When I was sixteen, I got a job in a chemical factory. Which came as a bit of a shock to me, because in school, I hated chemistry. The periodic table made as much sense to me as hieroglyphics. As the job paid well, I thought I would try to blag my way through the interview, which indeed I did.
Fortunately, I had been for another interview to work in an electrical company a week prior which I had fucked up so bad that when at the end I was asked if I had any questions about the company, I just said,“Nah, not really”, as I knew it would make no difference to their decision. So that had taught me to be a little bit more prepared and at least feign interest in the corporation.
The main point I had to get across was how I could travel seventeen miles to Grangemouth every day because I was living in South Queensferry, there were no buses that would get me there on time, and I wasn’t old enough to drive yet. I told them I had already talked with three guys who worked there and who also lived in Queensferry, and they’d agreed in principle to give me a lift for the foreseeable future.
As soon as I turned seventeen in a couple of months, I would start driving lessons. They were quite impressed by that and with my acting abilities I acquired by taking Drama in school, I got the job. Thank God, they didn’t ask me how many bonds are in a carbon ring.
One day none of my guys could give me a lift, so I had to climb on an old bike and hit the road at five in the morning for an eight o’clock start. After about ten minutes most of my torso clothing had been tied around my waist, and by the time I got to the factory I wasn’t fit enough to lift a pencil, far less a valve key.
The bike went in the boot of a public bus for the return journey.
Cheers!
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