It was at a quarter to four or so when the shift-leader came up to the postal code-corner I was working to ask whether I could come in earlier tonight and tomorrow-night. Due to the last 30-hour strike, they’re a bit behind (about a million pieces of mail behind.)

I had been hoping that he’d forgotten about me, since I really didn’t want to answer that. At that time I would have laughed in his face, had I been brought up that way, and not as tired.

Next week, there’s going to be a nation-wide strike, unless the talks this Friday go well.

It’s almost enough to make me want to seek a job with British Mail, except that I’d like to keep any friends I make over in England.


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