To drive a girl crazy.
Living here I mean.
In my previous entry, I mentioned that I do not like nor respect many of the women that I work with as they are neurotic and sensitive drama queens. Well, several events that have happened this week has illustrated my point brilliantly.
1. One of the more senior members of staff, let's call her Krakpot, is a real piece of work. Mean-spirited and brash, she clashes head on with everyone, be it her own team, her peers or her superiors. No one likes her and I myself have experienced her sharp tongue, which I choose to ignore. At the end of the day, my attitude is that work is work. I may not like you, but I will still do my best at the job because of my own personal pride, professionalism and ability.
I didn't see Krakpot for a few days this week so asked one of my colleagues where she was. I was not surprised when I found out that she suffered a breakdown and is on medical leave for a minimum of two weeks. The demands of the job were just too much for her. This manifested itself in her abrasive exterior to those around her and she finally cracked (no pun intended) under the pressure.
I have been extremely solicitious with regards to discussing this topic at work and at home too. OF COURSE I have not made any 'cuckoo' jokes or anything of that nature muah ha ha. But seriously, if someone can't handle the job, then they should find something else to do. Otherwise you just make yourself, but more importantly other people i.e. me, miserable!
2. One afternoon this week, I saw one of the other PAs crying at her desk. A couple of other colleagues were comforting her. I didn't ask what happened and honestly don't care but I mean, hello? Open plan office! Go cry in the bathroom or in the stairwell but please, put your ugly, blotchy face away. No one wants to see it. Work is hard enough as it is already. Silly cow.
3. Because of the constant dramatics of my peers, I deleted the lot of them off my social networking account about six weeks ago and have consciously kept a distance from them. A few days ago, my boss mentioned in passing that one of them recently said that I am bossy. I was shocked. I am the least bossy person I know! I'm a pussycat, just ask P. :-)
In case you didn't pick it up, that was a joke. Everyone tells me I'm bossy! To the point that one day when I was nagging at two of my male managers, one of them said, "Hey, we are not your husbands you know!" Ha ha ha.
So yes, living in Brrringland is enough to drive a girl round the bend, proven by the amount of nut jobs that many of the 'natives' seem to be.
Another one of my pet peeves is the scruffiness of the women here. So often on the train and tube, I will see girls with super scuffed boots (know what shoe polish is girls?), old beat up handbags (stop stuffing your gobs with crisps and with the money you save, get a new one) and dirty coats (dry cleaners or a washing machine? Use them). I know many people have the impression that Blundon is 'bright lights, big city'. It may be so, but it's inhabited by women who are 'big ars*s, small minds'.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Reflections on an Interesting Year
As the one-year anniversary of my move to Blundon draws near (16 March), I can't help but reflect on life over the last twelve months.
It definitely has not been easy. Not just starting out a new marriage, but having to adapt to a new country at the same time.
The frustrations have been many.
I have found people at work, but especially the women, to be very provincial and insecure. They may have travelled to other parts of the region or to the Land of the Free, but they have never lived out of their comfort zone. I was 16 when I first left the Small Island to further my studies on an exchange programme in sunny CA. Most of my colleagues haven't even moved out of the towns that they grew up in. They are thin-skinned and extremely ignorant.
It has taken me a long time to get used to it. Now I just feel sorry for them and keep my distance. Work is work, but they will never be my friends.
On the bright side, I have a fantastic boss who guides me in this new environment (although she has her moments as well!) and who encourages me to learn as much as I can. Although she is very tough at work, she is also extremely funny and has me in stitches most days. It could be worse.
I miss my friends and family back on our Small Island terribly. I have met some very nice people, but of course we don't share the history that I have with my close friends like Yeller Fever or the Canadian Mum and her family.
The good thing is that I do see my friends and cousins living here every so often, but it is still a trek to get to them. For example, my Princess Di Lookalike German Beauty only lives on the other side of Blundon. But it takes us two hours to get to her house on the train and the same when she and her husband and kids drive to us! The road here are appalling.
In fact, the whole transport network is a mess. My trains are late on a regular basis, which means that when I can get on, I am squeezed like a sardine for the 30-minute journey into central Blundon. My hands are next to people's big behinds (all I can hope for is that they didn't have beans for breakfast) and I can see how much ear wax they have. As there is no space to read the morning paper, I look around and ponder why Brringlish men have a penchant for stupid hair cuts. One of their favourites is short sides and a longer top that they mold into a pointed row down the middle of their head. The modern day b(w)anker punk. They think they look cool, but in fact they just look trailer park.
Actually they don't just look it. Many of them ARE low-class trash. Just a couple of weeks ago when I was on my way home, I saw a young Indian guy ask a Brrringlish Idiot if the train went to Kingston. The BI said, "Don't ask me!" and refused to make eye contact with the Indian guy, who looked a bit taken aback. I told the Indian guy that yes, the train did stop there. I thought that perhaps the BI didn't know the train route...but his gormless self was still there when it stopped at Kingston! What the BI fails to realize is that it is tax-paying 'coloureds' like the Indian Guy and me who allow the likes of him to bum around, do sweet FA and live off the state. Stupid ars*.
As you can tell, I have a lot of respect for the Brrrringlish...NOT!
But before you think it is all doom and gloom, I must confess that there are a few positives to living here too.
One of them is that there are regular flights home to our Small Island. Okay, okay not just that.
P and I rent a lovely little house and go on holiday regularly. I got a pretty good bonus this year which I saved most of, while still buying myself two designer handbags and P a new watch.
When I was on our Small Island, I spent most of what I earned. It's simple mathematics, I made less money there and went out more. I have more holidays here (27 days a year) and only work seven hours a day. I get paid over time for if I work 20 minutes over my regular hours. Although the tax is higher, we are still much better off financially. Our plan is to save as much money as we can while we are living here, then retire back home. I know that I don't want to deal with this cold and damp when I'm 60.
One bad thing about the weather is that it does make you pile on the pounds. I don't eat much more than I did back home, but my stomach seems to have increased in size! I can just about get into my trousers, but doing them up is a whole other story ha ha.
Regardless, P and I are heading back to the Small Island for a holiday in less than three weeks. Big tummy or not, I am so looking forward to scoffing the local grub. The diet starts afterwards!
It definitely has not been easy. Not just starting out a new marriage, but having to adapt to a new country at the same time.
The frustrations have been many.
I have found people at work, but especially the women, to be very provincial and insecure. They may have travelled to other parts of the region or to the Land of the Free, but they have never lived out of their comfort zone. I was 16 when I first left the Small Island to further my studies on an exchange programme in sunny CA. Most of my colleagues haven't even moved out of the towns that they grew up in. They are thin-skinned and extremely ignorant.
It has taken me a long time to get used to it. Now I just feel sorry for them and keep my distance. Work is work, but they will never be my friends.
On the bright side, I have a fantastic boss who guides me in this new environment (although she has her moments as well!) and who encourages me to learn as much as I can. Although she is very tough at work, she is also extremely funny and has me in stitches most days. It could be worse.
I miss my friends and family back on our Small Island terribly. I have met some very nice people, but of course we don't share the history that I have with my close friends like Yeller Fever or the Canadian Mum and her family.
The good thing is that I do see my friends and cousins living here every so often, but it is still a trek to get to them. For example, my Princess Di Lookalike German Beauty only lives on the other side of Blundon. But it takes us two hours to get to her house on the train and the same when she and her husband and kids drive to us! The road here are appalling.
In fact, the whole transport network is a mess. My trains are late on a regular basis, which means that when I can get on, I am squeezed like a sardine for the 30-minute journey into central Blundon. My hands are next to people's big behinds (all I can hope for is that they didn't have beans for breakfast) and I can see how much ear wax they have. As there is no space to read the morning paper, I look around and ponder why Brringlish men have a penchant for stupid hair cuts. One of their favourites is short sides and a longer top that they mold into a pointed row down the middle of their head. The modern day b(w)anker punk. They think they look cool, but in fact they just look trailer park.
Actually they don't just look it. Many of them ARE low-class trash. Just a couple of weeks ago when I was on my way home, I saw a young Indian guy ask a Brrringlish Idiot if the train went to Kingston. The BI said, "Don't ask me!" and refused to make eye contact with the Indian guy, who looked a bit taken aback. I told the Indian guy that yes, the train did stop there. I thought that perhaps the BI didn't know the train route...but his gormless self was still there when it stopped at Kingston! What the BI fails to realize is that it is tax-paying 'coloureds' like the Indian Guy and me who allow the likes of him to bum around, do sweet FA and live off the state. Stupid ars*.
As you can tell, I have a lot of respect for the Brrrringlish...NOT!
But before you think it is all doom and gloom, I must confess that there are a few positives to living here too.
One of them is that there are regular flights home to our Small Island. Okay, okay not just that.
P and I rent a lovely little house and go on holiday regularly. I got a pretty good bonus this year which I saved most of, while still buying myself two designer handbags and P a new watch.
When I was on our Small Island, I spent most of what I earned. It's simple mathematics, I made less money there and went out more. I have more holidays here (27 days a year) and only work seven hours a day. I get paid over time for if I work 20 minutes over my regular hours. Although the tax is higher, we are still much better off financially. Our plan is to save as much money as we can while we are living here, then retire back home. I know that I don't want to deal with this cold and damp when I'm 60.
One bad thing about the weather is that it does make you pile on the pounds. I don't eat much more than I did back home, but my stomach seems to have increased in size! I can just about get into my trousers, but doing them up is a whole other story ha ha.
Regardless, P and I are heading back to the Small Island for a holiday in less than three weeks. Big tummy or not, I am so looking forward to scoffing the local grub. The diet starts afterwards!
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