Monday, May 14, 2012
Being fired from work whilst in prison is usually an achievement to be aspired to. Stuck in a lousy workshop and being paid a pittance is often a situation that gives birth to a struggle of will between the institution and the poor convict. Managing to manoeuvre to the stage of dismissal in those circumstances is usually a minor, if significant, victory.
But I have never, ever, been sacked from a "real" job. Until last week. Returning from home leave I found that my charity shop placement had given me the elbow. Not in person, but via the nick.
Pity. It was a nice placement, and the people were mostly quite chilled. The only problems for me were the claustrophobia - the whole place consisted of two rooms - and the backpain resulting from my being bent over a steamer for most of each day.
Hints of my possible demise came just before home leave, when I was told not to come in because there were two new deputy bosses covering that period. One refused to work with a Con, and the other refused to work with male volunteers. All a bit rum.
I now have a new placement in a much larger charity enterprise, being there five days a week. The only shock to the system is that this placement involves my having to get out of bed at 6 - yes, six! - AM every morning and getting back to the nick at 6pm.
Who was it said that hard work never killed anyone?