The Diary of an Aspiring Hitman - Chapter 2

Day 8 – 16/10/2014 – Money

Received my last payment two days ago. Think I'm going to have to cut back a bit. Still no news on the job front. I'd probably even take that factory job if it was still on offer. I've been filling my time by playing more Grand Theft Auto. I've completed all the missions now so I've decided to make money by stealing taxis and earning an honest wage. This gave me an idea for a real job but it turns out you have to take a test and know practically every street in London to be a real life taxi driver. You also need to buy a taxi. I can't afford a taxi.

The only time I've ever been this poor was back during my time as a student. I'd accidentally spent more of my loan on pizza than I had imagined. This—combined with failing all my exams—resulted in my dropping out half-way through my second year. But I battled on stoically for over a month only eating what I could find discarded in my flatmates' cupboards. I became somewhat of a gastronomic kleptomaniac after a while and extended my pilfering to the fridge and oven. I came up with plenty of money saving ideas back then, many of which are serving me well today. They weren't all very successful though. Once, I forgot to budget in the train fare to get from Southampton to London for my mother's birthday, so I had to find alternative transport. One of my flatmates had left their bike in the corridor so I decided to borrow it for the weekend and ride up to my parent's house in Fulham. It turns out that London is much, much further than it seems on the train. I got chased out of Cheriton by dogs (like the Cavaliers did during the Civil War—I bet you won't be able to find a taxi driver who can engage in 17th Century right-leaning political satire, I bet lots of them wouldn't even know what year the Battle of Cheriton was), one of which bit me and ran off with my map. This led to me getting lost around eight miles south of Guildford. Forgetting in which direction the sun rises, I accidentally rode further south to a nice pub in Grayshott where I had a little cry; fortunately it started raining so I could sit outside and mask my tears from the waitress. I was too drunk to ride so abandoned the bike and walked to Haslemere where I caught a train which was exactly the same price as the one from Southampton, making the whole endeavour futile.

Feelings – A bit down. Mainly due to my financial situation, but also guilty about Jon's bike.

T.P.M. – (I've changed the acronym as Gerald off the forum says the first one made him 'LOL'. He explained why and I felt quite embarrassed.) By extension of my bread theft, is it wrong to steal a taxi to feed oneself?

G.P.I – They should stop making you take a test to become a taxi driver. I'm much smarter than all the taxi drivers I've ever met—apart from that one who was a film producer who was doing it to 'meet people'—and the only reason they have a job and I don't is because they have good memories and loads of money in the first
place. Everyone has a sat-nav these days so its completely pointless.

Good money-making idea – Bicycle sat-nav

Day 9 – 18/10/2014 – Caught

I got caught walking out of Waitrose with two swordfish steaks stuffed down the back of my trousers today. I feel like this is a new low. I'm going to have a criminal record now which is going to make it even harder to get a job. To be fair, reading my diary back, it was about time somebody stopped me. I didn't think of taking Jon's bike and leaving it in Grayshott as theft at the time; but in retrospect it seems just as bad if not worse than stealing premium priced, unethically sourced food products and storing them in the freezer, just in case I run into Jess and she agrees to come round for dinner one night. 

I'm not doing my T.P.M.s or G.P.I.s anymore. They are silly ideas.

Day 10 – 20/10/2014 – Cancer Scare

Had a scare today. I woke up with a shooting pain at the back of my head and was sure I had a cancer of the brain. I took half a pack of paracetamol in an attempt to cure it (the ache, not the cancer. I'm not an idiot) but this only made it worse, which only seemed to confirm my diagnosis. I've been told before that I demonstrate many of the characteristics of a hypochondriac, and I should probably admit right now that I 'get cancer' at least once a financial quarter. But this time it was really bad, so I went down to the walk in centre to see if I could get a headstart on my treatment. They always say that your chances of surviving cancer are better the earlier you catch it so imagine my chances if I could start chemo on the very first day of my cancer.

Fortunately, there was no need to rush me into treatment, as it turned out to be a mere case of sinusitis, brought about by my dusty living conditions. I'm really going to have to have a chat with the landlord about whether there is some kind of cleaning service on offer in the building. The doctor
told me I'd just have to sit it out and that it should be better in a week or so. However, being the proactive chap that I am I decided to look up some home remedies to help my recovery along, and came across some information on nasal douching.

The website said that I could flush all the dust out of my nasal passages using a weak, homemade saline solution of about 0.5%, poured from a teapot directly into the afflicted nostril. I decided to have a go, but unfortunately got the maths a bit wrong and made up a solution with far more salt than had been recommended. I see myself as more of an artistic person than as a scientific, mathematically capable person, and they really should write the formula out more clearly for creatives such as myself.

Anyway, if you ever want to know where all the cavities in your cranium are to be found, pouring salt-water into them is a surefire way of having them announce themselves. They are everywhere. I've polished off that pack of paracetamol and it's done nothing to stop the additional pain. Think I'm going to get an early night.

Feelings: Wishing I'd paid better attention in Math class, my eyeballs have
turned yellow and I keep on falling over.

T.P.M: Is there a God? I often like to battle with big questions like this.
But even more so when I'm ill. The answer is yes, there is a God. How
else would we have got here?

G.P.I: An express queue at the walk-in centre. I had to wait for over three
hours to see a doctor today. Every second counts with cancer, and as
soon as I'd written it on the form they should surely have hurried me
ahead of the time-wasters.

Day 11 – 26/10/2014 - Overdose

Sorry it has taken me so long to post this. I've been in hospital! Did you know that paracetamol is, in fact, really really dangerous and should not be taken above the recommended dose? You would think it would be a case of 'the more the better' when it comes to medicine, what with it being designed to make you feel better. But no. People have died taking paracetamol. And I was very nearly one of them! 

Shortly after I'd posted the other day, I noticed that my fingers had started to go yellow around the edges; just like my eyes had done. I didn't think much of it as I used to be a bit of a smoker and used to have yellow fingers all the time back then. All of a sudden the urge to vomit came upon
me, so I rushed down the hallway... and that's all I remember. Apparently I had slipped into unconsciousness during my travels and was left in a heap on the hallway rug, some five yards from my intended destination. It was at this point that I met my next door neighbour for the first time (although obviously it was a fairly one-sided introduction). She had been roused by the noise I made to venture out of her room to see what had happened. She later told the paramedic that she had assumed that I knew what I was doing so allowed me to sleep on in that position so long as I didn't disturb her further, and kindly made a mental note to check on me in an hour or two's time, to see how I was getting on. 

Well, an hour or two had passed, and out she came again. By this time I was mostly yellow, and my new acquaintance made the wise decision to call an ambulance for me. I woke up the next morning on the ward at University College Hospital on a drip having my liver flushed out with the paracetamol antidote. It took three days, which was fine by me as my electricity is on a meter and I was only saving money. My parents sent me a card telling me to 'Get Well Soon!' which lifted my spirits somewhat. On the whole, I feel like I've come out of the whole situation pretty well. I am glad to be alive and have been assured by the medical staff that I have suffered only the most moderate loss of liver and kidney function. I hope I get to meet my neighbour again soon to find out her name and thank her.

Day 12 – 30/10/2014 – Resolve

It has taken me a few days to settle back into my rhythm since my discharge from the hospital. I really haven't felt up to much and have just been resting up, getting ready to launch my assault on the job market with renewed vigour. My state of unemployment really has been playing on my mind. This is most likely due to the fact that I am down to the last fifty-two pence of my overdraft, but perhaps also due to my receipt of a letter from the Department of Work and Pensions this morning inquiring as to why I was not at the Job Centre this past Thursday for my mandatory CV workshop. In all the excitement of my hospital visit, the appointment had entirely slipped my mind. Not that I think I would have been helped in any way by such an endeavour; I am an already highly competent CV draughtsman, and I am sure my unemployment is more down to the dearth of suitable opportunities, rather than the fact that I may not always spell every single little word correctly.

My absence does seem to have caused some issues regarding the recommencement of my job-seeker's allowance, however. The letter indicates that it is going to be a minimum of six weeks before I will be paid again, and even then it will be dependant on my ability to provide a good excuse for missing the workshop and the commencement of a voluntary unpaid work placement. I have to go back into the Job Centre next week to discuss suitable career pathways and decide where I'll be working. Hopefully I'll get to meet with Jess again, it seems like a very long time since we have seen each other, and its remarkable how quickly a friendship can deteriorate when you do not dedicate enough time to its maintenance. I feel that we have developed a good enough rapport to pick up where we left off though, and I'm sure she'll be glad to lend a sympathetic ear over my recent hospitalization. 

I'm looking forward to seeing what realms of opportunity this meeting is going to open up for me. I think that I am perhaps slightly more qualified for the world of work than a lot of the other people who have reached this point in their dealings with the DWP, so I'm sure Jess will enjoy the challenge of finding a suitable placement for a client of my calibre. If she is struggling, I have managed to think up a few suggestions of my own. I'm really enjoying all this writing, so perhaps a few months at the local paper, or one of those holiday magazines where they send you off skiing for a week in exchange for a few hundred words on the evening's entertainment. I've always wanted to learn how to ski.

Feelings – Excited to get working, even if it is only to secure my JSA.

T.P.M – Is it ethical to stop somebody's benefits? I am going to have to eat at some point this week, one way or the other. The sad fact of the matter is that this poor financial situation I have so callously been cast into is only going to get passed onto one of the already struggling independent supermarkets on the Holloway Road. They will never be able to afford to compete with the security
measures Waitrose have in place.

G.P.I – Nationalize shop security. Rather than making businesses employ security guards, employ teams of people nationwide to patrol the streets and catch criminals.