Whilst you are at university you will have money, you will then spend said money and whilst still at university you will suddenly find yourself poor. It is at this point that you may wish to seek part-time employment, an endeavour for many students who require much needed cash, maybe something to top up their bank balance and fund social events and happenings.
I have had a variety of part-time jobs as an undergraduate and one or two have been great fun. However, most have been a harrowing experience that have left me awake at three in the morning, sat on the edge of my bed rocking back and forth whilst crying tears into the lap of which my SpongeBob SquarePants pyjamas grace. I will begin to describe them in detail and possibly forfeit any prospect of receiving a future reference should those who employed me read this.
As a student I had the great pleasure of working for Pontins Holiday Parks attempting to sell what may not be able to be legally described as 'a holiday', I also worked for a vending machine company, once attempting to lift Barney the Purple Dinosaur and Lofty from Bob the Builder into the back of transit van outside a bowling alley in Crewe at one in the morning. Additionally, I have also extended my hand to working as a Christmas Grotto Elf and spent one day in a popular American-themed diner where everything was frozen, including the manager's frown and thankfully not my salary. However, the worst job of all has got to be the summer I spent working in a school uniform shop in the place where dreams may well go to die, Rotherham. Rotherham, if you have never been is a cross between being in a Jeremy Kyle storyline meeting and watching Planet of The Apes in 3D, people making all manner of noises and dragging their knuckles across the floor.
A summer break always sounds glamorous, the idyllic paradise-esque summer break that only ever exists in one's naïve little mind. Some people do chase quite the glamorous summer break, a girl on my degree travelled to America to work with underprivileged children, others went on girls only holidays to such hormone fuelled destinations as Kavos, Ayia Napa, Ibiza and so forth. You know, the kind of places where one sexually transmitted infection could wipe out half of the population.
I however had earned myself employment at a school uniform shop, a shop that was seeking temporary staff in order to cope with the big rush the back to school period entailed, although this rush never occurred. The only rush I ever encountered during my time here was the rush of the staff fighting over who got to have their lunch first, garner thirty minutes of escapism, sat on a cardboard box in the stockroom with an awaiting marmite sandwich and packet of quavers.
The job was quite easy really but my fellow colleagues were anything but fun to be around and I whole-heartedly blame them for me hating my time here. One girl was adamant that this was not what she wanted to do, she said she had always wanted to work with animals and to be fair to her, she got pretty close having a job in Rotherham. Another girl started on the same day as me yet acted as though she was the proprietor of the joint, she looked like Mr Potato Head from Toy Story had temporarily put his angry face in and forgotten about it. The manager was another story altogether, she was about seventy years old and possibly the cruelest person I have ever met. She was covered head to toe in jewelry; I came to the conclusion that her long-suffering husband liked her so much he put a ring on it, or rather four rings on every finger, she was like a metal detectors wet dream.
After two months of enduring this job, I had served my sentence and my time as a sales assistant in a school uniform shop came to an end. I had good times, I had not so good times but I did learn one thing, which is that there is a reason The Chuckle Brothers are the most famous thing to come from Rotherham.