My First Day At Work

The past is a foreign country

August 1976. It was one of the hottest summers in a decade. There was a hosepipe ban across the parched land. I was a month away from my nineteenth birthday and about to start my first day at work, doing a job that would define my entire working life. I was away from my home town and felt as lonely as hell.

The summer before I had hitched-hiked across Europe from Ostend to Athens. Then thumbed across mainland Greece before island hopping over the Aegean Sea. Back home I was unemployed for awhile, using my time as a volunteer at the local hospital before getting paid work in a dogs kennel for a few months. It was endless shit cleaning. And by the time I finished cleaning all the kennels it was time to start all over again. The dog walking was more pleasant. No contest.

Although even that had its problems. One was a dog called Watney who walked in this prissy way and I always ended up accidentally treading on his paws. And each time he gave me a revenge bite, usually somewhere on the hand. It wasn’t too serious but it was painful and broke the skin. Then we’d be friends again. But only after he got his own back. Just saying ‘sorry’ didn’t quite cut it for Watney. It just wasn’t good enough. Sometimes he’d bide his time before payback, waiting for his moment. It always came. Teeth down, and chomp! And only then…