I received a degree in computing (with Distinction) and went to work as an analyst programmer for a major bank (actually the biggest in Australia and one that owns several American banks) . After about a year I left there to work for the Sydney Water Corp (they supply water and sewerage to 4 million people) because I could work what’s known as a nine day fortnight, meaning every second weekend was three days. If I can just digress for a second to clear something up about correct usage: sewerage is the physical infrastructure i.e. pipes and treatment plants, sewage on the other hand is the shit that flows through it. Are you enlightened?
Eventually ended up in the position of Network Manager, responsible for the installation and support of around 9,000 workstations. Managed the migration from centralised to distributed processing. For the non computer types, that’s getting them off mainframe terminals and onto LAN connected PCs. Unfortunately for me, I was identified as someone who could get things done, and as a result became one of the organisations trouble shooters, taking over the management of projects that had gone off the rails. Talk about stressful, one of them was $6m over budget and 12 months past its deadline when I took it over. Being a high profile fuckup, I had to make regular Senate reports (yes that’s senate as in government).
Also during this period I was the president of the Central Coast Baseball Association, which comprised around 3,000 members playing Senior and Junior baseball in both Summer and Winter competitions. Do you see where i’m heading with this?
Let’s recap, at this point I’m working 60-70 hours a week not counting the 3 hours a day commute, and in my spare time I was administering to all kinds of egos who just wanted the best for their club and fuck everyone else. Then there were the meetings (club, association and judiciary) which took up at least 4 nights a week. So is the adrenaline pumping enough? I don’t think so, let’s have your father die and see what happens. What happens, is I decide that I don’t need this crap so I quit my job and resign from the CCBA.
After a couple of months doing projects around the house, I was offered a job in Newcastle. Although I wasn’t even looking for work, I took it and let the pressure build again. Tight deadlines and an hour’s drive each way should do it, not enough? OK, let’s kill your mother too, and then see what happens. What happens is detailed in my brush with death.
On completing the contract in Newcastle, I decided I was just going to enjoy life in the sanctity of my own home. A good idea yes? You would think so, but within 2 months of me deciding on this course of action, 6 of the 8 houses in the cul-de-sac were sold. Every one of the new families had at least three and up to five children under 15 who thought that using my front yard for soccer would be fine with me, it wasn’t.
Don’t get me wrong, I like kids, particularly with a side of fries, a good crusty bread and a nice cold beer. But having them yelling and screaming for hours on end and running through my property without ever having any chance of a possible upside like their parents (I didn’t imagine the little darlings would be caring for me in my dotage), didn’t make for a peaceful and relaxing retirement.
Suddenly out of nowhere I had an epiphany, “Fuck this shit! I’m getting a place in the country!” And I did.
Ok so now you know. I hope you’re not too disappointed. No violent scene, no great argument with MDW, no threats of divorce or the like, just a desire for a peaceful life. But then if you’ve read my earlier posts you would have known that MDW and I have never had a serious argument, in fact we’ve only ever had three minor ones.
Filed under: Serials |