I Was The World’s Greatest Workaholic: Now, Getting Good Siestas Is All That Matters
Employment society is soul-destroying
I used to be one of those guys whose self-esteem was inextricably linked to being employed. Nothing gave me greater trepidation than being out of a job. Work was my life, and work was all I knew.
As soon as it was legally permissible to enter employment society, I was in it working at a local bakery in Edgware, North London, during the day, while flipping burgers at night at the McDonald’s restaurant in Neasden, not too far from the Wembley stadium.
In the 90s, I would work 16–17 hours a day while combining my full-time education; needless to say, my grades weren’t the best.
I had the spirit of capitalism and the protestant ethic down to my very fingertips. My philosophy was a man who doesn’t work, should never eat, and nothing frightened the life out of me more than being unemployed.
This practice of working and studying full time was something I had embraced wholeheartedly; By the time I was at Middlesex University in Hendon, an area very close to home, I was store manager at Kingsbury McDonald’s. The 183 bus from Golders Green took me from uni straight to the front of my old workplace in Kingsbury.
