Wrong Career
I was young and worked in a garage. I was in the wrong job, aged 17. Why did I end up there? Was it fate punishing me for not joining the RAF? Other people thought I’d be good at fixing cars. I wasn’t; I was barely ok. Think of quiet me in a real man’s world. It was a daunting thought and there I was.
It was ok at first but soon went wrong. Trying to take a Volvo’s bumper off. Two hours later, still on the car. I ended up sweeping the floors, doing the brews and getting the butties. The duties of any green YTS employee or apprentice. Cheap labour. I hated working in garages thru those formative years when I was off the rails.
What else could I do? What can you do when you’re 17? It’s a big question, what to do with your working life, not to mention the rest of your life. I stuck it out. Got depressed, was bullied, raced cars on the streets, had crashes. Was a real fuck up. Worked in three different garages and hated them all. Other bad shit happened, I fought off suicidal urges. Darkness engulfed me.
Music saved me. Took my mind off the bullies in a garage that no longer exists. I became a goth and embraced who I was, bad parts and all, in those distant dark troubled days of mine. Now I look back, it wasn’t all doom and gloom. It made me a man who is worldly wise. I’d say to my younger self, Nick don’t go fixing cars. Pick up a pen and write. Like I do now. My lifeline thru my years.
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