It was relatively quiet at that... place. The new 'manager' had rocked up with eyes like piss-holes in the snow, floating around in a haze, scarcely in the room. Naturally, the two hoodlums noticed immediately (for they both partake). I thought, "Well, that's what happens when you ridicule the 43 year old master of the arts and promote a seventeen year old instead." I cannot say that this is an isolated instance: the manager that interviewed me (the one that turned up in her pyjamas after a long night on the hash pipe) also promoted a young seventeen year old boy instead of me. This is Dark Age Britain, this is the way things work in Dark Age Britain. Education? Experience? Moral values? These things mean nothing here. This is not Renaissance Italy, evidently. It's Dark Age Britain (and will always be remembered as such).
The younger thug still bullies everybody, and has recently been bolder at bullying me. There is only so much one can take. My lower nature wants to knock him the fuck out when he punches me, yet this is tempered by my reading, my higher side. I am reading law (and not just law, but criminal law).
I am still wading through Simester and Sullivan's Criminal Law: Theory and Doctrine. I noticed the older thug glance at the title of the book and appeared dismissive (he ridicules education, and seem to delight in the fact that the young seventeen year old was promoted to manager). It is a good little read, as a matter of fact. Okay, it is not as appealing to me as reading Cicero or Demosthenes, but classical studies have no place in Dark Age Britain. This is not Renaissance Italy, evidently.
I should very much look forward to finding a better job than unskilled labour for minimum wage, with regard to my skills, experience and educational level. Not here of course: this is a nation of beggars, paupers and slaves.
Max.
No comments:
Post a Comment