This evening at that... place, wasn't too bad I suppose. For the most part the team of thugs and adolescents worked efficiently, like clockwork. Thus is it not an accurate picture to continuously damn or write a diatribe of what this place is like. However, there was one moment (and remember that the younger thug does not handle stress well), when it was not particularly busy, when we were cleaning the food making area, and we were ordered to stop doing that and make orders instead. The younger thug barked orders at us. (It is standard practice to ignore the incoming orders until everything is completely clean, at this point in the shift). Then, shortly after we had cleared the orders, the younger thug again lost his shit and began yelling, "What the fuck?! It's taken you fifteen minutes to clean the place?!" We were all working as quickly and as efficiently as possible. We were not idle. We would have had it clean much sooner had he not barked at us to make the incoming orders instead. This, to my mind, is unreasonable. I 'sucked it up' and said nothing, but inside I was seething. However, at such times I recall the wisdom of Plutarch and Seneca, how to deal with anger, and instead be philosophical about it. Remember one's place. I am a slave. He is a brute, and in charge. It is not my place to say anything or take issue with it. I am the lowest basest slave that ever there was (never mind the fact that I am much more well educated, brighter, and more well read than anyone else there, and indeed older and wiser - none of this matters in Dark Age Britain: here we are ruled by ignorant, unphilosophical, and indeed foreign thugs).This is how it may have gone down:
Max: I fear it may have been unreasonable to ask us to stop cleaning and then blame us for not having cleaned it quickly.
Thug: You do what I say. I say clean, you clean.
Max: But you told us to stop cleaning, then blamed us for not having cleaned. This is unreasonable.
Thug: I boss. You just worker. You do what I say.
Max: Please, I am just asking that you acknowledge the fact that this does not follow.
Thug: What you mean?
Max: non sequitur.
Thug: What that mean?
Max: It does not follow.
Thug: You-
Max [interjects and now shouts extremely loudly]: SHUT UP! LISTEN YOU IDIOT! I'm leaving now, because what you ask is beyond all reason. You are not a reasonable human being. Good day, sir.
I used to be a sergeant major in the ACF (that's Warrant Officer Class II - CSM). I remember once working as a butler for an extremely irrational and impatient nobleman, with quite a temper on him, who used to yell and shout at me rather a lot. One day, I went into "sergeant major" mode, and addressed him as though he were A Company, on the drill square. As a result, he backed down, but I lost the use of my voice for over a week, because I strained my vocal chords so much. Since then, I have thought twice before giving anyone 'the whole nine yards' so to speak.
I do not like being put in situations where I cannot do anything, where I am powerless, where I am told to do one thing then dressed down for simply having done my job to the very best of my ability.
This was a quiet Monday night. Imagine, if you will, how much more stressful it can be on a busy Friday or Saturday night. The simple fact that I do not earn any more money than I would receive on the dole, yet I work six days a week, means I have no actual incentive to work, at all, except for some stupid idiotic set of principles and morals I was raised with. There is no incentive to work in Dark Age Britain. Moreover, there is certainly no incentive to become well educated. It is a nation of beggars, of paupers, of slaves.
Take, for example, a chap I know. He's actually a lovely bloke, has had an illustrious career, has good morals, a good sense of judgement, and is a caring, kind hearted man. He was with a woman whose son was a layabout. Yet he pulled some strings, got him into university, and he fell at the first hurdle: quit in the first month. Then, the boy said he would like to be a truck driver. This man offered to buy him a rig, to set up his own little truck driving business, and do well. He failed at that too. He has no energy, no application, no grit, no backbone and no bottom. Now, this young lad works at precisely the same place I do, but earns more than I do. He has no education. He has no real work ethic. Yet he is superior to me, in this society's pecking order. Why? Because Dark Age Britain is a nation of beggars, paupers and slaves, a place run by thugs and clowns for the benefit of other thugs and clowns. Be warned. If the British academic establishment offer you a job, take that with a very large pinch of salt. Their word, has precisely the same value as Vladimir's, and a man is only as good as his word.
Max.
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