form, and with all things considered, it was all going quite well. But one thing that never went well for me, was my home life.

This may shock you, but at this point in my life I lived in a six bedroomed house with everything I could want in it. Literally, everything. The house was so padded out that the spare T.V, in the spare living room, was 45 inches. And that's the fucking spare! There was also a gym, which of course, I never used. But along with everything came the one thing that nobody wants. A controlling, obsessive step-dad who's tighter than a duck's arse hole. Seriously, if you ate one too many hobnobs or opened a packet of crisps that wasn't on the approved ration list, he went mental. He isn't a drunk or a wife-beater or anything, (which is lucky for him because I'd have to kick his ass), but the amount of house meetings I've been to because some cunt ate a strawberry yoghurt instead of an apricot one or something is absurd. Below is a list of just some of his rules:

No use of the upstairs bathroom after my younger half brother's bedtimes due to 'toilet flushing' noise

No use of the kettle after the kids' bedtime

No music after the kids' bedtime

No TV after kids' bedtime

No internet after 23:00 (which he had on a timer)

No food/drink that wasn't approved

No eating/drinking away from the table/breakfast bar

No use of the living room T.V without special permission.

No recording of T.V shows without special permission.

No use of YouTube, Skype and Spotify due to internet usage.

No downloads without permission.

No house key until we were adults.

He had a school style internet filter, meaning no naughty videos (although I had a way around it to keep the wank bank topped up).

No going into each other's bedrooms after the kids' bedtime.

No girls upstairs.

And that's only a few, I'd be writing this forever if I was to continue. To be honest, that last one makes me laugh, because I was useless at getting girls, and at this point nobody knew that one of my brothers was more into guys.

I did have an escape from all this though. Unfortunately, it was at Hexthorpe, the scum capital of the country, where my Dad lived. I went there every two weeks with Jack and Oliver, and although there was no wi-fi, a shared room the size of a cupboard and the comfort that the streets were full of drunks, muggers and illegals, we still enjoyed more than living at home. I think the moral here is that material objects mean nothing if you truly aren't happy in your surroundings.

It was actually embarrassing to live in a house that towered above the rest of them. It wasn't actually a mansion or anything, but even if it was, I still wouldn't have been happy there with that douche running it.

I can say one thing for my step-dad, and that is that he was one of the inspirations for me to get a job. The other one was the young lady I was trying to impress. How quickly I ended up getting a job is both very lucky, and very unlucky at the same time. You see, the first job opening I saw was at a place called Jollyes.

Jollyes is a petfood superstore on Wheatley Hall Road, and when a job came up, I thought, why not? I need to get the ball rolling sometime. So I applied. And would you believe it, they called me in for an interview! I was so happy at the time. Dreams of my own money, my own life, my own future. I couldn't wait, and the interview couldn't come around quick enough. Although knowing what I know now, I wouldn't have bothered. Honestly, Jollyes is the worst pet shop on the planet. Don't let them fool you. It's just a massive shed with a trading license. Cunts.

Unlike my first day of sixth form however, there was no debate as to which hairstyle to go with. With my ponytail in full swing and my best trousers ironed, I rolled up to what looked like a respectable business. That's what it looked like anyway.

It was inside the shop though that my spider-senses started to tell me that something wasn't right. Then 30 seconds later, a strange little woman hobbled over to me, and my perspective on life was never the same again.

For the sake of not being liable to a lawsuit, I will change her name. Let's call her, Betty. I call her this because there was no results for "fucked up little dwarf" on the pseudonym generator. And to the staff of Jollyes, if you are reading this and you can work out who Betty is, doesn't that say everything?

Where do I even start with Betty? The first thing that hit me was the smell. Considering I was in a pet food store where it's acceptable for dogs to piss where they please, it was highly worrying that I could still smell her over the strong smell of animal that existed anyway.

She then showed me to the managers office, but I reckon I could've followed her offensive odour blindfolded had I got lost. In the office was, let's call him, Paul. Paul looked like an ok guy. Although later, I found out he's just a bearded little jobsworth. Before proceedings began, he offered me a drink. I offered to make the tea, and Jollyes told me all I needed to know about their business through their rusty old kettle. I shit you not, I opened it up, and there was pieces of green floating in some sort of liquid that looked like watered down faeces. Of course, I found it hard to muster up the words "I've changed my mind about the drink actually". I still made him one, and today I totally regret wasting time making sure he didn't get any green chunks in his tea. Yeah, I don't think Costa will be launching the 'Limescale Latte' anytime soon

Feeling like I was in an episode of "How clean is your pet shack", the questioning commenced. During the interview he asked me the usual questions. Why here? What do you know? etc etc. And by the end, I felt overwhelmingly good about my chances.

I arrived to my Dad's and waited. It was around three hours later when I got the phone call from Betty, (who's offensive stench was still hot in my nostrils) who told me that I started the following Monday. I screamed, yelled, danced and swore rather loudly. Granted, I should've made sure the phone was hung up first, but I was too happy to be worried about what Sweaty Betty thought of me and my ridiculously loud f-bombs.

The weekend passed, and all I had to do was go one week before I could start rolling the readies in. I felt like a man. A man who could stand on his own two feet. A man who could be respected. A man who could now go out and pre-order Pokémon Y with his own hard earned cash.

And with any luck, it was this new man that would impress Sofia enough to convince her that I was worth a shot. She was happy for me, and so were my other friends. Life seemed to be getting better. And I really thought that I was going in the right direction.

Sadly however, that direction was a one way street.

Thanks,

Harry.