Breathing Lessons

I thought it would be over by now, but the lunacy of Christmas has infiltrated everything. This year's festivities have been an intense trawl through highs, lows and weirdness. First it was the fancy dress; random members of the duty free staff strutting around in that strange confidence that fancy dress seems to bring. They were dancing and shouting at each other with a kind of sick desperation. The strange thing was that it was only a select few of these people, the rest of the staff had on their usual work clothes and had that uncomfortable aura of looking uncomfortable while trying to seem fun. Needless to say, there was a middle aged dumpy woman dressed as a "sexy" school girl...
Christmas Day itself lasted about an hour, as far as I can tell. I was back at the airport soon after, working a string of early shifts, and surrounded by staff who were desperately trying to keep ahold of a festive atmosphere. Which is great, but my colleagues seem to be unaware of Charles Dickens's message.
But lest I forget: at this time of year we are but children. Mere pups, our eyes gummed together, desperately searching for the teat. How great it is to have guidance, a huge juicy hand picking us up and putting us in front of the breast that has 30% more milk. I mention this because before Christmas our leader succumbed to illness and has been off work (I wish her all the best, of course. A terrible time to be sick).
Good God, I hear you say, How can we maintain!
Well, it's all clicking along nicely. And we have found that mythical teat. We are supping from it in the most glorious of ways. There is more than enough milk to go round, and we are satisfied. Next we are going to be told how to wipe our assholes, and how to piss standing up!
Huzzah! Bring on the new year. We are one step closer to maturity. Thank GOD!

I shall end with two quotes which illuminate this post with more grace and precision than I ever could:

"Nowadays ambition and the love of a job well done are the indelible mark of defeat and of the most mindless submission" - Raoul Vaneigem

"One of the symptoms of the approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one's work is terribly important & that to take a holiday would bring all kinds of disaster" - Bertrand Russell

The Pusher

Sweat greased my hands as I approached the security desk. I was red and looking suspicious, knowing my cargo could lead to a disastrous series of questions, friskings and maybe confiscation. I placed my bag on the conveyor belt and held my breath as it disappeared into the darkness of the x-ray machine. I stepped through the metal detector and awaited my bags. The security guards chatted about various trivial things as my bags went unchecked. I was through! All I had to do now was make the drop. I scurried off, vaguely worried that the security guards didn't notice anything out of the ordinary.
Stockton's eyes lit up as he peered into the bag. He whooped and sniffed the aroma of the contents.
"Any trouble getting it through?" he asked.
"No, piece of cake," I said and he flashed a grin at me.
"Excellent," he muttered, his attention taken by the delights within the bag.
Premium French Pink garlic is a rarity in this country. I picked it up from an old lady at the Christmas market. Stockton is hooked, he has a bulb a day habit and he's nowhere near cutting down. The half-kilo I got him may just about last until Christmas. He has a delightful aroma, not in the least nit unpleasant...