It Is Today
Nov. 3rd, 2009 09:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fightingthecageFirst off, thank you to everyone who made excellent Twitter suggestions for me in my last post, y'all rock! Quite loving Twitter.
And now, story time.
The story of my day starts six weeks ago when I said to New Head Chef, 'Hey, can I get the first week in November off?' 'Yes!' he said, even though he was on holiday as well that week. 'Shouldn't be a problem.' 'Hurrah,' said I, and went off to chop some salad.
One week later, a pain in the arse guy who had been hired in the kitchen was sacked.
Cut to two weeks ago, on a Thursday. I put the bin out, for it was Bin Collection Day. When I returned from doing things, I made the following interesting discovery - that my bin had undoubtedly been emptied but alas, had not been returned to my house. 'Hmph,' said I, and resolved to discover its whereabouts. Alas, despite searching high and low all weekend, the bin was not to be found and I promptly ordered a new one on the following Monday. 'Our stocks of that bin are high!' said the helpful woman. 'You should have a replacement by your next collection day.' 'Hurrah,' said I, and went about my life.
There was a funeral (Babydaddy's grandmother) and roofers, for my house is getting a new roof. Incidentally, having a new roof seems to mean more leaks, all of which have been right on my bed which is a) in the attic and b) under a window.
Life continues.
Cut to last Thursday. 'No, you cannot have next week off, except for the day when you literally cannot be in work due to Important Exam.' 'Oh,' I replied, disheartened but resigned. As Pain In The Arse had been sacked, I had to be in work to cover New Head Chef's holiday. I sighed and went about my life.
Today:
I wake up. I get the offspring to nursery (twenty minutes late, as usual). I get to work (five minutes late, as usual). Works begins swimmingly. People are in chipper moods. There is not much prep to do. Service starts at midday, it is quiet. I am to be allowed to go home early if possible because I was supposed to be on holiday and have many things to do as not only do I have Very Important Exam on the morrow, I am also off to Scotland to see Ex-Housemate Jen (SO EXCITED!)
Work ceases to be quiet. I do not know how to serve the food as I am not important enough, usually, to be told these things. Yet, I am suddenly expected to do it anyway by Unbelievable BellEnd Scott who is an arrogant little twat who believes himself to be Gordon Ramsay. Tempers fray. It is not a good shift any more.
They fray a lot. I am incandesent with rage but suppress it because I am off the rest of the week and can do without an assault charge on a prick who isn't worth it anyway.
Still, I leave an hour early. I have to go to town because my computer is completely fucked and will not print, open Word, Scan or Photocopy (or do a multitude of other things) and I need to photocopy an essay and print off some cover sheets to send them to Oxford by the 10th. I book a library computer. i shower work off me. I am content that I have time to do these things.
The phone rings. It is The Parent. 'Your college phoned and want you to get in touch as soon as possible.'
INSTANT PANIC! For, you see, I immediately knew what the problem was. Tomorrow I am to sit the History Apitude Test for my Oxford application, a fiendish exam. If the college are phoning me, it's because the papers haven't arrived yet. It is 3pm. Why did I not get this message myself? Because my nearly-new, very expensive Blackberry broke on Monday for no apparant reason and I WAS AT WORK so couldn't be there to answer the phone at home.
I phone college. The person I need to speak to is not be found. I stress and decide to drive over. It is 3:30pm and the school rush traffic is in full effect, as well as work people, roadworks clogging up the city and it's pouring with rain. I arrive at 4pm.
On the way, I have noticed that the essay I need to send off has to be reprinted because I wrote over it last year and my computer will not allow me to print. Or open Word. And I am missed my booked computer at the library because I have to drive to the college.
'I haven't got the paper!' exclaims Exams Officer Janine. 'Oh,' said I, worst fears realised. The only option is to go back into town, pay at an internet cafe, find a number for Oxford and get them to email the exam paper. It is 4:15pm. Offices close at the Uni at 5pm. I have to pick my daughter up at 5pm. The traffic is worse than ever and it is dark.
Town. There is no number for the Undergrad Admissions office on all the info they emailed me last week. Despite having given up smoking for the last month, I am chain smoking in my car at every opportunity. I phone the only number I have, that of the admissions office at the venerable Christ Church college. 'My college do not have the exam papers I need,' I politely inform them.
The snooty bitch on the other end of the line tells me she can't help me and won't give me the phone number of the Undergrad Admissions Office. She is Very Snooty. I hate her more than a little bit.
I phone 118 118, a horrendously expensive directory enquiries line, and get connected to the switchboard. I am on a payphone as my bloody Blackberry is broken. It is 4:40pm. I get connected to the relevant people...and then disconnected as I run out of money. I have spent £5 to get this far. I have to go and buy a drink to get change. I do this, swearing all the way. 'Oh!' says the (thankfully Not Snooty) Undergrad Admissions Woman. 'No, we haven't sent your test out. I wonder why that happened.' I am blank with disbelief.
At 4:50pm, the problem is sorted and I breathe a sigh of relief.
The daughter is collected. I go home, feed her and myself. My new bin has still not arrived and it is Bin Collection Day on Thursday. It is too late to phone the council and I will remain binless because I am going to see Ex Housemate Jen tomorrow (YAY!).
I bath the baby. I put her to bed. She is adorable. I chill for a little bit. I remember that I need to confirm with Ex-Housemate Jen that I can still come and let her know my ETA...my phone is broken, with her number on it. I search my brains, such as they are, and come up with her mobile number. I leave a message and have not heard back, which leads me to worry that the trip I am looking forward to will not happen.
I have a cunning plan re: bins. I will take my two weeks worth of rubbish and put one bag in one neighbours bin (as long as there is room) and one in another. I am Cunning. The plan works flawlessly until the second bag - I look for a neighbour that does not have much rubbish...and my bin bag breaks. In a dark alley where it is pouring with rain. There is a lot of mess. I have to get another bag and scoop up old food and general grossness into new bag as cannot leave the alleyway like that; it will attract rats. I am soaked through and disgusted. I admit defeat and bring the redistributed two bags of rubbish back into my backyard, where it will have to wait another two weeks to be collected. If I ever get a new sodding bin.
And now it is 10pm, I am writing this, I have not packed for the trip I am no longer sure is happening, I have not revised for my horrendous exam in the morning, I have not been to the bank, to the shop to get my phone fixed, to the petrol station to fill up my car, to the supermarket to get food for the trip. I am cold and generally quite down on life.
It occurs to me that if I had a job where I wasn't a third class citizen, I would not have had a day like this. I would be allowed the time off I had already booked and would have been able to deal with problem in a timely and organised fashion.
But really, it is the fault of the missing bin. Today would have been much better without having to clean up Bin Mess in a soaking back alley.
And that was my day.
And now, story time.
The story of my day starts six weeks ago when I said to New Head Chef, 'Hey, can I get the first week in November off?' 'Yes!' he said, even though he was on holiday as well that week. 'Shouldn't be a problem.' 'Hurrah,' said I, and went off to chop some salad.
One week later, a pain in the arse guy who had been hired in the kitchen was sacked.
Cut to two weeks ago, on a Thursday. I put the bin out, for it was Bin Collection Day. When I returned from doing things, I made the following interesting discovery - that my bin had undoubtedly been emptied but alas, had not been returned to my house. 'Hmph,' said I, and resolved to discover its whereabouts. Alas, despite searching high and low all weekend, the bin was not to be found and I promptly ordered a new one on the following Monday. 'Our stocks of that bin are high!' said the helpful woman. 'You should have a replacement by your next collection day.' 'Hurrah,' said I, and went about my life.
There was a funeral (Babydaddy's grandmother) and roofers, for my house is getting a new roof. Incidentally, having a new roof seems to mean more leaks, all of which have been right on my bed which is a) in the attic and b) under a window.
Life continues.
Cut to last Thursday. 'No, you cannot have next week off, except for the day when you literally cannot be in work due to Important Exam.' 'Oh,' I replied, disheartened but resigned. As Pain In The Arse had been sacked, I had to be in work to cover New Head Chef's holiday. I sighed and went about my life.
Today:
I wake up. I get the offspring to nursery (twenty minutes late, as usual). I get to work (five minutes late, as usual). Works begins swimmingly. People are in chipper moods. There is not much prep to do. Service starts at midday, it is quiet. I am to be allowed to go home early if possible because I was supposed to be on holiday and have many things to do as not only do I have Very Important Exam on the morrow, I am also off to Scotland to see Ex-Housemate Jen (SO EXCITED!)
Work ceases to be quiet. I do not know how to serve the food as I am not important enough, usually, to be told these things. Yet, I am suddenly expected to do it anyway by Unbelievable BellEnd Scott who is an arrogant little twat who believes himself to be Gordon Ramsay. Tempers fray. It is not a good shift any more.
They fray a lot. I am incandesent with rage but suppress it because I am off the rest of the week and can do without an assault charge on a prick who isn't worth it anyway.
Still, I leave an hour early. I have to go to town because my computer is completely fucked and will not print, open Word, Scan or Photocopy (or do a multitude of other things) and I need to photocopy an essay and print off some cover sheets to send them to Oxford by the 10th. I book a library computer. i shower work off me. I am content that I have time to do these things.
The phone rings. It is The Parent. 'Your college phoned and want you to get in touch as soon as possible.'
INSTANT PANIC! For, you see, I immediately knew what the problem was. Tomorrow I am to sit the History Apitude Test for my Oxford application, a fiendish exam. If the college are phoning me, it's because the papers haven't arrived yet. It is 3pm. Why did I not get this message myself? Because my nearly-new, very expensive Blackberry broke on Monday for no apparant reason and I WAS AT WORK so couldn't be there to answer the phone at home.
I phone college. The person I need to speak to is not be found. I stress and decide to drive over. It is 3:30pm and the school rush traffic is in full effect, as well as work people, roadworks clogging up the city and it's pouring with rain. I arrive at 4pm.
On the way, I have noticed that the essay I need to send off has to be reprinted because I wrote over it last year and my computer will not allow me to print. Or open Word. And I am missed my booked computer at the library because I have to drive to the college.
'I haven't got the paper!' exclaims Exams Officer Janine. 'Oh,' said I, worst fears realised. The only option is to go back into town, pay at an internet cafe, find a number for Oxford and get them to email the exam paper. It is 4:15pm. Offices close at the Uni at 5pm. I have to pick my daughter up at 5pm. The traffic is worse than ever and it is dark.
Town. There is no number for the Undergrad Admissions office on all the info they emailed me last week. Despite having given up smoking for the last month, I am chain smoking in my car at every opportunity. I phone the only number I have, that of the admissions office at the venerable Christ Church college. 'My college do not have the exam papers I need,' I politely inform them.
The snooty bitch on the other end of the line tells me she can't help me and won't give me the phone number of the Undergrad Admissions Office. She is Very Snooty. I hate her more than a little bit.
I phone 118 118, a horrendously expensive directory enquiries line, and get connected to the switchboard. I am on a payphone as my bloody Blackberry is broken. It is 4:40pm. I get connected to the relevant people...and then disconnected as I run out of money. I have spent £5 to get this far. I have to go and buy a drink to get change. I do this, swearing all the way. 'Oh!' says the (thankfully Not Snooty) Undergrad Admissions Woman. 'No, we haven't sent your test out. I wonder why that happened.' I am blank with disbelief.
At 4:50pm, the problem is sorted and I breathe a sigh of relief.
The daughter is collected. I go home, feed her and myself. My new bin has still not arrived and it is Bin Collection Day on Thursday. It is too late to phone the council and I will remain binless because I am going to see Ex Housemate Jen tomorrow (YAY!).
I bath the baby. I put her to bed. She is adorable. I chill for a little bit. I remember that I need to confirm with Ex-Housemate Jen that I can still come and let her know my ETA...my phone is broken, with her number on it. I search my brains, such as they are, and come up with her mobile number. I leave a message and have not heard back, which leads me to worry that the trip I am looking forward to will not happen.
I have a cunning plan re: bins. I will take my two weeks worth of rubbish and put one bag in one neighbours bin (as long as there is room) and one in another. I am Cunning. The plan works flawlessly until the second bag - I look for a neighbour that does not have much rubbish...and my bin bag breaks. In a dark alley where it is pouring with rain. There is a lot of mess. I have to get another bag and scoop up old food and general grossness into new bag as cannot leave the alleyway like that; it will attract rats. I am soaked through and disgusted. I admit defeat and bring the redistributed two bags of rubbish back into my backyard, where it will have to wait another two weeks to be collected. If I ever get a new sodding bin.
And now it is 10pm, I am writing this, I have not packed for the trip I am no longer sure is happening, I have not revised for my horrendous exam in the morning, I have not been to the bank, to the shop to get my phone fixed, to the petrol station to fill up my car, to the supermarket to get food for the trip. I am cold and generally quite down on life.
It occurs to me that if I had a job where I wasn't a third class citizen, I would not have had a day like this. I would be allowed the time off I had already booked and would have been able to deal with problem in a timely and organised fashion.
But really, it is the fault of the missing bin. Today would have been much better without having to clean up Bin Mess in a soaking back alley.
And that was my day.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-03 10:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-03 10:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-03 11:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-03 11:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-04 01:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-04 01:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-04 05:39 am (UTC)~shoots the snooty bitch and your missing bin for you~
Also, following you on twitter.