You're Hired

Six weeks ago today I started my new job and as you might expect things ~so far~ haven't been going to plan. There are plenty of advice columns out there about how to be a good employee and succeed prosperously in your profession, this I assure you is not one of them. But if you are looking for a self-help guide on how to arrive a few minutes late for your shift on a semi-regular basis, mispronounce your manager's name numerous times throughout the day or get emergency taxed twice within one pay period, then I can proudly say you have come to the right place. 

It's primarily reception based work I carry out. Sending cold blooded emails, faxing invoices to the wrong people and answering the phone sounding like a speak and spell gobshite are all some of the aspects of my day. I feel my employer's are overall quite happy with me because as a true Irish employee I am very good at covering up the mistakes I do make, what they don't know won't hurt them is a philosophy I have adopted.


Colleagues who work out together, kill together. 

Alarmingly, it is the most simple and basic of tasks I am failing at. Straightforward, child's play activities I should master but seemingly cannot. For instance, above us on the first floor of the building there is a Chinese restaurant. Like oriental take-aways throughout the world they don't open until later on in the evening, therefore we accept their mail in the mornings and hand it onto whoever is opening up for them that evening, nothing here screams third level trigonometry. In the last few weeks a routine has unfolded each day and I've got to the stage where I've familiarised myself adequately with this 'handover' to know what I am doing. One of their staff members will usually collect their letters around three o'clock and sure enough it's always someone Asian.

Last Wednesday, it came to the stage of the day where I'd usually be greeted by some dreary waitress, more interested in going for a Brazilian bikini wax with Anne Doyle than do her day's stint. But no one was to be seen. That was until a very happy and very animated Chinese woman and her daughter paraded in, both very jumpy and too S Club 7 for my likening.

Me: "Hi Guys, how may I help ye today?".
Chinese Woman: "Sorry we are late, awful traffic out".
Hyper Daughter: "I like fishes".
Me: "Oh sorry my apologies, I'll get the mail for ye".
Hyper Daughter: "Mommy I need to go toilet".

Both mother and daughter start looking equally puzzled when I place a stack of envelopes addressed to a business they had absolutely no dealings with.

Me: "Here ye go, hope it's not too many bills".

The child who was acting like she was powered by Duracell Batteries literally five seconds beforehand had stopped leaping and the high-spirits were no longer present, the mother looked like she had been sedated. The child who I then learned had an Irish first name no longer needed to use the bathroom, perhaps the impact of my ill-fitted postman episode had caused her to wet herself.  

Naturally a silence followed.

Next came a round of stares.

The finale included a one-sided croaking of swear words, all of them in English, unfortunately. She decided in the end not to choose us as a suitable destination for Ava's birthday party, casual racism is an element of the itinerary we might have to re-evaluate. 

They say the biggest mistakes make for the best stories, looks like this blog is going to get very entertaining this summer.


My life shouldn't be this like Father Ted.



Thanks be to Bog

We are taught from an early age not to discriminate based on race, creed, sexuality or colour. However, there is one form of bias I and many other fellow Irish natives refuse to give up. We judge people by how well they can condone the bog. 

In this leprechaun infested society, if you are handed a pair of Rigger Boots or oversized gloves and you accept your call of duty, congratulations, we won’t fantasize about slaughtering you in your sleep and dispatching the remains of your body off to a Pedigree dog food factory. No one is asking you to fall in love with the place. Honestly, we don’t even care how much it upsets you. But if you’re a man/woman/goblin over the age of three and someone informs you a trip to the bog is on the cards, you simply go. That’s the rule. It doesn't matter if you’re watching your favourite television programme, set to sit a leaving cert exam or preparing to walk down the aisle. To pass the ultimate culchie test, all you have to do is politely accept a burden that lies deep within Irish history. I learned the hard way. You're probably going to want to stick around and read about some of the attractions the bog occupies. 

It's customary for Irish folk to compliment the turf. 

1. Canine Adventures. I don't know what is it with the locals here but they interpret the bog as some form of holiday resort for their pets. The dogs partake in a range of recreational activities and rejoice in the amenities of their surroundings whilst their owners slave away at a source of fuel for the winter. Our own pooch is no exception, on arrival he even displays this odd sense of smugness, this mistaken superiority or predominance believing that he is considered above us as he is there for leisure and not expected to sweat it out like his human counterparts.  

2. Bog Holes. There was once a myth that if you fell into one of these deathly openings you would end up in Australia. Forget serial killers, both the young and old of our nation remain petrified that their mortality could be subject to one of these open-pits of soft mud i.e. Irish quicksand.

3. Broken Back Issues. Bogs keep the chiropractors, physiotherapists and massage therapists of our country in business. When you are there strict orders are placed that you cannot stand up straight unless you are dying or ultimately pose a substantial threat to the turf. Essentially, there is a reason why Ireland has the largest population of hunchbacks in the world.

4. Frogs. They are everywhere. Physical encounters with these amphibians get more and more terrifying with age. They are fast and they will chase you, no confrontation is straightforward. Just be kind to them and if you're lucky a battle to the death could be avoided. My only weapon in these showdowns is verbal abuse, but they never seem to be intimidated by it.

5. The Journey Home. You are incorrect if you assumed that this aspect of the day would be the best part. There's two types of walks of shame on the emerald isle. My guess is that you're familiar enough with the first and that it needs no explanation. The second, most common one is the drive home from a day at the bog. Your parents get the luxury of cruising up in first class in the tractor whereas any other individual (dog included) is mounted up on top of the heap of turf overloading the trailer.  

Avoid eye contact at all costs. 

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