it’s one of those quintessential london mornings, the city is bogged down with grey clouds and there is a biting chill in the air. its during these types of days that i want to curl up inside myself and never leave.
but, i have work and i can’t call in for yet another mental health day. my boss is thisclose to firing me and i really really really need the money.
rather, i don’t need the money, but it certainly is nice to have a paycheck every two weeks. consistently. instead of my previous methods of earning money.
i won’t go into the details, but lets just say they were far from regular, read: legal, payment methods.
i’m not sure how much more i should reveal about my previous work experience only that it involved a rather old man who liked having weekly tea at the savoy to talk about his dead cat harold.
harold was quite an interesting cat, i only had the pleasure of meeting him once and he was extremely friendly for a cat. even sat in my lap and purred. harold senior, the human not the cat, was less personable but his conversations didn’t entirely dull me so i kept at it for several months. every week i’d get a check ranging from $800-$2600. ocasionally we’d go to trips to the french riviera and smoke cigars on his sailboat.
harold senior, the human not the cat, tragically died last fall. heart attack. as a matter of fact, it was during his funeral that i applied for the job i am going to be late to this morning.