freelance smoker ·
11 October 04

I don’t talk to my stepdad much. If at all. When I was younger, I think I spoke to him, or attempted to converse with him, however I couldn’t understand him as I tried to explain in a language I’m not fluent in.

Perhaps I wouldn’t think he was so pathetic if he didn’t marry my mother, or promise that I could finish my education where I was; instead, rip me out of school mid-way through my year, take me to a City with no friends, or people I could be around or cared about; pretend that everything was OK, and then end up fucking up my studies; create a facade for a family when in fact he wanted his own kid to compensate and cement his marriage with my mother, because, hey, we’re not related are we?

I had my appointment in the morning, so he offered to give me a lift. He’s OK, he’s just dumb and, well, we have nothing in common. We didn’t speak during the journey, which lasted 15 minutes due to some traffic. Normally he’ll ask me to read a letter for him, moronic as he is. It’s a little annoying, that neither parent, has bothered to learn a simple language. I would like to kill my mother, violently, with large metal bars, because that fucking bitch has been in the UK longer than I have, and has all the intelligence or English-speaking of some refugee.

As we drove, I felt the unease he had with the silence. He kept shifting in the seat, but I stared through the window, not really caring, as the rays of the sun burnt my face, and warmed my blood. I only had one thing on my mind, and it was something that had bothered me the past few days.

Today was the day I was supposed to go with my friend to his office, where he ran his business. It was hardware and web design, but now shifted it to web design. I told him often enough that making money in hardware was impossible. He should stick to web design. It took one of his clients to tell him this, and he listened and proposed the idea to his colleagues. I’ve always relented in saying “I told you so” to people, only because it makes them feel worse, and I don’t feel any real benefit from gloating. I have an ego, however, even if it’s not very big, but even I falter sometimes.

I knew I would see him and his friends today, and they would propose working for/with them (strike the appropriate word). I also knew they would be smoking, and so, with this in mind, I felt it would make sense to buy smokes myself.

It’s sad, but funny at the same time. They’re all good people they all have to make a living, but they just don’t know how to be intelligent about doing things and they definitely don’t take it seriously nor put in 110% of effort.

The person I was meant to see for my appointment had gone on his “tea break” and I was told to return in 15 minutes. I walked around the town centre, knowing that I would be passing a shitload of shops that sell smokes. Still, I managed to walk down to one end of the area in under under ten minutes, but more than five. I took out my cash card and headed to HSBC. I then remembered that I had a new pin number, so made my first attempt at trying it out. Twenty quid came out, and I was off to the appointment.

I passed a news agents, as I struggled with the logic of smoking. On the one hand second hand smoke is more lethal, on the other hand smoking itself is lethal, but less so. Instead you get to absorb the 200 or so different toxins within the cigaratte into your lungs. Plus, if I did smoke, all my cardiovascular work was ruined, and I would have to work out twice as hard for up to a month to get it back to where it was.

Walking into Smith’s, I went up to the desk and asked for “10 Marlboro reds”. As she tagged the box, I saw the menthol’s. Within a fraction of a second I accepted that it would kill my sperm count, and can reduce sex drive. Seeing as I hadn’t used either for about four years, I felt this was a safe gamble, and asked her to change the smokes for “10 Marlboro Menthols” instead. I just didn’t want the taste of ash in my mouth at lunchtime. It would have ruined the rest of the day.

After my appointment, I headed home, tired from lack of sleep (two days straight, and perhaps a bit more) I brushed my teeth having smoked two cigarettes. I didn’t feel guilty about smoking, but my health and abuse of health are treated equally, which is why I like to brush my teeth every opportunity I get from smoking at the end of a day. I didn’t feel like going with my mate to his work place, and put myself to bed.

The night before we agreed he would ring. He called about 2PM as he went for an interview with a rival store, where his old boss now worked and he got the job. He worked for the original company for 8 years, doing part-time for for about 5.50 an hour. He has about £20k in the bank in savings and shares. I have known him longer than that, but 8 years, at that pay would make me commit suicide. I would probably be dead before they finished saying what the job was if they announced the pay first.

I woke to the drilling of the phone ring. My vision covered in the mucky eye stuff that slows you from opening your eyes (it’s supposed to ensure they don’t clip open all night or something). Everything was a bit blurred, and I had to rub my eyes a good few times till I cracked the filmy liquid, and could see enough to lunge towards the door and the phone.

Reluctantly I agree to go around to his place for 2.30PM. I got changed again, and grabbed my MP3 player. It was such a Godsend, having this box of joy. It helps me block out the world, which means I don’t have to listen to it talk shit all day. Plus I can learn Japanese like a tourist in Japan! Ya ta!
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We took the bus, the new “bendy” buses as they call them here. They’re just the newer models of buses that have been used in Germany. Except here you get off through three doors, and enter three doors. In Germany, you get in one and exit the other two. It’s a shambles. It’s like being on the fucking tube, with every ignorant motherfucker squashed near the door so they can get out first. I hate these cunts. We stood near the back, and in my view was this girl, Irish looking, and no, not because she had auburn hair, green eyes and wore a trendy looking T-shirt saying “Ireland”. She was good looking, and I had…a hamster on my face.

I told my friend to sit down, as there was seat right next to him. He kept refusing until I challenged him about the fact that he was intimidated by the girl sitting there. He basically was, and it was written all over his face. So we stood for part of the journey. When we met up prior to getting on the bus and towards the end of our day,

“Have you gone on pilgrimage again?”
“Let’s go.”
“You know, around here you look like a Sikh”
“Do I?”
“Yeah, you got the beard, the cap…”
“I don’t have the long hair, and I have nothing hidden under the cap”
“Well, I think the beard looks good on you, just trim it so it’s a bit less…hairy, and add a bit of style”
“Fuck that. It’s either on or off, I don’t do halfway breeding of facial hair. I don’t want people to point in the street and say, ‘Look, he’s got a mongrel on his face, not quite hairy, not quite shaved’”

Not that I care what people think, it’s actually my own annoyance that I have it grown or don’t. I don’t want to groom my beard as well as buying gel for my hair. Fuck it’s bad enough having to frikkin shave without having to “style” your beard as well. Anyway, I killed two different conversations by putting them together to look like one. Laziness and all that lark.

The guys all have shares within their own company, something like £10K each. I’m not sure if this is actually money invested by all, or whether it’s valued in terms of their ability and work they’ve put in. In any case, Mots was leaving and he wanted to give me his shares, he didn’t care as he got a £20K job. Koyas, apparently appointed leader, was angry about it and said that he didn’t feel it was right that someone external came in and was just given shares.

I told him often enough that making money in hardware was impossible. He should stick to web design. It took one of his clients to tell him this, and he listened and proposed the idea to his colleagues.

I actually ended up agreeing with him, and made his point valid as he was tripping over himself a bit. Mots is…a sort of innocent. He felt guilty that he would get his 20% cut of the profits even when he wasn’t working there, and he would be working for someone else. He took some persuading to make him realise that it was in his interested to keep the shares, for whatever they were worth.

Arguments started to become a bit contentious as they argued about who was working and who wasn’t (there’s four of them). Mots didn’t really work, so he wasn’t berated too much, but SJ was picked on in particular as some days he didn’t turn up (“Arsenal are playing, I’m not coming in” being one example), or if he didn’t call to say whether he would be late and so on. Then pay came in to the argument, and they discussed who would be paid and how.

When the idea of killing pay for a day if the person didn’t turn up came around, SJ said he wouldn’t bother turning up then. When everyone has an equal share, it’s hard to get anything done unless people are on the same wave length. It’s sad, because I see huge potential in all this, however, the arguments, infighting, lack of discipline and respect demonstrates and immaturity in running a business. This was the original reason I didn’t join with the guys 18 months ago.

Now, however, I was told I would get a 20% cut from any projects I do, which isn’t a lot, but it’s there if I want it. That means either canvassing clients, or completing an actual project. It might be more than 20% but that though has entered my mind for whatever reason. The next eight weeks would be about me learning as much as I can, able enough to complete a website without assistance using PHP, mySQL and CSS. They gave me a shitload of video-based tutorials to read up on and well, I agreed to give it a go over the 8 weeks.

It gives me something to do I guess, but at the same time I warned them I would be looking for a real job. I didn’t add, “with respect” as I felt, there was no need for it in this room. We smoked, and they worked on this or that. I was too tired, and I hadn’t slept in such a long time that I sat on the couch and read a book while listening to my MP3 player. The heat had died down over the course of a few hours of ego bashing each other, and I was running to the fucking toilet everytime I had smoke as it was making me constipated. Constipation is, perhaps, not man’s best friend.

As we (Mots, my friend and I) walked to the bus stop, we discussed doing almost door-to-door like sales work in the local area. There are a tonne of shops and places that could do with a website, at least from our perspective, so it would be a cold visit if you will. They discussed that I should be getting a fair share of the clients brought in (if done through me) and that they’ll probably get the opportunistic rants from Koyas at the same time about them not getting the client instead (that way they get all the money for the business and themselves).

My friend hates it, the way it’s come out, as he wanted me more involved in a more valued role. Mots feels the same, SJ is….well SJ, he doesn’t care what happens. It’s sad, but funny at the same time. They’re all good people they all have to make a living, but they just don’t know how to be intelligent about doing things and they definitely don’t take it seriously nor put in 110% of effort. It’s disappointing to say the least.

Which all means, the beard has to go, and I’ll be wearing a suit for Monday. To quote, “Oi vey!”. I don’t mind. I’m sure it’ll be fun, I don’t know if I’m done smoking though. Which is perhaps the only bad thing. I’ll have to buy a lot of fruit and smoke those instead, though I feel I might find some difficulty with the oranges…so here’s a final look at the old grizzly.

In all honesty, I’m not sure I want to do this. I fucking hate sales. I said jokingly, “I won’t do sales, because if I do, clients will die and I will go fucking insane” In reality, this is probably true, and I wonder if my shirt will be soaked with blood by the end of the day. Even if they get one client out of 50 rejections it’s a success. If they get 0, then it’s a failure, but it’s their first time, and in a sense mine too.

We didn’t get home till about 11ish I think, and I made myself some stir fried rice. Which is what I find the most convenient snack food to make. There is potential in what they’re offering, and at the same time with what I’ve seen, it’s not something I should take too seriously, mostly down to the ineptness of communication; there is none. It’s sad, as they have a really good chance of making a lot money. Still, what do I care. It’s their business, their choice, I would make some smarter choices, however, and make it successful rather than manageable. See, I told you I had an ego.