Tuesday, June 04, 2013

I Reckon Lollipop Lady's Name is Shirley

Another grey morning, clearly it had been raining all night. I checked to see if my roof had been leaking again, it hadn’t.

It was a lovely clear morning this morning, the roads seemed wide and open and the other drivers seemed with it and of the intelligent variety… except for one, of course. There is always one, hey? A blond bimbo in a charcoal Mazda 2. Blonde hair, a black sheath dress and a coloured scarf wrapped around her shoulders, she had HR written all over her. She drove steadily at 50 k’s, really annoying. I couldn’t help but tailgate her, I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help myself. My natural want to torture HR coordinators came to the fore, instantly. She kept looking in the rear vision mirror, eyes darting, glancing. I could see her smoky eye treatment and her blue corneas. I hated her instantly.

The lollipop lady was on her own again. She turned towards me as I approached and I got to see her face clearly, seemingly, for the first time. She looked like she had smoked a million fags. I reckon her name is Shirley.

I got to work before 8.30, just before. Who’d have thought just a few years ago, when I’d waltz in at 9 something, that not so long after I’d be out the door early. It makes a difference when you like your job or, at least, you don’t hate it. The black law firm, hideous.

Build a bridge, hey. Yes, I know. It’s true.


TPG advises that your number has been ported successfully and we are now in the process of reconnecting the number for you. Well, that has only taken a month. It’s a great start TPG.



Then I had to sit and twiddle my thumbs waiting for another HR coordinator to get out of my way, so to speak. There has been a restructure, of sorts and naturally an org structure change. The Director of HR gave it to one of his 2 minions, to the minioniest of the two of them - think red lipstick, coifed hair, a vacant smile, an automoton voice, and mummy frocks at 24 - and that is where it seemed to stay for the day. Despite it being given a high priority, I could see her checking out fashion online, talking to her housemates on the phone and writing emails to god knows who... with her hand on her gash, well, maybe not literally. She even decided that it was time to get that staff memo out that she had had sitting on the back burner for weeks.

Yeah, great. The HR Director was spoken to three times, but it didn't seemed to make no difference.

I stretched what I had to do until lunch time. I went to lunch early. But, after that, I could stall no longer. Besides, if I just sat back and said nothing and then didn't get my work finished, it would look bad on me. Hey?

Initially, I got filling. Yay, thanks HR girl, I'll do the filing while you sit there and stroke your clitoris. Thanks.

But then I was given other work, tax calculations, which was fine. (Yes, as exciting as that sounds, sad isn't it) I don't really care what I do, as long as they know it wasn't me holding up the process. In fact, as long as they know it wasn't me being incompetent, a hold up in the work flow it possibly to my advantage, as they may have to ask me back for more days to complete the work.

To be fair to the HR girl, who I quite like, don’t get me wrong, I think she was waiting on information from her HR manager… and don’t get me started on HR managers.

I work in a room full of girls, I kind of like it. They are all nice, funny, entertaining. Today they started talking about thrush and the pain after child birth. They apologised for me having to listen to it all, saying they couldn’t imagine what I’d be saying about them after I leave. I simply said,

“They do things with yogurt.” I pulled a face. “And they put ice poles in their panties.”

They all laughed.

It’s secret women’s business, to be sure. I’ve often wondered if the yogurt treatment for thrush was a topical solution, but, no, you do eat it, apparently. See, you just never stop learning stuff.

I’m still not sure if they were serious about the icy poles.

The cupboards are still full of shit. Sam’s ears bleed from me telling him how unimpressed I am with the fact that Shane shoved all his shit into the store rooms after I had told him not to. Sam heard it all again when I found old canvasses of Shane’s when I was fishing paintings out of the second floor storage. But, I got it all out in the bins. I was old Mrs Jessup out there with the rubbish last night in the dark sneaking about. I deny it is my favourite thing. Getting the shit out of my house could be one of my favourite things, however.

Sam went to bed before the clock struck ten. “I’m exhausted.”

I stayed up until midnight, getting my blog done and waiting for the encore episode of Off Spring, which I missed last week and which I totally forgot about once it was on, remembering at 23.50 when it was scheduled to finish. I hate that.


No comments: