Oh! I have to sit and wait for them all to go. Really? My usual clear left turn, spoilt by multiple right turners. Well, bugger them, I thought, as I pushed the button for the cd player and Renee Geyer started to sing. Tenderland is her covers cd. It is good. I never get sick of listening to her voice, I thought, as I strummer my fingers on the top of the steering wheel.
There was some sort of council tree loppers just around the corner in Gertrude Street, also in the way. Jesus, 2 obstacles and I haven’t even moved 100 metres. One of the workers was very handsome, I saw as he looked up as I passed by… finally. One hundred metres every 5 minutes, at this rate I won’t get to work until half passed nine. Yes, very handsome, just the kind of council worker you’d hope would come to your door early one morning, with a declaration about some work to be undertaken… and an itch.
I kind of like that descent from Fitzroy into Collingwood. I kind of like the feeling of coming down off my very own hill. The descent into Abbotsford. At least I know that I will never flood where I live. I don’t think you can under estimate the comfort of that idea in this era of global warming. Down into the industrial areas on the flat lands.
There was an annoying bike rider, dressed in green, like a plump avocado, all the way around the back streets to my own private side street, just in front and to the left slightly, in front of my left headlight, for the longest time. I hate it when they do that. All the way around the back of Abbotsford. They are just annoying.
Just as I lost the bike rider, were did she go? I looked up and a Commodore stopped in front of me in Murray Street, just like that, no signals, no warning, just stop. There was a Mercedes CLS coming out of the side street in front of the Commodore. I tooted. The Mercedes driver went first with the driver abusing me as he drove passed in the opposite direction, with his hand up at his chin in a real wog gesture. It made me laugh, I laughed in his face. Fuckwhit.
We all snake our way around the back streets, end to end. Some of us are better at it, some of us are not. Some of us are useless dicks! Not a fucking clue.
I am the king of the back streets…
Everybody else goes passed the brewery and down to the lights, or the street before the lights, where all the semi trailers turn. I take the first side street that few people take and I always beat those who go the other way. Always.
The lollipop lady in Buckingham Street, with her ever present floral jeep next to her, was chatting to a friend oblivious to my speed. Again? Every morning.
There were cars banked back in Burnley Street, right across Buckingham Street, in each direction. It was like a car park, a sea of cars. “Oh, good grief.” What is going on this morning, I ask you universe? The universal traffic god must gating his gears clearly. There was a Honda Accord Euro that was blocking my way to head straight across, like a square peg in a round hole, like the pick up stick that blocked the rest, like a fat boy blocking the footpath while he ate a cream bun – beady eyes, sticky fingers – that could be a gay boy on crystal too, I guess.
“You tosser.” I strummed my fingers on the steering wheel again. It just shouldn’t be this hard. Would I accept a full time job where I had to drive to work, even if it is just in the next suburb? I don’t think so?
The recalcitrant Honda finally took the straight across option, just in time to let me head across behind it too. The two lines of traffic parted momentarily, a gap for a moment and we both shot forward. I could see the lanes close up again in my rear vision mirror as I drove away.
With in 100 metres of work, a forklift was loading a truck in the middle of the street, as I came around the second last corner. “Good Grief!” Just to put the icing on the difficult getting-to-work cake. Lovely.
Later in the office…
Aishling, the HR girl, had a problem with info that was sent to her as it had all been sent in incorrect format. So she had to call all of the managers and get then to redo the documents.
She was nice to them and they all agreed to do it.
“If they all look like Dick’s that’s what we’re after.” She was referring to the documents Richard had sent her.
I laughed, as she said the above to whoever it was on the other end of the phone.
“God knows I wouldn’t do it for them,” said Aishling as she hung up the phone. “If they called me and asked me the same thing, I’d say do it yourself.”
Some things never change. HR employees are all the same.
It rained on the way home. It is almost dark at 5.30pm but, I guess, it is nearly winter.
Sam got his hair cut after work, so he was going to be late home. He would text when he was finished so Buddy and I could leave from our end as he leaves the city and we can meet him in the middle. Too cutesy? Well, I started it. All week I have been grabbing Buddy as soon as I got home from work and walking him up Gertrude Street to meet Sam. It is nice, a nice way to end the working day.
Winter is here, there is no denying it. It is cold and dark
Buddy and I walked to Nicholson Street to meet Sam. He is nearly at the corner of Gertrude Street and Nicholson Street when I see him, there is a man in front of us as Sam approaches. It looks as though Buddy isn’t going to see Sam, but he does, despite the other man in the way. Wriggle, wriggle, wriggle, jump, jump, jump.
Jill had messaged me and asked if we would come over and help her move furniture so she could put down the new blue rug, which is a centimetre bigger, or a shade lighter, than the old one.
She shops on line, I think, because she is bored. She should try masturbating instead. I know it would be cheaper and I’m sure ultimately is would be more satisfying. At least some of those physical wants are, actually, satisfied.
I rang her fully with the intention that I was going to tell her I was too tired, can’t be bothered, that I object to such rampant consumerism at its core, but she played the come-see-the-puppy card immediately and my mind changed at that very moment.
So we went to Jill’s to meet Bear for the first time. She is lovely, really gorgeous. A ten week old puppy, just gorgeous. How could you not like her. I think Sam is in love. She is very quiet compared to a bulldog, that is most obvious.
We ate fish and chips and apple pie. I asked Jill – newly diagnosed with diabetes – which part of the diabetic diet did fish and chips and apple pie fit. She shrugged and giggled. One feels she isn’t taking this seriously.
Her elderly father, who Jill cares for, is still away staying with his sister’s place in the country and is unaware that Jill has bought the puppy he has threatened he will move out over.
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