Moving Target,1991
by Zero
Hey boys and girls, well that was summer. - Standing-by for half anhour or more at a time, three-hour lunch breaks, spending more on foodand drink than you're actually earning. The summer slump was with us witha vengeance this year. You may have got a good tan (but watch out for skincancer, and while I'm on the subject, have you thought about a smog mask?)but the rent might have to wait.
All during the hot summer months I and my fellow controllers got a constantstream of riders complaining about the lack of work. Some don't exactlycomplain, they just flutter their eyelashes at me and say "I coulddo with a good day Zed, its been pretty shitty recently..." But listen,we can't control the level of work (hassle your firm's sales team). SureI could starve most of the riders for the sake of the few, but how longdo you think I'd survive? Several riders I have known will work their buttsoff during the lucrative and unglamourous winter months, then disappearduring the summer. I realise this isn't an option open to all of you, butyou should consider travelling, or some other part-time work. After allmost of you are young enough to be out exploring all the options. Whateveryou do, don't regard despatching as a career - it is not a proper job.This is my main objection to all the talk about unionisation that has beenpopular for the last two or three years. As soon as you legitimise cc's(who are probably the last acceptable bastion of the black economy), youbegin to sell the lie that this is a proper job.
Personally speaking, I don't even want a proper job and have never hadone (don't try and tell me controlling has anything to do with the realworld) - the protestant work ethic just doesn't appeal to me. If that'swhat you want then get out of despatching - if you don't want it eitherdon't hang around too long, or take frequent breaks from it (preferablyduring the summer!). If you despatch for fifty weeks a year for too longthen you fall into a no-win trap - a job which gives you neither securitynor freedom.
So get off my back and call me POB.
See y'awl, Zero.
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