Written By George D. Verlander
Last night my girlfriend and myself made our way into London for her sister's 22nd birthday. Upon arrival we were greeted by her friends, all of whom were current or recently graduated university students, who are now either furthering their studies with PhD's/MA's, or making a living in the working world.
Thirty seconds round the corner from Southwark station situates a variety of various hidden gems in the form of lavish restaurants, a multiple complex of contiguous cultures side by side. If you're ever in the area, make sure to check out 'EV' (which means 'home' in the native tongue) a swanky, and hospitable Turkish cuisine. And not one that would break the bank either! For £19.95 waiters supplied our party with a range of starters, no I'm not going to try and pronounce them, and after we had finished a main course of our choosing.
Sipping Rose wine whilst savoring each morsel of marinated lamb I couldn't help think about my working-class heritage from Limehouse. Had I gone up in the world? Exquisite food, delicate ambiance and intriguing conversation between intellectual minds. Well, I listened mostly. However it was at the moment whilst talking to an excellent young journalist I began to have another thought. "She is living a life that she is passionate about, one she loves." This lady had gone out in the world, worked hard for her degree and was now working for a well-established newspaper, as well as having a popular and fascinating blog. I was already hungry waiting for the food to come. Now I was hungry for success.
It was refreshing to meet someone who was living out their dream, especially when we live in a world where dreams are sadly left by the wayside and forgotten as we grow older.
I experienced this first-hand in my previous career as a supermarket checkout cashier. On my very first day I engaged with the old lady on the till next to my own in a desperate attempt to make a friend.
"So how long have you been working here?" I began nervously
"Oh, only thirty-nine years my dear" she answered back sweetly.
That scared me from the onset and stayed with me until I was no longer able to deal with job. So I left.
It has been five months since I have had a job. Would I go back to working at a supermarket? No. Before working in that sector I admit whole-heartedly that I would often take up a pretentious attitude towards people who worked in these roles. I don't believe I felt I was better than them as a person, but rather better than the job itself. A sense of shame has replaced that feeling as I have matured and emphasized with these workers, combined with pity, not for supermarkets themselves. For the people who have no choice but to work in them.
Who as a child grows up dreaming "One day, I'm going to make it. One day I will be a supermarket till operator." No one does. Unless you're utterly fascinated by the whole system and love to handle plastic bags for inconsiderate and rude strangers. You do get some odd individuals in Pitsea. As I said though, not many people do wake up in the morning and look forward to that kind of job. Would you wish upon your future children to work in places such as these? I know I wouldn't. I hope you don't take this article the wrong way. I don't mean to present myself as a stuck-up teenager with some personal vendetta against supermarket corporations, nor do I mean to insult any person who has, or is currently working in these particular locations. That is not the focal point of this post.
It just breaks my heart that the world turns this way. You're born, you go to primary school, you go to secondary school, if you work hard you get good GCSE's, you go to college, if you're blessed with intelligence you get good A-levels, you go to university, if you work hard and are blessed with intelligence you get a good degree, you go to work, you buy a house, you take out a mortgage, you pay bills, if you're lucky you have kids and you spend the rest of your working life paying for these luxuries and expenses. At the age of sixty-five, if you have paid enough money into your pension plan, you can retire for a fews years and wait for the end doing what you wish. No one questions this. We all just do it.
Are you the crazy one? Or am I? To me society itself seems so wrong, so fragmented and twisted. No, I am not going back to work in a supermarket. No, this isn't a case of 'snobbery' anymore.
This is a case of defiance! Defiance against sociological oppression, an invisible disease which slowly latches onto us and prevents us from speaking out, from acting out. It leaves the body. It takes the mind.
What do I know though in reality? Not a lot. Whilst writing this article I happened to have a conversation with my mum about the whole thing. Is it better to not have a job, to be looking for that diamond in the rough, the thing you've always wanted. Or should we all be doing something that doesn't fulfill us deep down, but provides us with a sense of security, and an ability to enjoy the little things in life, expensive they may not be, but personal and rewarding? I do not know the answer. All I know is that there are people in this world breathing success, and consider it not be hard labor. How nice would it be if we could all have that?
We have precious little time granted to us in this world. We might as well do what we love before we don't get the chance again. So when someone tells you "we can't all be astronauts" simply try and defy the odds and demand,
"Why not?"
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