It was 2011, I had just finished university in April and was handed a piece of paper I paid £12,000 for and struggled for 3 years to attain.
I had finally made it!
I didn’t feel any different though.
Maybe I just needed a job and commitments.
My First (and last) job
Fast-forward to November, 2011.
DRRRRRR! DRRRRRRR! DRRRRRR!
I was rudely awakened by my alarm, a sound I grew to hate the more it woke me up and brought me to reality.
I had to change the alarm sound every few months because the association my brain had with the sound caused too much internal pain.
I felt like it was time to change it again.
I believe it was a Wednesday, as I remember getting dressed on this eventful day and picking up a pair of black cotton socks with the word Wednesday stitched in orange.
The socks were a gift from my mom as she was so proud I’d gotten my first proper job.
I am real man now.
It was -4c outside and as I looked out the window hoping for a zombie apocalypse.
I only saw my car covered in frost.
This meant I had to eat my breakfast of weetabix that little bit faster to scrape the ice off my wind shield else I’d be late to work.
I’d already received two emails from HR this month telling me that constantly being late for work is not acceptable behaviour.
A third one and I may be called up to the office to get my bottom spanked.
I ate my breakfast which I don’t even remember tasting, put on my prison outfit and jumped into my car.
After 15 minutes of driving my office appears before me surrounded by grey clouds.
I see a few of my work colleagues hunched over into their coats and scarves quickly walking towards the office to get out of the cold.
I secretly pitted and enjoyed that they had to catch public transport to work.
It made me feel 0.01% better about my own pathetic existence.
I parked my car and stepped outside.
I looked up at my office building and had an incredible urge to vomit.
It felt like someone had hit me in the stomach with a sledge hammer.
I even tasted the acid at the back of my throat which usually happens before I’m about to puke.
” Am you really going to spend another day inside?” my sub-conscious spoke to me.
I managed to keep the vomit in and slowly walked towards the office, secretly hoping there was a sniper somewhere in a tree nearby getting ready take blow my head off.
Before walking through the glass office doors to be welcomed by grey lifeless carpets and a weak stench of bleach left from the cleaning team, I glanced my head upwards and began counting the floors to the top.
There were 11 floors in total.
I wondered if that was high enough to cause instant death if one jumped off.
Hmm, now there’s an idea.
I made it in with two minutes to spare… no email from the HR manager today I thought who never speaks or makes eye-contact with me anyway.
I turn on my computer and 7 work related emails I didn’t care about appear before I’ve had the time to take off my coat.
Apparently some fuck kunt called Jon was leaving in 2 weeks and Jane the receptionist, the girl I secretly mastebaited over in the shower at home, sent everyone an email asking for a small donation for Jon’s leaving fund.
Jon wasn’t a bad guy, he was just a boring, un-interesting 30 something who I’d never dream of interacting with outside of the office.
He had a pretentious phone voice and whenever I asked him how he was doing, he replied with the usual:
“I’m great thanks, you?”
And was already walking half-way in the other direction before I had the chance to tell him I’m thinking about committing suicide.
I played minesweeper, checked Amazon and read a few blogs thinking I’d just killed 2 hours of my 8 hour sentence.
I look up and the clock read 9:27am.
I gaze around the office and see heads looking at screens and fingers hitting keywords.
There are 25 people in the office but nobody seems to be alive.
“What are you doing with your life?” my sub-conscious whispered to me.
I was too scared to answer it back.
“Why are you here?”
Again, I was too scared to answer it back because I knew I couldn’t think of a valid answer.
“What are you doing with your life?”
*RING RING, RING RING!*
My work phone eventually broke the awkward silence that all my Tinder dates experience.
When I was studying for my degree, I used to think it would be so awesome to have my own desk, work email and telephone, as it signals someone of value and success.
I kept letting it ring hoping it would stop.
But then Gary, a 36 year divorced male, with less self-esteem than the girls I typically preyed on Tinder, gave me the:
“Are you gonna pick that up or w0t m8?” look.
I wanted to jump across the table and beat him to death with my plastic keyboard and strangle him with my mouse.
1pm – lunchtime
The canteen was an interesting place.
People would ask me how my weekend went pretending like they cared, others would talk about some reality TV show or how so and so in accounting is a bitch because the way she worded an email to them.
To me, everyone in the office was a prick, even the people I liked and considered my friends.
I resigned myself to a nice quiet corner in the canteen, ate my sandwiches while snapping more mental images of Jane that I’d be jerking off too later that evening, and again the following morning.
4pm – almost home
This was the time I’d start to actually feel human again.
I would get tingles in my hands that in an hour’s time I would be allowed to leave the office a free man.
There was often an eyrie feeling in the office at this time, everybody was looking at the clock waiting for it to reach 5pm so they could rush home.
I wanted to ask everybody why do they come to work every day if the most exciting part of their day is leaving?
But that wouldn’t be correct office etiquette, and I wouldn’t want to receive another email from HR.
When the clock hit 5, I flocked with the rest of the herd and rushed into my car.
My sub-conscious joined me in the passenger seat:
“How many more times can you replay this day?”
I could get another job but that wasn’t the answer. It wasn’t my job or the people I disliked, it was the lifestyle.
I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life.
But I did know that I whatever it was I wanted it do, it must be on my own terms giving me total freedom.
Later that week I handed in my notice and booked a 1-way flight to Thailand.
Why did you move to Thailand?
What was your reason for moving to Thailand? Leave a comment below letting me know the turning point in your life that made you make the move.
PS: what would you like me to blog about going forward? Leave a comment below about a topic you’d like me to discuss.