Well I was right to be worried about how I would spend my time between jobs. In the immediate aftermath I was drinking a lot, for days on end. That calmed down a little but it was fairly tough overall. In order to keep some form of control, I would set my alarm for midday and try and get out of bed in fairly good time. I'd get something to eat, check emails etc, then in the afternoon I'd study my way through a technical book to learn some new skills.
It made the weekends fairly pointless, though, as technically every day was a weekend :) I was out of work for about four weeks in total. The start was the hardest part but as the days wore on it got better. Unfortunately I wasn't attending the gym though, and my normal routine was firmly out of the window.
As the days turned into weeks I have to admit one of the reasons I didn't start looking for work was that I was anxious I wouldn't get any. That I'd be one of those struggling people, pounding the phones for hours on end, getting nothing but knock-backs and rejections. In a way I was simply guarding my self-esteem.
It was after three weeks that I thought I should really start looking, as it might have taken two weeks to find something. On the Monday I submitted my CV to some job sites, and I had three interviews lined up on Wednesday, so I guess it turned out ok in the end. I accepted one of them on Wednesday too and started the following Monday. It's a few hundred miles away from where I live, so I am renting a room there Monday through Friday and returning "home" at the weekend. I'm managed to join a small gym in the area too.
Through the week it's a fairly miserable existence. I get up around 7am, go to work, get back to my digs at 6.30. Maybe go to the gym, back to digs for something from the microwave, up to my room like a naughty teenager where I have no TV, and the internet isn't always on. I go to bed around midnight, get up and start all over again. A large chunk of the weekends are taken up with travel too, so you don't quite get the full impact of those either.
In a way, I was thinking that the drudgery of this way of life is something that keeps my mind occupied. Something that "excuses" me from not leading a normal life like other people. There is no room in this way of life for friends, relationships, or anything tangible, solid, or lasting. Instead my mind simply keeps itself occupied with thoughts of the following day.
As for the job itself, it's actually quite good. Good firm too, and normal. It's nothing like my last job at all. I found that job to be very isolating, where I have always maintained that work is a good thing as it gives you chances to be social, to be among people. This company is staffed with people my age and younger, there is a lot of chat and banter, people go out for lunch together. There is a large kitchen where you can just mill around and chat to people. People in the company are really friendly, too, and I've had a few people introduce themselves in the kitchen, noting that I'm new etc. It's given me back that "something" that I lost at my other job. Even the way to work itself, and back again...I am using public transport (train) and it gives ample opportunity for being among seas of people too. Lots of people watching as you get to see the same people getting on, and off, at the same stops day in and day out.
The dress code is "casual" and most people adhere to it. Thing is, I don't "do" casual. I have smart, and I have "me" which I wouldn't want to wear to work. Having to iron shirts, trousers etc is a bit of a pain, so in order to "fit in" and also to reduce my laundry effort, I have bought some "casual" shirts to wear with my jeans. Shopping for the shirts was an unusual process, as it isn't something I normally do. I am completely indifferent to this type of fashion...how do you choose things you neither love nor hate? Is this how it is for everyone? A bunch of people traipsing around the shops buying clothes not because they like them, but because they are not offensive, and they need to dress like everyone less? Or does someone see the exact same shirts I lovelessly took from the rails, and think "Wow, that looks great, I'll be far more attractive to the opposite sex in that shirt"? It's not cheap either, what a total waste of money.
This job is set to run for about 3 moths so I'll see how it goes, and how I feel after. The whole nature of working somewhere Mon-Fri is what has been worrying me, and now that I'm doing it it's certainly no barrel of laughs, but I don't think I'm ready to throw in the towel yet.
Showing posts with label clothes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label clothes. Show all posts
Saturday, 14 July 2012
Sunday, 15 November 2009
Oh, oobee doo, I wanna be like you
There is a current fashion and I'm not sure if it is the same across the UK or just localised where I am; but lots of females are wearing these leggings that look like a faux denim. What I don't understand is how these fashions grow and how organic a process it is. It could be that women all subscribe to the same magazine and one edition they told everyone to buy these leggings. It could be that most women all enjoy shopping in the same store and they buy whatever the "latest line" is. Or it could be that a few women wear them and other women look at these women and think "they look good, I'll get some" or maybe "lots of women are wearing these so I want to wear them also".
Whatever the reasons, whatever the origins, at some point these women are making a conscious decision to look the same as everyone else. It's one of those NT traits that I just don't get, I don't understand the thought process that makes people aspire to mediocrity.
It's not just these leggings, of course, it is most months (especially the Summer ones) in every year that eventually women largely walk around wearing the same thing. As always it was Oscar Wilde who coined it best; "Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months."
Whatever the reasons, whatever the origins, at some point these women are making a conscious decision to look the same as everyone else. It's one of those NT traits that I just don't get, I don't understand the thought process that makes people aspire to mediocrity.
It's not just these leggings, of course, it is most months (especially the Summer ones) in every year that eventually women largely walk around wearing the same thing. As always it was Oscar Wilde who coined it best; "Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months."
Friday, 22 May 2009
my pen > ur pen
In a previous blog I lamented my desire to have a nice pen, and that my attempts at buying one ended in failure. Well I got a second-wind today and thought I'd give it another go. On Fridays at work we get to "dress down" so I didn't have smart clothes on, but I was still at work so I wasn't that badly dressed down.
I had looked up all of the information on the net regarding the exact pen I wanted (name, materials, type and product code) and wrote it down on a PostIt note. Alas one bit of information I couldn't get was the price…they don't list that on the site. I loitered outside of the shop for a while, pretending to look at the window goods but actually seeing if the shop was busy or not. I couldn't see any customers but it seemed quite light on staff too. I went inside anyway.
First problem…door was locked and needed to be opened by the security guard inside. Just what I needed. I hoped he didn't lock the door when he saw me lurking. Luckily he opens it and I gain entrance with no ado, no ID required, no pat-down or rectal cavity search. A sales girl looks up and utters "Can I help you?" I approach and tell her I am looking for a specific pen and she guides me to a nearby table, the type you see in minister's rooms on television. Dark, polished wood with leather surface, atop it a mirror in case you're buying jewellery. Or maybe a very expensive razor.
Sat at an identical table a short distance away is a woman who probably thinks that Keeping up Appearances is a documentary. In matching green floral dress and hat she watched me from the top of her nose as I sat at my own table. After producing my PostIt note the salesgirl went to get some brochures and some help from a colleague. After thumbing through a glossy brochure I helped the colleague locate the exact pen I wanted while the salesgirl held the brochure that contained the prices at an angle guaranteeing I couldn’t see. She reached for an oversized calculator and, after a few taps, got past the delivery of the "bad news" as quickly as she possibly could, as if even having to tell me the price meant she had to add bleach to her bathwater when she got home. Before the price had even reached my ears she was calling the manufacturer to ensure stock and delivery times. Putting the phone down she tells me "7 to 10 days, ok?" I got the impression that this was not an establishment where you said you'd "have to think about it".
Commission firmly in the bag, the salesgirl then began to schmooze me in a way that I am sure I would have been schmoozed beforehand had I have been a fat businessman in a suit, making sure everyone could see the Rolex up my wrist. With me, in my T-Shirt that came from a pack of three and dirty jeans, she needed to see the colour of my plastic before she was willing to even start her usual script. As the delivery of my writing instrument (please don't be so crass as to call it a "pen") was being arranged by the colleague, the salesgirl enquired about my weekend plans and probed a little into my reasons for buying the writing instrument, taking the time to laugh at all my jokes along the way. I would normally have been happy with her laughter, but now that I knew how much this writing instrument cost I think she should have laughed harder and for longer. Returning to the glossy brochure, the one I was allowed to look at, she remarked at what other writing instruments would perfectly compliment the one I'd just bought and would be an asset to my collection. Now it was my turn to laugh at her joke.
I soon found out she wasn't joking.
Grasping my A5 sized receipt I left the store with the promise that they'd call me when my writing instrument was available for collection. I shall ensure that I pick it up at the weekend just to see their faces when I walk in in my "usual" attire.
I had looked up all of the information on the net regarding the exact pen I wanted (name, materials, type and product code) and wrote it down on a PostIt note. Alas one bit of information I couldn't get was the price…they don't list that on the site. I loitered outside of the shop for a while, pretending to look at the window goods but actually seeing if the shop was busy or not. I couldn't see any customers but it seemed quite light on staff too. I went inside anyway.
First problem…door was locked and needed to be opened by the security guard inside. Just what I needed. I hoped he didn't lock the door when he saw me lurking. Luckily he opens it and I gain entrance with no ado, no ID required, no pat-down or rectal cavity search. A sales girl looks up and utters "Can I help you?" I approach and tell her I am looking for a specific pen and she guides me to a nearby table, the type you see in minister's rooms on television. Dark, polished wood with leather surface, atop it a mirror in case you're buying jewellery. Or maybe a very expensive razor.
Sat at an identical table a short distance away is a woman who probably thinks that Keeping up Appearances is a documentary. In matching green floral dress and hat she watched me from the top of her nose as I sat at my own table. After producing my PostIt note the salesgirl went to get some brochures and some help from a colleague. After thumbing through a glossy brochure I helped the colleague locate the exact pen I wanted while the salesgirl held the brochure that contained the prices at an angle guaranteeing I couldn’t see. She reached for an oversized calculator and, after a few taps, got past the delivery of the "bad news" as quickly as she possibly could, as if even having to tell me the price meant she had to add bleach to her bathwater when she got home. Before the price had even reached my ears she was calling the manufacturer to ensure stock and delivery times. Putting the phone down she tells me "7 to 10 days, ok?" I got the impression that this was not an establishment where you said you'd "have to think about it".
Commission firmly in the bag, the salesgirl then began to schmooze me in a way that I am sure I would have been schmoozed beforehand had I have been a fat businessman in a suit, making sure everyone could see the Rolex up my wrist. With me, in my T-Shirt that came from a pack of three and dirty jeans, she needed to see the colour of my plastic before she was willing to even start her usual script. As the delivery of my writing instrument (please don't be so crass as to call it a "pen") was being arranged by the colleague, the salesgirl enquired about my weekend plans and probed a little into my reasons for buying the writing instrument, taking the time to laugh at all my jokes along the way. I would normally have been happy with her laughter, but now that I knew how much this writing instrument cost I think she should have laughed harder and for longer. Returning to the glossy brochure, the one I was allowed to look at, she remarked at what other writing instruments would perfectly compliment the one I'd just bought and would be an asset to my collection. Now it was my turn to laugh at her joke.
I soon found out she wasn't joking.
Grasping my A5 sized receipt I left the store with the promise that they'd call me when my writing instrument was available for collection. I shall ensure that I pick it up at the weekend just to see their faces when I walk in in my "usual" attire.
Tuesday, 30 December 2008
Limbo
It's the eye of a horrible storm. That time of year where Christmas has passed and you're waiting for New Year. Stuck between two horrific days. I'm off work all week and days just get wasted. Drink til I even get bored of doing that. Wander around town and everyone is out in their new jacket, new shoes, new bag, new hat…new whatever they got for Christmas. Clothes seem to be a popular Christmas gift for others. It's important to people how others see them and it's important that they are out and seen.
While I do appreciate the time off work, the break in routine can be a drag and I fill each day just waiting for the end. I get out of my bed too late to do anything of value or worth and go to bed regretting that I did nothing, hoping that tomorrow will be different.
Having no real life skills also means I never have any food in the house and live day to day as they come, relying on the work ethic of local takeaways when required…at least there are some places for who it's just another day.
While I do appreciate the time off work, the break in routine can be a drag and I fill each day just waiting for the end. I get out of my bed too late to do anything of value or worth and go to bed regretting that I did nothing, hoping that tomorrow will be different.
Having no real life skills also means I never have any food in the house and live day to day as they come, relying on the work ethic of local takeaways when required…at least there are some places for who it's just another day.
Saturday, 22 November 2008
Growing Old
It's funny the things you do when you get older. For example this summer I bought some art. Now I'm not an "art" person, I don't go to art galleries, or museums. I've never read a book on art and if an art show come on TV I'll see if Mythbusters is on the other side. However there was an open-air art festival in the gardens where I live so, while on a Summer's walk down to the beach, I thought it would be rude not to at least swing by. There was lots of your usual stuff, the kind of amateur art I'd have expected to see, however there was someone doing portrait art who had such a unique, edgy style. He had a series of pictures and one really caught my eye. I went back the next day and it was still drawing me in so I decided to buy it.
My latest symptom of growing old is that I thought to myself "I could do with having a nice pen." Where this thought came from I just don't know. It seems that having "nice" things becomes more attractive to you the older you get. So I googled some nice pens and found the one I wanted and I knew of a shop in town that sold them, so I decided to stop by as I did other errands around town. I found the place that sells them and they were pretty much a top-end fancy-things place. They sold Rolex watches, Gucci watches and stuff like that. That was great but here's my problem…the way I look and dress I'd get thrown out of a homeless shelter, let alone a place where you can spend £500 on a set of cufflinks. Nonetheless I entered the dragon's den.
It was a fairly small shop and there were three desks dotted around that had well suited salespeople talking to well-heeled clients. It seems in a shop like this you don't pick what you want from the shelf and take it to the till…you need "consultation". I located the pen bit of the store but the woman was busy with some guy. Three watches lay on the leather-topped table as she talked to him about his work. Why this was necessary to buy a watch I don't really know. I guess it is their job to give their clients the whole personal shopping experience. Maybe he thought he was impressing the sales girl with his job, and his expensive taste in watches. Maybe he was hoping she would think he can take her away from all this and treat her like the princess she thinks she deserves to be. Take her away from the dreary, stuffy job…and, "that man". I skulked in the background but it wasn't a very welcoming place, the atmosphere wasn't one you wanted to drink in, and as no-one was free to "help" me I left and stood outside. I watched through the window for a while but the man didn't budge from his watch-buying. I guess buying a watch is a really big deal for some people. In the end I just bought a Biro.
Maybe nice pens just aren't for people like me? Maybe that's why fat businessmen with ugly wives have nice pens. I guess if you want a status symbol you have to start from the bottom and work your way up…a nice haircut, some expensive fragrance, an Armani suit…and maybe then I could walk into a nice shop and someone will want to help me. Even though you have the money to spend, people only want to take money from people who are playing the game.
My latest symptom of growing old is that I thought to myself "I could do with having a nice pen." Where this thought came from I just don't know. It seems that having "nice" things becomes more attractive to you the older you get. So I googled some nice pens and found the one I wanted and I knew of a shop in town that sold them, so I decided to stop by as I did other errands around town. I found the place that sells them and they were pretty much a top-end fancy-things place. They sold Rolex watches, Gucci watches and stuff like that. That was great but here's my problem…the way I look and dress I'd get thrown out of a homeless shelter, let alone a place where you can spend £500 on a set of cufflinks. Nonetheless I entered the dragon's den.
It was a fairly small shop and there were three desks dotted around that had well suited salespeople talking to well-heeled clients. It seems in a shop like this you don't pick what you want from the shelf and take it to the till…you need "consultation". I located the pen bit of the store but the woman was busy with some guy. Three watches lay on the leather-topped table as she talked to him about his work. Why this was necessary to buy a watch I don't really know. I guess it is their job to give their clients the whole personal shopping experience. Maybe he thought he was impressing the sales girl with his job, and his expensive taste in watches. Maybe he was hoping she would think he can take her away from all this and treat her like the princess she thinks she deserves to be. Take her away from the dreary, stuffy job…and, "that man". I skulked in the background but it wasn't a very welcoming place, the atmosphere wasn't one you wanted to drink in, and as no-one was free to "help" me I left and stood outside. I watched through the window for a while but the man didn't budge from his watch-buying. I guess buying a watch is a really big deal for some people. In the end I just bought a Biro.
Maybe nice pens just aren't for people like me? Maybe that's why fat businessmen with ugly wives have nice pens. I guess if you want a status symbol you have to start from the bottom and work your way up…a nice haircut, some expensive fragrance, an Armani suit…and maybe then I could walk into a nice shop and someone will want to help me. Even though you have the money to spend, people only want to take money from people who are playing the game.
Saturday, 6 September 2008
Constant over-stimulation numbs me, but I would not want you any other way
One of the more enduring symptoms of Asperger Syndrome (AS) are issues with external stimulus. Common problems revolve around noise, touch, the feeling of clothes on your body. Again every person with AS suffers in their own unique way and there is a collective pool of sensory issues we all dip our toes in. My major issues revolve around temperature and sound.
Going back even earlier than my insomnia, a bad reaction to heat is probably the only AS-related thing I've ever heard my parents tell me about when I was younger. Apparently from baby onward I have always hated the heat and hated being in the sun. I'd cry like the baby I was until taken into the shade. This particular symptom seems to have forked into issues with both heat and cold. I appear to be almost impervious to cold, it nears superhero proportions…as if I have a secret Fortress of Solitude, carved from ice somewhere in the Antarctic. No matter how low the temperature gets I never seem to feel it. I can walk around in a gale, the rain or a blizzard and not feel its effects. This in itself is not a problem for me, far from it. It makes "heating" my flat cheaper at least. However every Superman has his kryptonite…
I can't stand the heat. And when I say heat, I mean normal temperatures. It doesn't take much to get me hot and flustered, and when I get hot I sweat buckets. Walking is especially bad for me. When I have to walk somewhere I'm fine on the way, taking advantage of the breeze as I make progress, but as soon as I stop I suddenly overheat and drip sweat. I mean it drips off my nose, runs down my face, drips down the back of my neck.
The worst scenarios are having to go to a shop, and stuff like that. It's not that great when you get to the counter looking like you've ran a marathon. Haircuts are especially embarrassing. It's bad enough when your face is running in sweat, but when someone else has to cut your hair at the same time it's a bit grim. What I tend to do is walk to the hairdresser then wait outside until my core temperate balances out a little and the worst over the sweats is over and mopped up.
Other bad situations are coming out of a shower. I stay soaking for ages…I can dry the shower off but the water is just replaced by a thick coating of sweat pouring down my body as I sit in front of a fan trying to get my body temperature down. In the summer I try and offset this a little by turning the shower cold for a few minutes before I step out of it. I let the cold water crash against the top of my head and carom down my limbs to the gutter below. Also physical activity…even as small as doing the washing up or the vacuuming is again enough to have it dripping off my face.
I have a very minor issue with clothes, I'm not a fan of layers and that includes jackets or anything worn over a T-shirt, but that might be linked with my attempts to not overheat. I'll cover sound in a future post.
Going back even earlier than my insomnia, a bad reaction to heat is probably the only AS-related thing I've ever heard my parents tell me about when I was younger. Apparently from baby onward I have always hated the heat and hated being in the sun. I'd cry like the baby I was until taken into the shade. This particular symptom seems to have forked into issues with both heat and cold. I appear to be almost impervious to cold, it nears superhero proportions…as if I have a secret Fortress of Solitude, carved from ice somewhere in the Antarctic. No matter how low the temperature gets I never seem to feel it. I can walk around in a gale, the rain or a blizzard and not feel its effects. This in itself is not a problem for me, far from it. It makes "heating" my flat cheaper at least. However every Superman has his kryptonite…
I can't stand the heat. And when I say heat, I mean normal temperatures. It doesn't take much to get me hot and flustered, and when I get hot I sweat buckets. Walking is especially bad for me. When I have to walk somewhere I'm fine on the way, taking advantage of the breeze as I make progress, but as soon as I stop I suddenly overheat and drip sweat. I mean it drips off my nose, runs down my face, drips down the back of my neck.
The worst scenarios are having to go to a shop, and stuff like that. It's not that great when you get to the counter looking like you've ran a marathon. Haircuts are especially embarrassing. It's bad enough when your face is running in sweat, but when someone else has to cut your hair at the same time it's a bit grim. What I tend to do is walk to the hairdresser then wait outside until my core temperate balances out a little and the worst over the sweats is over and mopped up.
Other bad situations are coming out of a shower. I stay soaking for ages…I can dry the shower off but the water is just replaced by a thick coating of sweat pouring down my body as I sit in front of a fan trying to get my body temperature down. In the summer I try and offset this a little by turning the shower cold for a few minutes before I step out of it. I let the cold water crash against the top of my head and carom down my limbs to the gutter below. Also physical activity…even as small as doing the washing up or the vacuuming is again enough to have it dripping off my face.
I have a very minor issue with clothes, I'm not a fan of layers and that includes jackets or anything worn over a T-shirt, but that might be linked with my attempts to not overheat. I'll cover sound in a future post.
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