Expat in the Land of Marmite

Sundays, pub animals, and not complaining about work

MONDAY 11th FEBRUARY: Another week, and I promise I won't go on and on complaining about my job, even though that's what I spend much of my waking hours doing these days. I know how boring it can become, so I know how boring I must be at the moment -- except, perhaps, when I'm genuinely trying to gear myself up for positive change, possibly resulting in a stroke of genius or at the very least an amusing insight. I suppose, on the plus side, this is the worst, most physically exhausting, most unrewarding, and lowest paid job I have had since I started working in the UK. Before this job I was paid to work on a historical research project, to photograph antiques and sightseeing attractions, to write sightseeing blurbs, to design websites, to research the Internet, and even to deliver fliers door to door. So at this point there's only one way to go and that is the proverbial Up.

So I should get back to the original intention of this blog, eg. describing UK life from the viewpoint of an American. I think I'll start with a couple of points from my Life In The UK Pros and Cons list (not in any particular order):

Life In The UK Con No. 1: Sunday 4:00 Closing. Now, how ridiculous is it for supermarkets to close at 4:00pm every Sunday? Even the 24-hour supermarkets are closed from 4:00 to midnight on Sundays, negating their claimed 24-hour status. Why is it assumed that every single person in Britain will be settling down midday on Sunday for a big home-cooked roast meal, followed by an afternoon either in front of the tele or else down the pub with friends, with plenty of leftovers at home if one feels a bit peckish later? What about those of us who work for a living, often Monday to Friday, and the weekends are two days crammed with everything else we need to do in our lives, often leaving the general food shopping until Sunday afternoon -- at which point there's a rush to get to the supermarket by 4:00? And of course by that time the shelves are empty of Marmite and other necessities and the aisles are packed with herds of slow-moving family groups pushing trolleys the size of small cars, and if you've ever had a panic attack in your life this is the exact point in time when you may have your next one.

I mean, look at the facts. They opened pubs in the afternoons and there were no drunken riots in the streets. They extended pub hours at night and the cities and towns of Britain didn't crumble into anarchic wastelands of chaos. So how about a little more Sunday leeway, perhaps opening until 6:00pm for a start?

Life In The UK Pro No. 1: Animals in Pubs. Having grown up in a country where anything having to do with oral consumption is strictly regulated, it's so refreshing to walk into a British pub and sip your pint while scratching the ears of a dog or petting a cat. This just would not happen in America because of all the possible lawsuits just waiting to happen. I mean, what if the dog were to suddenly go out of it's normally placid character to bite a customer, even if said customer has just trod over the dog's genitalia? What if the cat were to take a sly sip of a customer's drink and the customer ends up with a bad case of feline distemper? Because of threats like these pets are prohibited from entering American bars and pubs, except of course for guide dogs who must be able to prove they're guide dogs by providing proper ID.

What a relief to see pets in the UK enjoying pub life with their owners. Sure, there are a few restrictions, like the fact that pets are barred from pub rooms during the times that meals are being served. And obviously a publican can choose to not allow pets, or at least certain pets, which is sad but probably sometimes justifiable. But if you walk into a friendly neighbourhood pub which doesn't serve food there's a good chance you'll meet a dog or occasionally a cat, or even a parrot. I once had the pleasure of drinking in a pub in the Kent countryside when a rabbit hopped through. I will admit I have yet to meet a gerbil, guinea pig, rat, or iguana, but I have met a snake in a pub. (Don't worry -- he didn't stay long. Snakes aren't really inclined to enjoy pubs.)

THURSDAY VALENTINE'S DAY: Today's lunch is Wensleydale, Wallace and Grommit's former favourite cheese, with spring onion, red pepper, and avocado on a Tesco's malted grain breadcake. They call Wensleydale a man's cheese, but I can't really see that at all. Is it because it's solidly dry and crumbly? Come on, I'm a grown woman -- I can happily handle solidly dry and crumbly. I find Wensleydale quite satisfying in a sandwich. As a nearly lifelong pescavegetarian I like to bite into a sandwich filled with some sort of protein-rich substance. That's why my favourite home-prepared sandwiches these days involve either Wensleydale or basil-marined extra firm tofu. Yum. I feel like I'm eating a hell of a lot more than salad.

A recent report stated that working in a library is one of the least stressful jobs one can have. I find that statistic rather misleading, as my current job -- my first one in a library -- has stressed me out more than any other job I've ever had, and that includes previous work experiences of working late hours getting a software release debugged on time and working in a busy chip shop full of crotchety impatient customers. I will admit most of my stress is caused not by my workmates or supervisors but by the Human Resources department. And there are the frequent injuries, such as when a copy of the massively oversized Textbook of Pain (by Wall & Melzack, edited by McMahon and Koltzenberg, 4th and 5th editions, Dewey No. 616.0472 WA) leaps from its shelf and lands directly on my toes.

But an average workday in a seemginly peaceful library can be full of surprises. Earlier today a security guard accidentally chopped his finger off. Now, I would certainly call that "stressful", wouldn't you?

16.2.08 12:53, Comment