There You Go

I woke up at 6.30am. It seemed like a nice day. It wasn’t as early as I have been getting up, nor as early, even, if I have to say so myself, as early as I would have liked.

I got to work just after 8am. Kirin had her hair down.

I got straight into the spreadsheet that didn’t work on Friday. I nearly had it, except for one set of details, so close, before the shit of my regular day started.

Then I had "other people's fuck ups", which, of course, I was told to fix, as I am the end of the line, if you like. Paddington Bear authorised both of them. (there was one last month too, don’t forget, also authorised by Paddington Bear) And there you have it, that is why my job is never going to be fixed. Paddington promised we uphold deadlines/schedules. Oh, I know, this sounds pathetic, but...

Then all the other shit happened.

We had a meeting about one departments “best efforts,” which is not the first time they have been spoken to about their "best efforts." Kirin had all the time in the world for them. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Then she spent the rest of the morning stressing over their requirements (Ineptitude. Kirin has been through this with them before). She pissed around on it until she headed out for a lunch date with someone from staff or, at least, that is what I believed she was doing.

Kirin, clearly, has that sort of day, working schedule, that allows her to suddenly decided to spend 3 hours on something. (On nonsense) A fix she resided over before and, because of which, she should have the answers, (that is her job) or at the very least she should be across it enough to be able to sort it out. Looking as though you have no idea, and then agreeing with everything they put forward, is not what a good manager does.

But my bigger point here is that I am time deficient in my role, I need one and half of me to do my job. I don’t have time for meetings to sort my bosses shit out. Even with Fatty Cake here, no one seems to have grasped this point yet.

Anyway, that all pales into insignificance, with what followed.

Kirin said that she had put in a formal complaint, it’s all cloak and dagger stuff said in whispers, so I miss most of what she says, either I need to get a hearing test, or she needs to get a grip. She did her head gesture, in the direction of where Fat Guts Carol Brady sits, with the scowl, she saves specifically for Fat Guts, so it gave me some idea that she was talking about old Fat Guts, but to tell you the truth, she never said a name, so it could have been anybody. Who knows?

So, I headed home and ate my lunch. I don’t know why, the sun was shining, it was good to escape. (I started smoking again after the weekend. I know)

Kirin hadn’t come back by this point, she was on an errand, I thought, she was running to get lunch. There had been talk of some lunch date, but she may have said, as she left, that she was just going up to say hello and to get some take away salad to bring back to her desk. She over shares.

I was a touch longer than I had anticipated and when I got back neither Fatty Cake nor Kirin were there, so it was like a win. Stupid, really, with the extra hours I do.

Anyway, so I just put my head down and got working. I can feel the avalanche of paperwork heading towards me already.

I think Fatty cake arrived back soon after that. She’d found a jumbo sized bag of chocolates which she was very pleased with.

“I’ll just put them in the middle of the desk, will I?” (Oh yes, like I need them)

Then Kirin arrived back sometime after that. I hadn’t had the feeling that she’d been away too long. She said immediately, “I’m not feeling well, so I am going home.” That was unusual.

Fat Guts Carol Brady was with her, helping her with something, which seemed rather odd. And although I really took no notice, it did seem to me the two of them were being unfamiliarly friendly and I did wonder, be it briefly, as unbelievable as it seemed to me, if those two have been squatting over mirrors and have had a bonding moment, it could be good for morale, but a head fuck for the rest of us, oh, I guess, the rest of us is me.

Then it appeared that Fat Guts Carol Brady was helping Kirin with her things and not just asking a momentary question that was interrupting Kirin gathering her belongings and leaving the building, Fat Guts Carol Brady suddenly seemed to be a part of it.

Kirin started to mouth something and all I got was angry face, so I guessed something was up and it wasn’t just me.

Fat Guts Carol Brady must have cottoned on, as she made herself scarce, but let’s face it, for obvious reasons, that was never going to work well.

Then, Kirin started doing big eyes at me, once she thought Fat Guts Carol Brady was out of eyesight. Kirin was inordinately long picking up her handbag and going home sick for the day, she was stalling, and giving me snatched knowing looks. She may have even started to swear, but appeared to swallow her words when she realised we were being watched. She was loaded to the gunnels with her stuff, dare I say, all of her stuff, a hand bag and five other bags, as she headed off. Turning to me, whenever she thought Fat Guts Carol Brady and Fatty Cake weren’t looking, back doing the big eyes and the ironic smiles. She held her hands out, as if to say... I have no idea really, but she wanted to say something.

Afterwards, I said to Fatty Cake. “What just happened?”

“Oh, what do you mean?” or did she say, “Kirin just went home sick.”

I think it was the latter. “So why did Fat Guts Carol Brady look as though she was walking her out.”

“Oh, I don’t know what you mean,” or did she say, “I didn’t see anything?”

I think it was the latter. Anyway, it was around about this point that I thought, maybe, I had said too much already. Sad, really. But I stopped talking.

Oh, I didn’t see anything? Really? That little, sweet, innocent voice, really? Fatty Cake had no idea. Hum? Sounds really unlikely, but I have no idea. She is another employee after all. But you know what, it was around about this point, I thought that the course with the least resistance, for me, was to not give a shit, so that is what I did. And I did it well.

Fatty cake was very chummy with the M&Ms after that.

Some time later, in a move, in my book, which pretty much blew the “I didn’t see any thing,” routine right out of the water.

She came back from somewhere and she said, “I’ve just had a meeting with Paddington Bear and he is coming over to have a chat to you at 4pm.”

Oh, I don’t know what you mean, my arse!

Paddington Bear was due at 4pm, and he hadn’t arrived by 4.30, I called him to say we could talk tomorrow, buggered if I was giving any more hours, but he was there, so we talked. (Good thing my instincts kicked in and I didn’t put that in an email)

"There are something’s we and Kirin can’t agree on, moving forward, so when you get to such a point, sometimes it is, um, advisable for Kirin and the company to part way. But, anyway, I hope it doesn’t get to that, I like Kirin.” He smiled. “She is taking a couple of days to consider her options. Your job will continue unchanged.”

Apparently, I have Fatty Cake to help me. How many days has she actually been here? And not been sick?

Our Idiot Treasurer

The fat bag of shit, Joe Hockey, must be so desperate to get the spot light off the budget, that he is indulging in the mother of all distractions The Republic debate. Has Joes just realised that under his treasurer watch with the Liberal Party that the deficit has blown out to twice the amount it ever did under Labor.

There Are Fat Boys Too

I woke up 6.45am, late for me.

It was raining when I got up. It was falling heavily. It was like a winter’s day.

So, of course, Sam was up not long after me and he wanted to talk. I’d just settled for my quiet time to write, but it wasn’t to be. He wanted to talk about Mark’s investment proposition. He wanted to talk about it endlessly. I had sentences in my head that I was trying to hang onto, but with Sam talking enthusiastically, it was like trying to catch water with my bare hands.

It had stopped raining by the time I left the house. It was grey and bleak.

When I got to work Kirin wasn’t there. I immediately thought she hadn’t survived the meeting with Paddington Bear last night. But, then I remembered she had 2 days off for her family whatever it was. Yes away a week, back for 3 days and then away for 2 days. Nice work if you can get it.

I waited and waited and waited for Fatty Cake to come in, but the morning slipped away and she didn’t appear. An email came late in the morning saying that Fatty Cake was off on personal leave. Goodness me, is she still being held in the highest of esteem that she was? I wondered? The test will be in the future, surely, she can’t take any more sick days? Or it means the negative feedback from Guru Gail was right all along.

Fats Guts Carol Brady came over and told me her team was away and I think she said something about boss lady Fran being out of the office and Barbie being in FNQ.

“So it is just you and me holding down the fort.” We both did a girlish squeal together. She tries so hard to be nice, but somehow it always comes off as though she is talking at you. Oh, I shouldn’t be like that, she has been nothing but helpful to me. It is Kirin who calls her The Moll, or Fat Guts, with contempt.

Kirin thinks Barbie is a bitch and Barbie has always been lovely to me. Kirin thinks Fran is a flake, but she has always been lovely to me too.

Does Kirin rail against anybody who has power over her? It's a thought. I guess she does. As much as she'd like to be known as mother earth, she can be quite negative and she can be less than forgiving towards people she feels have done her wrong.

It was grey and bleak beyond my window. The rain fell. It is funny how the gloom outside somehow transports itself in.

I entertained myself with dirty thoughts about the cute Scottish boy for a time, Scottish Rocky. He has an arse on him that is well worth a second look. As I headed back to my desk late in the morning, he was squatting down at the filing draws and his red undies stretched tight across his gorgeous rump showing off the thick mat of hair disappearing into his delicious arse crack. I shook my head, after I’d done a double take to have a second look. Then I nervously looked straight ahead, as it must have been obvious what I was just looking at. I gazed around sideways as I continued to my desk, it didn’t appear as though anyone had noticed what I had just done. (note to self, don't do that again)

I wrote my journal for a bit. It is much easier to keep it up to date, if I write as close as I can to the actual events. You know, jot down what happened in the morning, at lunch time. That sort of thing.

Then I got down to work.

Fran floated by at some stage. She always says “Hi,” in her airy, private school kind of accent. She is the type that wraps herself up in a shawl like a Xmas present, or wears riding jodhpurs, into the office. Today it was a black lace up corset and tights with electric blue pixie boots and a blue felt cape.

You know, I thought Kirin and I were getting on well, but if only she’d answer her bloody emails. When she doesn't answer people, they start to email me. It is annoying. There had been one about some boring facts about something that she hadn’t answered. Then the guy sent it to me and asked me to provide the info. Kirin had clearly asked him to ask me for the info. Really? I lose patience with her very quickly. Do your own work, luv. It just proves she has no idea how busy I am. This is what drove Mazz mad.

She just text me as I am writing this. Apparently, she forgot the tax calculations for blah blah blah blah... I should text Mazz. Snigger! Oh what would be the real point to that? To listen to Mazz spit her dummy, that would be the point. I shouldn’t keep dragging her back into it, like a mother octopus, or ocky strap man.

Happy-Smiley-Floats-In-A-Sea-of-Dough has a packet of half eaten Tim Tams hidden behind his computer, I noticed, when I took an extra trip to the kitchen to gaze at Scottish Rocky, one more time. Happy-Smiley-Floats-In-A-Sea-of-Dough is the jovial large sized lad who does, um, I’m not really sure what he does. He is an analyst, of some sort. He has the weirdest body shape, as though his lower half is a pair of strap overalls with the arse and legs filled to overflowing with water. He is wading through life that way. Happy-Smiley-Floats-In-A-Sea-of-Dough is really friendly, he’s lovely really. I think he replace Terminally Ill Martin Clunes.

Of course, there is Fat Frankie too. The loud mouthed bag of shit, who gets on his phone and bellows so we are all apart of his conversation. He could just drop down dead from a heart attack mid phone call. If there was a god, let me tell you, he’d be a corpse on the floor already.

"MAATTTEEEEE!!!!!!!" Oh, I so hate it when I hear him bellow that.

I worked until 5pm. I nearly got everything finished. The second journal file failed on me in the end, bugger, bugger, bugger. I should have stayed and finished it, but I could smell the day off. It got to 5.15pm and if I’d done it again, I would have been there to 6pm. Still, I probably should have finished it, 6pm, or no 6pm.

I have tomorrow off. The problem being that I am still going to have to work long hours to get the next fortnight of work done on time and taking a day off is just going to put me behind.

Still, at 5.15pm I could put the next fortnight of work on the never never, with a day off immanent. Let’s let Ron worry about it, hey?

It rained all day, but by the time I was walking home the day was still grey but it seemed exhausted from the rain, you know, all cried out. It was just the residual drops falling from eaves and tree branches that were still drip, drip, dripping.

I typed some of this up in the morning, perhaps for half an hour and then I got into work. I printed it, though, so of course, at the end of the day I was paranoid about making certain the printed copy was in my bag. Even just writing about it now, at home, gives me an irresistible urge to check that I have the copy here with me at home, despite having checked it numerous times. Oh, could you imagine if any of them found this and read it. It makes me nervous just thinking about it.

We ate cauliflower soup for dinner. Sam hadn’t got crusty bread, again, so I drove to the supermarket and got an assortment of bread, crusty bread on the end of day special. I toasted olive bread to have with the soup.

I had a headache from the day, so I took a couple of pills and lay down on the sleepy couch, always fatal. Apparently, I was asleep by 9pm.

Sam woke me at 11pm, saying go to bed.

Tony Abbott is a Disgrace

Tony Abbott is an absolute disgrace as a politician and a disgrace as a human being! He is willing to, effectively, go to war to improve his popularity in this country, to improve his chances in the Canning bi-election. The man is willing to bomb another country so he doesn't loose his job. He is officially a low life. Let's not mention the fact that invading/bombing Iraq is what created Isis in the first place.

Sunrise pretty in gorgeous pink

It Is The Failure Of We As A Society On Which I Am Commenting

I woke up at 6.45.

Once in the lounge room, I had an annoying pain in my back, which made me feel a little poohwah. Stupid thing. It is my bad posture when I sit too long at my laptop writing this crap. You know such things push my hypochondria buttons. Must think positive thoughts, must think health, health, health, sweetie.

I headed into work early. There was the most beautiful sunrise. I took a couple of photos on my way, (they must still be on my camera.) The sun was shining, by the time I got to work. It was a glorious walk to work.

Fat Guts Carol Brady and Obese Olwyn were both in when I got there. Fat Guts Carol Brady is ingratiating herself into the company still, and Olwyn has no life, she practically admits it with everything she ever says.

I pretty much only work with women and 60% of them are fat, to obese, the same ratio of society in general. So I am not so much commenting on the failing of women, but commenting on the failing of society in general when I talk about my working life, it just happens to be populated with the female of the species.

Kirin tried to cancel her meeting with Paddington Bear, but he wouldn't even entertain the thought.

“I’ve been off for a week, what does he expect?” she said.

Oh, don’t drag me into this, I thought.

“He’s trying to make me resign, I tell you,” she said. “That’s his game, I know it.”

It is his game, I thought.

“He’s trying to make me sick, isn’t he?”

I don’t care, I thought. Actually, I do care. I get on fine with Kirin, I don’t want her to get sick and leave. It might be better with somebody else, sure, but it could always be worse too. Kirin’s okay with me, I can work with her just fine.

Why she doesn't go off on stress leave altogether I am not sure. She says he is awful to her. She says he singles her out for less favourable treatment. People need to get over their prejudice against workcover, it is a viable alternative to working.

Fatty Snoop Cake Lady made it back in today and she managed to last the whole day. She didn’t get in until kind of late, 9ish. “Good morning,” she said in that little girl voice of hers. Oh that little, fragile girl voice of hers that, I feel, hides something deeply unsettling.

She is the analyst, the detective, the auditor, she has no control over her own life, so she has to exert control over other people to make herself feel better about herself. It is pure Freud. (or is Freud just the desire to lick your mother’s snatch?) She builds herself up by professionally blowing out the candles of others.

I heard the crinkle of snack wrappers coming from her desk all day. She, actually, never stops eating. Crinkle crinkle, crinkle crinkle, was all I heard through out the day. Macadamia nuts, savoury rice crackers and nutty health bars. Sugar and carbohydrates and fat, way to go babe, you will be dead in no time.

She told us that she has a Goggomobil and that she would love to go to Bavaria next year for the anniversary of something to do with the car. “I’m the woman with the crazy little car.” Points to her. Interesting car. She goes up in my esteem. (Who has ever read Peter Carey’s Bliss? Who remembers the image of {was it} Harry jammed into his Fiat 500? That was the image that came into my head.)

It was all drama with Kirin today. The performance catch up, presumably with the independent witness consumed us all day. I’m guessing that was what was happening, the independent witness, although Kirin had been strangely quiet on that fact. The talk of it went on all day, however. She was completely absorbed in writing out her briefs. This is the thing with her, there is always a reason why she can’t be doing work, there is always something else she just has to be doing, deadlines, or no deadlines. That is usually when she dumps it on me? Well, not so much me, up to this point, but she used to dump it on Mazz and in the end it was Mazz’s fed-up open refusal that I remember most.

Kirin was nervous trying to get her answers completed. Security. The liability problem. And a third thing, I can’t remember now.

“He’s trying to get me on anything he can,” she said. Her last words before she went to her maker.

I did end of month stuff all day. I heaved a sigh as I entered all of my end of month reports back into my report writer, which I lost with the great login fiasco.

I got on top of all of the things I had to post at the end of the month. I nearly got them all done, even with setting them all up again. It should be a doddle next month.

I got on top of the emails. Oh, the fucking emails. Jesus fuck me Christ? What a bunch of whiney babies these people are. The emails never stop, the enquiries never stop. Always someone wanting me to do something for them. It gets to the point where I have to spend my time vetting the emails for what actually comes under my JD. I think it is because I try to find the answer for people, rather than just palming them off on to somebody else. If you like, I am being punished for being efficient. (I’m sure this is an exaggeration written purely for the effect it has on my blog)

If only Kirin would answer the emails she had to answer.


We ate stewed meat and turnip and carrots and rice for dinner. “Is this paleo?” I asked.

“Ha ha,” said Sam.

I’m thinking we should give paleo a shot, if it means loosing weight. I could drop a lazy few kilos right about now.

Mark called about his new venture in country (name). He wants me to invest money into it. It would be interesting. Maybe? It would nice to transition from working income to investment income. Oh it is to dream, to leave all the huskies behind and to become independent.

Oh, that's a hard one Joe Hockey

And The Other One Returns

How many days did we think that Fatty Cake would be away? This many? Guru Greta was right, maybe. Unreliable? Has a tendency towards absences.

“Do you think she’ll look sick when she comes in?” I asked Kirin.

“You mean, do you think she’ll have lost weight?”

“I didn’t say that…”

“But that is what you meant.”

What could I say, that is what I meant.

Kirin laughed.

Fatty Cake Snoop Lady did come in. All in black. (Anna Wintour would be appalled, she hates the all in black look, even on, shall we say, husky girls. It doesn't make you look thin, it just makes you look like a huge black thing) She said she was excited to get back to work. She said she felt much better, thank you. She said she got so bored at home. She said she even tried to do some house work last Friday, but it wore her out. (that was the day, I thought, she was in hospital having kidney problems) Bored at home? House work to relieve the boredom? Oh really? Put down those sugary treats. Get yourself some runners and some thick tights. You know those running pants, maybe it is just me. I want a pair.

I saw her eat her stash of food pretty soon after arriving. Quietly, surreptitiously, as though she’d done all her life. The crinkle of snack food wrappers in the dark. She, actually, never stops eating. 

She lasted a few hours and then she declared herself done for the day "I'm not feeling good," she said in her small, girlish voice, that hides her true intensions. She headed home.

I found out the story behind the 8am meeting. Kirin refuses to have a catch up with Paddington Bear, without an independent witness present. Apparently, in the last catch up Paddington was so vile to her (the image doesn't bear thinking about, perhaps I should call him Ted) refuses to go back for another session, without an independent referee. (I should have done the same with the insane Belinda, if only I'd known what the out come of that psychological episode was going to be) It is true, Paddington Bear is trying to get her out, despite his claims to the contrary. So Kirin had to meet with Fran Di Dio, who suggested Kirin take Fat Guts Carol Brady with her. I'm not sure how Fran di di di Dio got involved, you know how HR like to keep out of staff issues, if they can. (Most senior HR staff, from my experience  believe their role is to look good in something stylish, Fran is no exception)

“No thanks, she is apart of the problem,” responded Kirin.

“You can take Margie.”

“Yes, okay, Margie would be suitable.”

(Margie, the woman who spent 10K on her child's first birthday party. 10K on a 1 year old? How can you take someone who spends 10K on a 1 year old's birthday seriously)

Kirin did a creepy thing today, however, just to play into everything Mazz said she is. I got to see a side of her I hadn’t seen before. She let her guard down just for a moment. I felt like it was a bonding moment for both of us. I said something about Arthur, that I was sure I’d told him something, that he’d possibly done something different, the long and short of which I could lay blame on him if it went pear shaped. Kirin laughed and when I looked at her, she was smiling a weird smile, the interpretation of which was that I could blame Arthur for anything not done right.

Oh yes, apparently, Happy is unhappy about what happened about me being accused of being rude to her. She is distressed that she caused me to get into trouble. Apparently, Kirin is going to use it against Fatty Cake.

Are you keeping up?

Then this afternoon something happened, just before I was about to leave the office. It was something that Fat Guts Carol Brady had done. There is some thought that Fatty Snoop Cake Lady and Fat Guts Carol Brady are in cahoots. Is Kirin getting paranoid? I think, it was something about an email Fat Guts Carol Brady had sent to Kirin asking her a question about something. Apparently, what Fat Guts Carol Brady had forgotten was to do was to delete the email trail that told the story of some meeting which appeared to be about Kirin. 

Suddenly, Kirin asked me if Fat Guts Carol Brady was at her desk? (I can see her, but Kirin can't) I said she was?

“I want to talk to Lacey,” said Kirin. Lacey is a sympathetic HR manager who works for a different division of the company but sits close to us. Kirin wanted Lacey’s expert opinion on what the email said.

“Fat Guts Carol Brady is on the phone,” I said.

Suddenly it was all cloak and dagger stuff, I’m not sure why? Kirin didn’t want Carol Brady to see her talking to Lacey, again, I am not sure why. Kirin and Lacey chat all the time. But, I could see the panic in Kirin’s eye. Kirin waved to get Lacey’s attention, behind the wall out of sight of Fat Guts Carol Brady. Suddenly Kirin was the fifteen year old at the back of the class trying to get her buddies attention without the teacher seeing.

“Tell me if the moll gets off the phone,” said Kirin.

Lacey came over. They read the email together. Kirin pointed out particular pieces. Lacy concentrated on what it said. They both looked serious. Kirin looked extremely nervous. Lacey shook her head. Kirin looked ashen.

I left for home, the drama of the day had been too much for me. It seems to be all consuming at the moment for Kirin. Shake of the head. Too much. It is exhausting.

The Texting Queen Makes An Appearance

I got to work just before 8am. Oh, what Days-of-Our-lives saga were we going to enjoy this week? Were the titans of my working world going to make an appearance? Or were they still in their corners licking their wounds?

I almost felt a buzz of excitement as I strode towards the building. It was a glorious morning, he sun always makes a difference, and the velvety green of the grass in the morning sun always edifying.

Kirin came in, although I knew that, she'd text me, she is the texting queen, after all. So am I, of course. It is something we have in common, we let our fingers do the talking. (It is the only way to have an intelligent conversation with some people)

I wondered if Fatty Cake was going to come in, if she did, we'd have no where for Arthur. 

Kirin had an appointment with Fran Di Dio at 8am, the head of HR who floats about the company like all good HR directors do, giving the impression of being an air-head mated with an Ice Queen. The linage is the same, or is that genetics? Am I talking genealogy  or DNA? It certainly takes a certain type, that is for sure. But is it nature, or nurture? Who can say? Kirin was quite nervous beforehand, which is unusual for her, she is usually quite confident, in a bull and china shop kind of style.

I got stuck into the work, I had a lot to do. A mountain still had to be climbed. A Trash Vortex of paperwork had to be dealt with.

Kirin didn’t say anything to me when she got back. I didn’t ask. She was kind of quiet, slipping back to her desk all business as usual. I couldn't read her. Had it gone well? Was she covering up well? I didn't know.9am. Fatty Cake wasn’t coming in. Still suffering from the flu/gastro/kidney failure/pneumonia, or whatever the truth just happens to be.

I told Kirin that Arthur was an odd little fellow. Her eyes sprang open, she looked worried and asked if his name was (previous problem temp's name)

“No, it is Arthur.” 

She looked relived. "I couldn't have put up with that complication, not today."

A bit later, sometime around 9.30am I hear Kirin chuckle and say,

“Oh, I think your temp is here,” she said, “As here comes an odd little fellow.” She kind of chuckled again.

That will be him, I thought. Arfur. I wanted to say it out loud in a yorky accent. Arfur. I wizened up little hunch back with a combover. He'd have looked more at home ringing bells, I am sure.

He slipped in, muttered something about the morning, I can only assume he meant good, then he got working, in his quiet style. 

Kirin raised her eyebrows. I raised my eyebrows in response. I said to Kirin earlier that he didn't say much. Of course, I'd have been complaining if there'd have been much yap coming from his side of the office too. The poor little bugger couldn't win really.

In the afternoon, when Arfur was off on one of his inordinately long toilet stops - I'm not sure if he had a colostomy bag to attend to, or what - Kirin stood up with her password note book under her arm and said mysteriously, “If anything should happen…”

It was like that (attention seeking) video of Pauline Hanson wrapped in the Australian flag, “If you are watching this, I am dead.” (of course, we wish the idiot red head dead, but let's not get sidetracked) There was a hint of it. I felt nervous energy slide up my spine. I thought she was going to tell me something I didn’t know, some truth, some truth about this morning’s meeting that I didn’t know. She was making some admission? Was she leaving.

“I’d take this, if…,” she said. She tapped the book on the edge as though it was something precious. “Oh, no… never mind.”

What? What? What are you saying?

Nothing. She looked tired, the strain was beginning to show. I reckon she should have gone to the doctor and got more time off. She could have followed it up with a workcover claim. Why not? The new corporate frontier, everybody is out for themselves. It's a truth.

We worked late, the two of us.

Catching a bus home from Chadstone. The sun was shinning what was not to like.

Shopping at the lovely Footscray Market

Am I a Horrible Person?

I was up early, but I am always up early. I remember my mother used to always get up at 6am, it seems now that I have crossed over. I am into the mum zone. Have I tuned into a fifty year old woman? Actually, despite what I say, I quite like it. It gives me a chance to write.

I text Jack to tell him to tell Arthur it was causal clothes Friday and that he could wear jeans. I liked it when people thought such clear thoughts and conveyed them in practical time.

Of course, my mind strayed to Arthur and Albert the two cute gay wogboy twins who I’d known for years. I thought of Arthur’s hot arse in a pair of Levis and wondered if I’d be distracted all day by him? Shake of the head, back to the task at hand.

I was nervous about the day. I had to get this temp into order. I had to get him working. Grrr!

I was regretting giving Louis up. You know, Remy had come over several times during the week to ask how I was and I’d said several times to him that I had a mountain of work, that I was really inundated and he’d replied with “Okay then.” I’m not blaming him, or anything, I am just commenting on a lost opportunity. Not that it is anyone’s fault, it is as much my fault as it is his, but if he’d given me Louis on Tuesday to help out, Louis who I didn’t know that he had, I’d probably would have had everything done and under control without ever having the need for a temp at all, without the need to pay more money to solve the problem.

My first email was from a new staff member who said that she had to set up her email signature and could I give her some directions on how to do that? Her email signature? How do I get these questions? This employee was knew so she couldn’t be under the impression of what I am about to say, clearly, and not wanting to blow my own trumpet, but sometimes I wonder because I always want to answer somebodies question, rather than pass them off onto somebody else, people get to know. I get fobbed off by so many people when I ask questions, I guess I am not so special and I assume they do that to everyone. I don’t, I try to find the answer for people, even if it isn’t my department, so to speak. I think people learn who gibes them the answer, it is a fatal flaw to posses in the modern corporate world, ultimately you just get used like a willing cunt in the red light distract.

Barbie came over to ask how I was. “We got lots done yesterday, the intern was a smart boy, I only had to tell him stuff once (of course, I haven’t checked anything he has done. Nervous grin) and we kind of got up to date.”

“Well, look at you Mr Efficient,” she said.

“And I have a temp this morning.”

“As long as you know you have support.”

“I kind of thought it would be okay,” I said. “But I definitely had a moment when I thought, what if it isn’t okay? It is too late to speak up COB Friday.”

“It is awful when you have the feeling of being overwhelmed,” said Barbie. “I had one of those moments myself yesterday. It is debilitating.”

“I know, you go kind of blank and nothing and you can’t think…”

“You just have to get up and change what you are doing.”

I had to balance off the salary packaging from last night. I’d found the mistake before I left, but I had to print the reports again to prove it.

I had to check the leave and import it. I had to run the autopays. I had to print out the tsunami of time sheets so I could get Arthur to start processing them.

Then I heard, “Hello Christian,” behind me and it was Louis. Remy had given me him for 2 days and Louis had arrived in all his puppy enthusiasm to start work. But, we had only one computer, there was nothing I could really get Louis to do today. I had to tell him I was sending him back to the other building, back to purgatory, in my opinion. Our building, although smaller, is more open as the whole floor is open plan and one is surrounded by windows on every side, where the other building is compartmentalised into small, dark, spaces, with walls on at least two sides. They are all seated in rows of desks seemingly rubbing elbows whenever they more. Louis was some what deflated. His smile slid off his face, but he was stoic. I told him it was nice working with him and he said likewise.

Jack text to say he received the casual clothes text too late and that Arthur would be arriving at 9.30 and probably somewhat over dressed. 9.30, I thought? I should have said 10am. That was only putting off the inevitable.

What else did I have to do? I had to arrange a security tag for him, so I called reception. They had one, not to worry.

I felt nervous. I was in charge. If it was to be, it was up to me, now. I had everything organised. It was done. There was nothing to worry about. What if this doesn’t work? It will. What if I have got it wrong? I haven’t. What happens if I fail? That won’t happen.

I done everything I needed to do by 9.30am.

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

The call came, I headed over to reception. The lift doors opened. And there he was, Arthur. I’d had Louis, young, bright eyed and bushy tailed, brimming over with enthusiasm and the willingness to learn. I wouldn’t say that Louis was especially handsome, although he certainly wasn’t ugly, but that fresh-faced, smooth-skinned, untouched by the world yet, has a certain attraction to it. And here, standing in front of me was Louis fifty years hence. Short, a curved spine, like my old aunt with Marfan Syndrome, what was practically a comb-over, prominent teeth, one incisor protruding more than the rest. He had a propensity to spit as he spoke, with white foamy substance forming at each corner of his mouth.

“Arthur,” I said. I held out my hand.

He said mumbled something about what his name, actually, was, none of which I could understand.

“Do you mind if I call you Arthur?”

“Oh jes.” He laughed. His eyes closed and his huge mouth took over 50% of his face. His expression seemed to put far more effort into smiling than talking rendering both functions some what hard to read, understand.

I’d had the cabin boy, with his whole life in front of him, now I was given the old sea dog, land lubbered and one moment before he was sent to pasture.

I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. I was repelled, if the truth be known, but this was only a first impression.

The first thing I noticed, actually, was that he was wearing black jeans. I wanted to say, I didn’t think you got the memo, but I didn’t. His white short sleaved shirt looked as though it had missed a couple of washes. He seemed to have a multitude of coats and bags in his grasp, the reason for which was not apparent to me. It was as though he was travelling through Europe on the train and he’d drifted off to sleep and he’d come too with the stationary train at the station at which he wanted to alight and he’d gathered all of his possession together in his arms and he jumped from the train moments before it departed.

He seemed like a man whose wife had died in the last few years, leaving him alone unprepared to fend for himself.

As we headed out into the street, he told me he’d got lost. It was no surprise to me, I thought. Louis wouldn’t have got lost, was my next thought.

We got to my office and I turned and said, “We are down in the corner.” I strode ahead. When I got to my desk, I looked back and Arthur had stopped at the front of the floor. He’d put his things on the cabinets and he seemed to be organising them. WTF, I thought. I headed back.

“Just this way.”

“Oh… righteo,” he said. He picked up his tat and followed me.

He was okay. He got straight to work. He was quiet, just how I like to work.

The one thing that was odd was that he went to the toilet twice and he spent an inordinate amount of time in there. I laughed to myself, did I think he was emptying his colostomy bag?

Louis came over at lunch time, like a breath of fresh air, asking if I’d found his notebook. I hadn’t but I offered to call him if I did. Arthur had gone to his first inordinately long toilet break when Louis turned up. I was kind of pleased, as I felt somewhat ashamed for him to see who I had replaced him with.

Was I being ageist? I reckon I was being aestheticist? Either way, I’m guessing I was being horrible.

He told me the job was a lot of work. “Clearly, one person could never do this.”

I said to enjoy the weekend. I told him the tsunami of time sheets would arrive by 9am Monday. He said, “You sure know how to spoil a person’s weekend.”

Barbie came over at 4.30pm, I told her I was about to leave.

I said that I was getting a headache from looking down at the spread sheets and then looking up at the screen. I did the motion with my head. She did the motion too, and for a moment there it looked as though we were both trying to do the impersonation of sucking cock.

Sunset Over Gertrude Street

You've just got to love a great sunset, it's life right there

Something Had To Give

I was up at 5.30am. I couldn’t sleep. Funny. I seem to wake up early now a days anyway, which I quite like. It feels good. Awake relaxed and gloriously refreshed for the new day. Awake and stressed and nervously awaiting my decent into hell. It all happens at the same time in the morning. The morning is still beautiful, lovely this time of year. It is nice to be up in it no matter what.

I was at work at 7.45am, I was the first there. The office was empty, quiet, still, silent. Funny the different characteristics of the work space. There is also staying late, last to leave, Saturday, they all feel different.

I could feel that I was quite stressed by the workload I had to complete. I could feel it before I left home. I could feel it as I walked to work. I could feel it as I entered the building. I didn't want another job like this, again, I remember, saying that to myself after the last job I had like this.

However, no one wants to hear you whinge,  a corporate truth. They will only act in your best interests if you force "them" to. Another corporate truth. Threaten to resign. Make a formal complaint. Go on workcover. Otherwise, shut the fuck up, nobody cares. These are the things that will force "them" to change. I got stuck into it. I thought it would be okay… but, what if it wasn’t, what if it isn't okay, that was always in the back of my mind. That pushed me on. It will be okay, I've done this before. I had all of the changes to do, a great pile of them. So much to get through. It will be okay, I have done this before...

I only really had today, before the tsunami of paperwork would start flowing in. But so much of the documentation was wrong. I’d be all right if I could get a rhythm up, but I couldn’t because the paperwork continued to be fucked up, one way or another.

And HR was being difficult, it was still a girl’s lunch over there, as it always is, they just didn’t feel the pressure, I felt, towards my deadline. Everything seemed to be wrong. So much was wrong. It was like a house of cards collapsing around me. It was like swimming in quicksand, every stroke seemed to make the situation worse. I soon got to a point where HR weren’t helping and... too much! This is too much. It is always going to be too much. As these bitches just don’t care, that is the truth.

I decided to got back to my desk and take a moment out. I do know that I rolled my eyes and kind of did a harrumph, but that wasn’t meant to be dramatic, or to give anyone message, it was really just an exhale, it was just frustration.

I couldn’t do it, it couldn’t be done. I was on my own and to decide if I couldn’t get it done on my own. Those who were meant to help me and those who were meant to, ultimately, make my job manageable  had abandoned me. Call it stress leave, if you like. Call it being sick, whichever "sick" you care to choose, I don't care. Whatever. I had to admit, I needed help. 
A decision was made.
You know that moment, where everything you were tensed against, fighting off with your best efforts, hoping to will away with your good intensions, when you let it go and you admit the inevitable. Relief. It is smart, admit it before it can’t be fixed.

I decided to write Paddington an email.

At the very same moment Barbie came over. She looked me in the eye and asked, “Are you alright?” (This is the woman that Kirin speaks of as the devil. The woman least likely to trust. The bitch. The thorn in Kirin’s side)

“I am inundated with work. I am snowed under.”

“What help do you need?”asked Barbie.

I momentarily felt my eyes well up, but I certainly wasn't going to do that. (I wasn't going to do that anyway.) I said that I needed her department to stick to their deadlines. I needed them to give me accurate information. I needed them to step up a bit and be a bit more considerate.

“I can see that you have been doing your best,” she said. (is that a backhanded compliment? I wondered?) “You were here late last night when I left, (so you did notice) and they tell me you were in early this morning.”

It was nice. She offered to help. She was happy to tell "the team" that I was on my own and that they had to be mindful of the fact.

“I left a message for Paddington,” said Barbie.

“I was just sending him an email,” I said.

“Oh good,” said Barbie. “Finish that. I’m sure he’ll be over soon.”

The next thing Paddington was walking towards me with his intern, Louis, who he said I could have for 2 days. Remy said he’d get me a temp.

Louis and I got on fine. He’s smart. He’d just finished an accounting degree at Melbourne Uni and he is trying to get his experience up so he could get a paid job. He was enthusiastic, he was keen, he wanted so much to learn. He picked things up really quickly. I only had to tell him stuff once. He was a competent sponge of good intensions.

I didn’t have a computer for him to start with, so I didn’t know what to get him to do. He started off by sitting next to me and watching what I was doing. He said he always wanted to do what I do.

“Really?” I responded. Nice kid, still hasn't been beaten down by the reality of modern corporate life. It was refreshing, reminded me of myself once. :)

Pretty quickly I realised he couldn’t just watch me, that would not help me, asking questions would only, effectively, slow me down.

I set Louis up on my old log in, what the hell, it was worth a try. It worked. I got him to change some journals. And I got him to change basic stuff. I got him to set up new journals.

With the promise of a temp from Paddington I had to respond that I had no computer for a second person. Paddington swung IT Ben into action, who came over to fix the computer problem.

“Don’t worry, something similar happened when I first started,” said Ben.

“Oh, really?” I didn’t really know what he meant.

“But it is your calm demeanour that is the difference here.” What?

"It hasn't gone unnoticed.

I wasn't really sure what Ben was talking about, but I'm taking it as a good thing.

Once the computer was up and running with (name of application), I got Louis to set up cost accounts. Then I got him to change them. I got him to do stuff that only experienced operators would be able to do. I got him to do all the changes he could, so it freed me up to do everything else.

We got through most of the work. We worked together pretty well. By the end of the day, we were pretty much up to date.

He was an amazing help. Let’s hope he got it all right.

Thinking about the temp I had booked, I thought to myself that I’d be fine with Louis, and that I probably didn’t need the temp. I don’t know, I was worried about the packaging payment, so I wasn’t completely sure.

Jack rang in the afternoon to say he’d organised a temp called Al who would be there in the morning at 9am.

(Oh, this is interesting stuff, not) The Packaging came in, but I tried to finish what I was doing first, it felt like I had lots of time. And then suddenly it was 3.30pm. Oh shit! I got on to it, while Louis finished the cost codes. I got him to do the whole thing. I was only going to get him to do the set up, but fuck it, I got him to do the full implantation. (I'd only have to if he didn't)  The time ticked away. I had a few pages of adjustments. 4pm. 4.30. 5pm. Louis left. Smile. "Thanks for looking after me. See you tomorrow) I got the adjustments done. I did the reports. I filled out the reconciliation. (Are you riveted by this?) The totals were out. I found a lot of it reasonably quickly. Still $200 out. Tick tick tick. I decided to do a Vlookup the spreadsheets one by one. (dear God, I am babbling on about vlookups, how stressed was I?) It didn’t work, I don’t know why. I closed down all the spread sheets. Tick, tick, tick, nearly 6pm. Saved them properly.

Barbie came over to see if I was okay.

We talked about going home immanently.

“I’m going home any minute. I didn’t mean to stay so long. I’m just out $200.”

“You okay with everything?”

“Yes, it’s been good. I’ve had an intern. Tomorrow I get a temp.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“Thanks for today,” I said.

“That’s okay.”

“Thanks for caring,” I said.

I’m sure she welled up, she kind of looked away, which was kind of nice. But, she wasn't going to let that happen either. "I know we have a reputation for not caring..."

We both laughed. (I thought, how true)

And with that, I found the $200. Bingo. I went home with everything balancing. Pretty much all of the work got done. I thought to myself, shrug, I'd probably would have been just fine with me and Louis.

I started getting nervous about the temp, not really sure why. I think it was the unknown, something I don't really deal with. I took Buddy for a walk to meet Sam. I yanked on Buddy’s lead when he insisted on heading the usual way on his evening walk, when I want to continue towards the CBD to meet up with Sam. He is such a creature of habit, comfortable with the things he is familiar with. I am no different, somebody should be yanking on my lead right about now. He sat down and wouldn't go any further. I sat on the rock at the side of the garden beside the footpath  Buddy cuddle up to me and put his head on my leg. We both waited there for Sam.

My hand... everything happens for a reason, isn't that what the punters say

Katy Faust, the US Traditional Marriage Dribble Puss

Katy Faust, the US traditional marriage advocate, has no interest in children of gay people, or children of any other demographic most likely. By her own admission she had no issue with the way she was bought up until she became a born again Christian. She is just another christian using any spin she can to uphold her chosen christian views. 

What she is saying, no matter what words she chooses to use is, "I believe in God and I don't like homosexuality because the bible tells me not to like it." 

And since there are millions of chritians who read the bible who aren't homophobic, what she is really saying is, "I don't like gays because of the way I choose to read the Bible." 

So what she is really saying is, "I choose to be a bigot." 

That is the truth of what she is saying. 

I'm never really convinced why christians get any say at all. Why does the bigot get the right to speak about anti bigotry issues? It makes no sense.

Just Because I Like Making Up Names

I stepped out onto my footpath into the sun at 7.45, Monday morning. I laughed to myself, as I thought about it, how (my old boss) Beck and I used to dash into the happy law firm at 9.15, 9.30, to the point where the minions, the rat-faced, clock watchers (the equivalent of the girls in the typing pool) complained and our boss talked to us about making our late arrival less obvious.

“I know they work 9 to 5pm on the dot, and you guys work late, but they are on my back about it. Small minds, I know, but what can I do?” 

Are the good old days , even back then those who complained got their way and those who didn’t had to put up wit the nonsense. It is a corporate world truth.

I was often late at the miserable law firm, and Beck was never on time. Never. Nobody is drawn to hell though, lets face it. Still, it is a bench mark for what not to do.


Who’d have thought, I’d be slipping into the office now at 7.45, 8am easy as pie. I’d never thought I would. Jesus! I have better things to do with my mornings.
There was no Mrs Washerbottle hair sitting dutifully at the far desk,   contrasted against the morning sun at the window, as regular as clockwork, on which one could depend. Kirin is always in at 7am. Always first in. The truth is that she lives in a distant suburb and she leaves early to beat the traffic.

But, I knew that, already. Kirin text me last night to say she’d raised the white flag, she's gone off on stress leave, the doctor had given her a week. 

Mrs Washerbottle hair, it makes me laugh, Kirin pulls her hair up on top of her head in a ponytail. Of course, the true Mrs Washerbottle has it pulled up tightly into a no nonsense bun, (full apron, sleeves rolled up, sensible shoes) pulling her face shiny and tight, but close enough. I hate it when Kirin has it down, long and cascading, she reminds me of Marge Simpson after a romantic interlude with Homer, all she needs to complete the picture is a negligee and a cigarette. It always makes me shiver.

Fatty Snoop Cake Lady wasn’t ever early into the office. She said as much herself. Not an early riser, she said. (Well, lugging that arse out from between the sheets. Oops, did I say that out loud?) In the early days she made excuses that her security pass hadn’t been working and she had to wait until after 8.30am so she could enter the building without the need for a pass. But, since she got her pass problem rectified, she still wasn’t making it into the office until after 8.30am. I’m not really sure why she felt the need for the implausible excuses, as, truthfully, nobody really cares. It is a life truth, you might think you are special, but in all reality, hardly anybody really cares.

Tick tick, the clock moved to 8.30am. I wondered if Fatty Cake’s new pass had stopped working. Tick tick, the clock moved to 8.45am. I wondered if she’d gone out for a big breakfast. Tick, tick, the clock moved to 9am. I stopped wondering and simply relaxed and enjoyed the solitude. Tick, tick, the clock moved pass 9.15am. I held my breath and stopped wondering, maybe thinking her name, like saying vampires names out loud, would make her appear.

Then big boss little Paddington Bear, was beside me and he’s telling me that Fatty Snoop Cake Lady has come down with the flu and won’t be in either.

So Fatty Gerlatty, aka Fatty Snoop Cake Lady, boom, boom, boom-boom, boom, boom-boom, boom, boom and Slapper Gerlatter, aka Kirin, “if he keeps treating me like this, I'll loose my shit,” were both away. The 100K girls had jumped ship. (Hold your nose. It is only the initial jump, which is scary. Dive right in, the water is fine)

Fatty Gerlatty came with a warning, as we know, from Guru Greta, not reliable, prone to absences and submitting workcover claims, I figure it is all that cream sponge eating that must wear her out. Slapper Gerlatter has been struggling under the intense scrutiny for weeks. “He is out to get me by whatever means they can.” They have been in battle for 4 weeks now and, clearly, it has taken its toll. Fatty Gerlatty has been bought into terminate Slapper Gerlatter, Fatty Gerlatty knows that, Slapper Gerlatter knows that, I know that, we all know that. However we pretend it isn’t so. There are feigned attempts at niceties, there is a sisterly show of cooperation, but underneath the concocted camaraderie, I can feel the contempt, I can feel the anger simpering, we all know it is war.

Well, apparently, the fatigue of battle got to both of them and today they have both retreated to their corners saying they won’t be in. Slapper Gerlatter has been to the doctor where, no doubt, she cried her girlish heart out, “It is no good, I can’t cope any longer,” and he has given her the week off. So, I suspect, she means business. Fatty Snoop Cake Lady, if Guru Greta is to be believed, is just di rigueur. Perhaps it is her ankles. boom, boom, boom-boom, boom, boom-boom, boom, boom. I’m sure I can hear them screaming with every step. The Silent Scream, I see the cartilage between those major bone structures now resembling something torn. I see an image of Munch’s painting, The Scream, above each of her delicate little feet. This office work business is not for the faint hearted, let me assure you. Let’s not to forget that Slapper Gerlatters best buddy at work is Obese Olwyn the workcover chick – yes, I see the irony too – who I am hoping has imparted a trick, or two, to Slapper Gerlatter who, of course, my allegiances lie with, naturally. We have history, after all. (Spoken in hushed tones behind the back of my hand, Pooh Pooh Waterford aka Mark has taught me to despise the, shall we say, large boned) I’m always one for the under dog, unless, of course, it is the religious right in a marriage equality debate and then I am all for stoning the religious bigots, chopping off their hands, ripping out thier tongues, and shoving all of the severed body parts into their anal cavity one by one, but I digress.

So, the behemoths, of office politics, set upon each other by our big boss, little Paddington Bear, the old war horse and the heavy weight, unusually for the former and par for the course for the latter retreated to their corners to lick their wounds, on a day when I was considering laying an ultimatum at Slapper Gerlatter’s feet about my treatment at the hands of Fatty Gerlattey re the Happy accusations, but it wasn’t to be, Slapper Gerlatter rather fucked that up for me. I'd been considering it all week end and kept coming to the conclusion, Fatty Cake aka Fatty Gerlattey reported to Paddington bear, that I'd been rude to Happy without ever consulting Happy about how she felt and Happy has never thought that I have been rude to her. It isn't good enough, I am not happy about it, (that's because Happy is happy about it, boom boom) but when it came to the crunch there was no one to tell. I was all chest puffed up about it and nobody was there to witness the occurrence. It rather deflated my resolve and I can see nothing but the funny side of it. Let's face it, if you can't laugh, you are going to have a stroke - and not the good type - and drop down dead and nobody in the corporate world will give more of a stuff than the inconvenience of having to step over your cold, stiff body 


“Oh,” wrinkled up nose, “Gosh, who put that there,”

and, quite frankly, I am never going to give any of them the pleasure of that. They'd enjoy it too much, the blood suckers.

Big sigh. On my own. It was very quiet. Still. The angst seemed to have disappeared. It was calm. No, Little Miss Angry in front of me. No Little Miss Sneaky behind me. Just me to carry the flag, so to speak.

Well, there you go, I thought. The behemoths charged at each other, their heads collided, there was a loud crash, the crunching of bones and the spilling of blood and now there bodies lay on the ground in some far off field, motionless. I felt nothing. I got on with my work.