Forty-Hour Nic

by Nic Olson

‘I’ve got a plan, that involves quitting my job and leaving town. I’ve got some plans now.’ -the emerson letters
That’s my plan. I’ve been working nearly five months now. Five months of eight hour days and, forty hour weeks. Just like the rest of the world. And I hate it. The third best part of my day is coffee break, the second best part is lunch time, and the best part is home time. I’m just really hoping that someday work won’t be this way. I’ll be doing something better than cleaning up after those who are building a parkade owned by the Queen. 
Working lots of different awful jobs really gets you thinking as to what you really want to be doing. I’m sure that the septic tank man daily think, ‘why am I doing this? am I making a difference? is a crap free world really worth it?’ No, it isn’t worth it. 
At the worksite I’m at, the washroom facility gets cleaned out so rarely, that it literally piles up so bad that you can’t sit down on the toilet… I guess the septic tank man is making a difference on those days…
I’m also sick of people. You could definitely put on my resume that I’m a bonafide non-people person. I work best alone. I never say anything, I always work until my back is sore, and still no one likes me. Good thing I don’t care. How is that for a great attitude. I am allowed to have a bad attitude now, I don’t live at home. I am also allowed to walk around in my lucky reds, poo with the door open, swear aloud, and eat doritos for supper.
If I died today, I’d be a bit upset. I’ve wasted the past five months working. I always live looking forward to something. A roadtrip weekend. A soccer game. A rock and roll concert. Right now all I’m looking forward to is leaving the country and maybe not coming back. And that is much too far away. I need something  sooner. Or I will die in vain.