Job satisfaction

My university career may have been a disaster, but my work goes from strength to strength. Yesterday was the climax. Talk about job satisfaction!

First I met the new lady, Emma. Well, when I say 'new', she has actually worked in the pub for years, but had a break travelling and getting married, so she was just brushing up on her skills. We were both down the 'bottom' end of the kitchen ie washing up and making sandwiches, ploughmans and tapas when orders come in.

We hit it off, but discovered that both of us are passionate about washing up and peeling potatoes, as we can do these whilst contemplating life, the universe and everything. Basically, neither of us want any responsibility or any duty that has the potential to be stressful. So, things like making puddings we try to avoid.

There was potential for conflict as we hovered over the sink, waiting for the dirty dishes to arrive on the shelf, where we would grab them, rinse them, put them in the big industrial dishwasher, dry them and put them away. I know it might not be everyone's cup of tea, but we love it. However, being exceptionally mature adults, we did not fall out over who would do the washing up. We 'shared' it. (Emma also loves sweeping and mopping, which is good, because they make my back ache).

I think there was a tiny bit of jealousy on her part when I suddenly remembered that the dish towels, aprons and teeny little bar towel things needed to be dried after washing. Normally that just means chucking them in the dryer, which is not very interesting, but, because it was actually sunny, I could hang them on the line. Another of the things I love the most.

I spent quite a long time on this activity, marvelling at the neatness and precision with which I hung them, slightly worried about my analness (or is it anality?) but not enough to stop me. The wind was flapping them about in a way which could give a fanatical laundress an orgasm. I'm not quite that bad.

Lunch time arrived and no orders came, so our neat little row of tapas selection, sliced cheese and meats was left untouched. There was no washing up either. So, I asked the chef for a job. He pointed me in the direction of a rusty metal shelf, piled randomly with anything from Walnut Oil to herbs and spices and bags of suspect things from China. My task was to tear off the already ripped tin foil from each shelf and wipe them down, having first emptied them. Okay, not that inspiring, but I had asked. But what sent my heart fluttering was the next bit! Those three joyous words which every watcher of Blue Peter will know - Sticky backed plastic! I was to cover these shelves in it; all five of them! Now, that is worth an orgasm.

I set to work with the kind of enthusiasm every employer dreams his employee will exhibit. Emma was happy because she was getting orders, and washing up was beginning to appear.

Balancing on a wobbly stool, I set to work and did not stop until I had finished. My 'learning objective' (once a teacher, always a teacher) was to have improved so much in my sticking down tactics that by the end there would be positively no bumps at all (I set this after finishing the top shelf, which was slightly buckled in various places, but not bad for a novice).

About half way down I decided that I needed to have bits going up the back and along the sides of the shelf, to prevent leakages. I was a bit disappointed that I hadn't thought of this at the beginning, but tried not to beat myself up about it too much. This was more complicated than you might think. I was sweating and swearing as I wrestled with the sticky backed plastic - 'Bloody stuff, how the hell are you supposed to get it laid down evenly?' Such thoughts ran through my head. I was no longer quite so in love with it. I was worried that if you kept pressing it down and pulling it up, it would lose its stickiness. It did, a bit.

It took a lot more time than I had anticipated, but having put everything back on the shelves; wiped clean, labelled and 'classified', I stood back, admiring my handiwork. Then I dragged everyone who works in the pub in to admire it as well. There were many 'ooh's' and 'ahs' and I felt suitably praised and ashamedly proud of myself, like a child who has just finished a rather sloppy painting, but not wishing to damage its fragile self esteem, everyone emphatically praises it.

So, my recommendation if you require job satisfaction is: Sticky backed plastic.