Work experience as an arsey teenager is pretty straightforward: disappear into the storeroom, smoke a few cigarettes, text your mates and watch the minute hand tick slowly by. If there's nowhere suitable to hide, all you need is a vacant computer and you can chat to your skiving associate in the building next door.
"Oh, we had that singer in the other day and they were really arsey with us, and we only kept them waiting half an hour' - and I go, 'Hang on a minute, that's a long time and they've probably been doing lots of work that day and I think that it's actually justified for them to get annoyed.'"
2000, Peter Billingham, Sensing the City Through Television: Urban Identities in Fictional Drama, page 50:
First few months in, I was arsey as hell. Thought they were a right bunch of wankers.