Pampers

So I strutted over to the office yesterday morning with a grin on my face and an NHS badge swinging around in my pocket like a giant health care cock. I reached into my trousers, grabbed the badge and raised it to the little plastic panel by the entrance. There was a professionally discreet ‘bleep’, the little light changed from orange to green and the metal bolt snapped back into the door. “AHHHHH” it was like a self important firework display. “I can get into this building but none of the peasants can, Ha.” I thought to myself as the door swung open and I ascended a flight of stairs. Greeting several middle-aged men in suits, I continued down a corridor. What’s this? Another door; another plastic panel beside it! I got the badge out of my pocket again, surly my badge wouldn’t open two security locked doors?

This time; goose bumps of narcissism as I raised the badge. The same tell tale bleep and light show. “I’m James Bond,” I reflected aloud as I continued towards my desk.

“If the peasants get through the first door, they haven’t got a chance of getting past this one. I’m going to have to let them in.” What power I had.

That's how every morning in the NHS started.

I sat down at my desk with a cup of awesome work tea, content that I was a shoo-in to get the job I had worked so hard for. After all only idiots wouldn’t give it to me, right?

Well it turns out that all employers continue to be idiots, because I didn’t get the job.

Getting told you will remain unemployed by your boss is a lot like getting wacked in the Sopranos. You’re innocently tapping away at your keyboard one day, minding your own business while all but one of your colleagues leaves the room. Then; before you even have time to call them a cocksucker, bang, there’s blood splatter all over the computer screen and your head flops lifeless into a plate of office cake.

“Moist, there’s no easy way to say this...” After that I ignored everything she said. I spent the next hour printing out posters and waved goodbye to my successful life as James Bond of the public sector and got the bus home.

I sit before you, dependant, unable to drive, unemployed, unloved and penniless or DUUUP for short. Just like every other twenty-one year old graduate then. (Well apart for the driving... everyone can drive, they’re all just DUUP.)

I feel I should mention that on Sunday I got so colossally drunk that I danced around with an inflatable guitar and became incredibly aggressive in front of everyone I know. It was like Scott Pilgrim meets Scarface. Disgraceful.

If you would like to know how to achieve something similar with an evening here is the recipe for a Moscow Mule. They really are very delicious

· A few drops of Angostura Bitters

· Two measures of Vodka

· One measure of lime juice

· Toped up with ginger beer...

A few of those and you'll be a right wanker. It's worth mentioning that the morning after drinking a rather a lot of these I went into work at a hospital. It may be why I didnt get the job.