Nick, Nick, Nick

It is a cool, grey kind of day, for my day off. I’m thinking that I really need a haircut, as I gaze into the mirror first thing, trying to push my face back into my 20 year old self with my fingertips. “Ug.”

My shower made no difference. You know how you expect the hot shower water to shrink wrap your flesh back onto your bones… er, no.

So, 11am. I’m in the barber’s chair waiting for my hairdresser to start on my hair. The cutter and the client next to me are far too chatty for my liking. I hope that haircut is wrapped very soon, I think.

“Hello, my name is Moira, I will be your hair professional for today,” says the pretty dark-haired girl. “What were you think you’d like today?”

“Oh, um…” my phone rings in my pocket, so I checked who it was. I don’t, exactly, know why, I am very good at not answering my phone.

It’s Boris. I answer, which is an even greater mystery. There has been a fuck up with another one of Nick Watson’s employees. Oh shit, I think. I try hard not to get that sinking feeling. I tell Boris I don’t know the answer off the top of my head, but I will be home in an hour, or so, and I will check it out. I try not to let it get me down, but, of course, it does somewhat.

The only part of the conversation that bothered me was Boris saying, “This is getting out of hand.” It makes me wonder if, in fact, Boris is on my side? You’ve got to wonder? As you know, after all, she is just trying to safe guard her yearly bonus.  Of course. Isn’t everyone?

She doesn’t like the fact that she has to deal with problems on my days off. (sad face) And it is on my days off that these problems tend to get out of hand. If I am working, I just answer bluntly, I don’t mess around. “No, Nick, this is your fuck up,” or some such thing. If I am not there, Boris tends to try and keep the peace, etc. (And we all know how that usually pans out)

Just try not to think about it, I think. Get back to your haircut and the normal thing that a haircut involves, which for me is sleepiness. I don’t know why, but I always get sleepy in the barber’s chair. I don’t mind it, in fact I kind of like it, its like a sedative to me.

11.57am. I see a gaggle of people across the road on Johnston Street. I head across there as I am thinking of heading down to Sacred Heart OpSop in Brunswick Street. The gaggle of people turn out to be how to vote people and the building next to the pet shop is an early voting station, so I vote.

I tell Sam I am voting. He replies that he is cooking.

My heart isn’t really in opshoping, thanks to Boris and Nick and work. Don’t ruin my day off, I think.

Sam is cooking, I think? He must be cooking lunch. I message him. He is? I head home. The fuck up at work is foremost on my mind.

As it turns out, how I processed the alleged fuck up, the one we’d already had a problem previously with Nick’s inaccurate instructions, I might just add, according to the instructions I have. Nick had requested a change but he’d stated the change was to come into effect after 02.12.2022, so by that technicality, I win, and Nick loses. In fact, I laugh to myself, I may have just screwed the slack, fat turd over. Ha ha! I try to enjoy the moment. Of course, in reality, there is no such thing, he will still blame me, but I don’t care because, seemingly, in this instance I may have well just gotten away with it.

The “this is getting out of hand,” comment from Boris is still in my head.

We ate Szechuan stir fry for lunch.

Just a side not, one of the greatest singers who ever lived died today, 31 years ago. Freddie Mercury, the world is a lesser place for you not being in it.