Er... I'm a monkey. And in Hell (for 'Hell' read 'work').
The hours are long (Zoo opening hours are ridiculous, honestly, and who wants to work on a bank holiday?), I have to jump through endless hoops (not just the rubber tyre variety), and am forced to face the Great British public (why they shout such things at me and pull those faces, I'll never know. I honestly don't get paid enough for this).
I dream of escaping, of freedom, of swinging through the trees in the (urban) jungle (unemployment (retirement is a long way off)) where I so obviously belong (and could spend more time drinking... er, writing) but I'm stuck here.
I guess it's not that bad. I do have access to a computer (aren't monkeys supposed to have typewriters? Ah well, I doubt my colleagues and I could come up with the entire works of Shakespeare even if we had all the time in the world - but it would be nice to prove that theory incorrect) and access to the internet (though the number of sites I can actually access is dwindling; I blame my colleagues for downloading clips from Animal Planet - educational my arse).
Besides, they pay more bananas than the dole (just). And there's something about self respect, too?
I dunno, I'm just a monkey.
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