Straight back into working life after three weeks on the dole shouting at neighbours and signing bits of paper.
My job? Working at a halls of residence for the UCL. Seems like a cool job, or so I thought.
The problem is that at a time in my life when I’m feeling a bit old and unfit it’s probably not wise to be sat in a small glass box surrounded by young pert fit cool students being better than me.
It’s really irking me. My job is to sit in a suit in behind some glass and take their cheques, hand them their post and write down the things that are wrong with their rooms.
There is not much room for banter with these subjects.
To a young student a man with a beard and a suit is not cool. I like to think however that being a stand up comedian is actually quite cool, it’s one of the reasons I went into it.
So they take their post without so much as a by your leave (not even saying thank you sometimes, the youth of today can be so fucking rude) and walk away thinking I am as uncool as ever.
Even my ploy of leaving the top button of my shirt undone to show that I’m not that stuffy was rused by my boss.
“I’d prefer if you did your shirt up all the way, when you’re working with people of your own age group [actually some are up to five whole years younger than me] makes it harder to separate yourself and assert any authority.”
Yes, I knew that, that’s why I did it.
Instead I have a screaming desire to end every exchange by saying “I’m cool” to them. But I figure that that won’t wash it. Maybe I need to get a mullet…