Something is Broken

Sam and I walked to work together for the first time in what seemed like forever. It was nice. Walking with my honey. I got to my new job twenty five minutes before I was supposed to start, but that is okay, I had to have time to cool down. I still sweat like a bitch even in the moderate heat. I sat in the park opposite and felt the breeze on my back. I took photos.

I hoped with a place of learning that this would be the only day I have to wear the corporate drag. I’m hoping for casual clothes.

Bevan meets me in a suit and tie.

Damn, I thought. Suit and tie.

As Bevan walked me up the stairs he said, “So has Jack given you the run down on the role?’

“No,” I said before I really thought about it. But he hadn’t, I guess I should have said he had.

We had a bit of a chat. Then it was, just get on with it. Familiarise yourself with everything. Settle in. Do what you like, essentially.

I think I have to be busy to feel worthwhile. If I am not flat out, I feel like I am not succeeding. It is a strange idea, I know and I don’t know where it came from. I think it says that I am really insecure.

I wandered off nervously to the kitchen. I always feel a little out of sorts in a new work environment. I don’t think I am getting better at it, no.

Perhaps, I am just a winger.

The kitchen was busy, there were queues for the two microwaves, there were queues for the two toaster whatemies.

I pulled out the draw to find a fork to stir my curry in readiness for my meal. The draw was empty. Completely empty like it was a deserted, unused kitchen. Did you know the thing that is stolen mostly from a work kitchen? The teaspoons.

“There is no cutlery, that’s why I bring my own,” said the nice lady informatively.

I had curry and rice? I couldn’t eat it with my hands. I put it back in the fridge and left the room, full of people with their own cutlery.

If I head to the promenade deck, or the plantation lounge, they might have plastic cutlery there.

I slipped my lunchbox back into the fridge and wandered away. Sad face.

I found the café and bought a ham roll. I had no money when I went to pay, my wallet was bare. WTF? That shouldn’t be? How t f?
“The card minimum is $10, if you get a drink you will make it.” The café chick in the brown A-seamed uniform smiles.

She smiled again like she had more important things to do.

I was staring at my wallet still wondering how I got into that state.

“Oh yes… a drink.” The choices weren’t so great, I picked peach tea.

I took my ham roll and my drink and my laptop and headed out to the quad.

There is an open wi fi network, but no matter how I tried to connect to it, it didn’t happen. It was probably best, I should write not surf.  Instead of writing in my office. (Do you think any of my employers will check?)

The network is open though, it is a matter of principal.

I ask at reception if the visitor’s internet that looks as though it is unrestricted, is actually unrestricted. I first have to wait for a student to go away, but she is wide-eyed and troubled with whatever answer she just received. She is standing there as if to will an alternative answer out of the girl behind the desk. No alternative answer is forth coming and Ms Wide-eyed-and-can’t-believe-it-and-I-may-just-drop-dead-from-the-agrivation isn’t moving either. I quietly hope she drops dead. She turns to look at me as though she had heard my thoughts. She hooks her gaze on me and continues hers rotation of disgust. I was nothing, everything was about her. I wanted to say boo! She eventually oozed away.

The wi fi wasn’t exactly open, it seemed as though it was just too complicated to tackle. I said never mind, don’t worry. I turned away to face the empty foyer, defeated.

I headed back to my office. I don’t want to do this any more. The trouble is, I don’t want to do any thing any more.

The office is cramped. My colleagues are slotted away into corrals. When they sit, I can’t see them. When I close my office door, I can’t hear them. The regular chick is away sick. Nobody is really telling me what I have to do, in fact the answer I get most is, “I don’t know.”

I fluffed away the afternoon.

I walked to La Trobe and Swanston Streets to meet Sam. I started moaning to him. He listened dutifully, as we walked up La Trobe Street. 

I told him I have 12 weeks of this. He looked at me like he wanted to call me Mr Whiney pants, but he didn’t.

I laughed to him and said, “You have twelve weeks of this, honey.”

I was sweating big time by the time I get home, like a little bitch. I feel Sam’s back, not a drop. I’m a sweater. I sweat easily.

We ate noodles for dinner. Yum, yum, yum, Sam’s lovely noodles.

I hate my new job. I was a misery all night. Pissed off. I don’t want to work at a job where there is no support, where nobody has a clue. Where I don’t know it all and they expect me to know without any of them telling me.

I couldn’t sleep thinking of the crap things I have to do at work. I tossed and turned all night. No instruction. Nobody knows what’s going on. Jack sent me there just because I can use (name of software). Fill the roll.

I can’t do it. I can’t do it.

Okay, some where along the way I became a complainer.

It is a fault in me, I understand and quite possibly the reason why I, perhaps, got the sack from my last full time role. I just don’t seem to be able to convert it to a challenge.

I think I probably need to see a therapist of some kind. Something got broken at my last full time role where I was bullied by the boss and it clearly isn’t fixed yet. Something is lost when you are bullied. Something is broken.

The boss should be removed, but she is still there. She needs help, helping her would help everyone else.

And the truth is that I don’t feel like I fit the role I always did any longer.

The other truth is that these are just my insecurities that I normal get over and, perhaps, I should just stop writing about them.

People's ears are bleeding, Christian.