Paper Man

It’s been a disappointing week, on the whole, largely due to the rapidly becoming obvious realisation that the classified ad in the local paper isn’t going to work. Yes, I should give it a chance, but we’re now into the second week and still no phone calls. Not even a joke one. I can’t believe that no one has a broken computer. More likely people just haven’t seen the ad. So now I’m beginning to wonder what my next step should be.

In the meantime, however, there have been plenty of distractions, so much so that I’m beginning to think time is accelerating. I simply can’t believe that it’s been two weeks since my mum’s birthday, and our little outing to Pizza Hut for a fabulous family meal, involving huge quantities of pizza, drinks and dessert for £45. And all thanks to a little discount voucher I got. 

Yes, it’s surprising me just how quickly these past few weeks have gone considering I’m doing absolutely nothing all day every day. Well, nothing is relative, I suppose. To me I’m doing nothing because I have no job or no work. But somehow I always seem to find something to do that will help me pass the time quickly.

It’s remarkable really. For instance, the past couple of weeks my brother has started doing a paper round. This ain’t no ordinary paper round though, because you drum up your own customer business, and then collect the money yourself. It’s almost like we’re a newsagent, and we get a weekly bill direct from the paper to pay. 

The consequence of all this is that, frequently, my brother is unable to do the paper round for whatever reason, be it an after school football match, or just can’t drag himself out of bed in time on a Saturday morning. So I volunteer to go and do it. And then I help him with the money collection, and then administer the paying of the money and the movement of funds to and from various different weekly collections as it goes to the bank or to my brother as his wages.

Something to do, I guess. Not very stimulating, but, in many respects, it makes me self-employed. Which is what I’ve told the taxman. So I’m not lying after all. Shame also that this, just like the so called business I’m running presently, is making me no money.

Going out to deliver the papers is probably the weirdest part though. Everyone expects paper boys to be young. You don’t often see a paper man. I look bloody stupid with my fluorescent bag, filled to the brim with cheaply printed local, parochial news, resulting in horrendously inky fingers by the time you’ve finished. The key is to remember not to touch your face at all while you’re out, or you’ll end up looking rather stupid. 

But a job’s a job and you just gotta get on with it. At least I’m getting out of the house and doing stuff. These days, I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever achieve anything with my life. So much potential, so much talent. Wasted. Crazy.

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