Why the Fuck are you Here?

So far, at this internship, we've had pretty good clients. They range from pleasant to seriously funny. Today we got an über bitch. The type of bitch you read about in books like The Devil Wears Prada, she was just so pissy. She came later than her colleague, for whatever reason, and I ended up having to greet her at the door. With a smile Julie Andrews would be proud of I greeted her and with a sour-ass face she greeted me, no that's wrong, she didn't greet me, she registered my presence. She was a heavy set woman, which was probably why she insisted on wearing a boring, black, wrap-around dress that skimmed over her. I wouldn't have pegged her for a buyer at first glance. They normally have a sense of style even when it is simple, she could have been on Fleet Street with the way she was dressed. She had blonde hair; not the nice kind, no, it was dull, unnatural... like she'd been dyeing it for some years.  I knew this wasn't gonna go well.

I took her upstairs - oh, I forgot to mention that she was so late that her colleague had already picked out the collection she thought would work best for them. She walked in like a tornado and said 'No. No. Don't like it. Can't sell it.' All with a sour-ass face. She didn't like anything that made the collection unique. She wanted safe and easy. I despise safe and easy. When she left as sourly as she came in, her colleague quietly apologised to my boss for her boss. But this is the fashion industry, there are pricks and sour bitches everywhere you turn.

A Quickie

I'm supposed to be studying know, so this one's gonna be short. My mum's having the kitchen done so we only have the sink and a portable stove at our disposal. The neighbours are playing obscenely crappy loud music again, which wouldn't be a problem if my mother would just give me the landlady's number. She thinks I'm gonna be nasty to her but I'm just gonna be a bitch.

Racist MF

So my mother and I went to sign the papers for our new kitchen, we're in dyer need. We have one of those seriously dated kitchens. I think it's the original kitchen from when she bought in the 80's and that's exactly what the kitchen is, 80's... seriously. It's got this worn, crappy, white gloss facade on MDF. I despise MDF. That's one. The hobs, as far back as I can remember have never worked at full capacity. Out of the four hobs only two have ever worked. And of those two only one emits a full flame. That's two. The grill hasn't worked in ten years and the oven burns anything facing it's parallel heating filaments. Imaging getting a sun tan only on your arms and legs, leaving a white strip of untanned skin. When that happens with your roast chicken you end up with raw chicken in the middle. That's three. I'm not gonna miss that kitchen, in fact, if I could, I would help the builders dismantle it.

We finished signing and paying; I say 'we' but it was really my mother, I was only there for the technical stuff. I wanted to go buy some wool because I'm obsessed with making my own socks right now, so I spilt up with my mum. I was waiting for a bus to take me to the shopping centre, all the while thinking 'It's fucking cold!'. The bus finally came but the bus driver wouldn't open the door, he could see me but he didn't care. Only opening the exit doors instead, it pissed me off. He was thin, like willowy thin. He had dark circles under his eyes, not from lack of sleep though, I think it just some hyper-pigmentation thing. His hair was shaved pretty low. I gave him a couple of seconds and then knocked on the door.

Me: "You gonna open the doors?"

He didn't say anything, but instead did a hand gesture I didn't understand. I looked ahead and noticed that the bus in front was changing drivers so I figured that was what he was waiting for. He started to move, getting ready to change shifts. I looked behind to see a female driver ready to take over. He opened the doors and stepped out.

Me: "You couldn't have opened the doors to tell me that?!" You're in public service, you're supposed to be courteous.

Racist MotherFucker: "$%?£?$!!!" 

Me: "$%£^&%!!!" What the fuck's wrong with you? Psycho!!!

We carried on like that swearing back and forth for a few more seconds then an older black gentleman came and told the Racist MF not to talk to me like that, but the Racist MF just directed his attention and misguided anger at him instead. Then as he walked away he said:

Racist MF: "You're like the colour of my shit."

Now if that isn't racist I don't know what is. If he'd just said 'you're shit', that would have been different because only he would know what he truly meant by that. But he said the colour of my shit. The funny thing is that the Racist MF was Asian, ie. Indian, Pakistani etc. I am very aware of the country I live in. I am very aware that I'm a minority and that's the first time I've ever seen overt racism. What he doesn't realise is that together we make up 7.9% of the total population. This isn't his country. He's viewed with the same contempt I am. What a piece of shit. No fucking respect. I filled out a complaints form and I hope his racist arse gets what's coming to him.

I didn't see that one comin'

I went to the jobcentre again today for my weekly appointment. I was almost late because I'd just engulfed the porkball soup my mother made with the cheddar scone my sister made. You know how you get all sleepy after a good meal. I think it's because of the heat released when you're breaking it down in your stomach. Anyway I couldn't help it, I wanted to have a nap, a siesta. I had been re-reading Frank Herbert's Dune, but my lids were heavy, really heavy; the type of heavy that would make you read the same sentence at least 3 times. I decided to give it a rest and instead concentrate on the Judge Judy episode, it was just getting good when the shutters came down, DRAT. It was around 11.15 when I fell asleep and my jobcentre appointment was at 11.50, this had to be a quickie. I vaguely remember Judge Judy going off on some idiot teenager accused of harassing another teenager. I woke up at 11.45 which gave me just enough time to walk over to that place. I had to hustle but I got out of the house in time.

The thing that bugs me about the jobcentre is that everything related is just as fucked up as the jobcentre itself. Even the route to the jobcentre is littered with shit, literally, there's dog shit all along the pathway, like breadcrumbs leading the way. Not any old dog shit mind you, it was the kind others, less conscious than I, had stepped into and smeared along the path in an attempt to remove the shit. So to recap, I have to walk under the underpass which is littered with shit, chicken bones and every piece of crap you can think of to get to the jobcentre. And thanks to the diligently crappy English weather, it was too dark to see were I was going. Not to mention my really shitty eyesight, even with my glasses. If you saw me from afar you'd think I was playing hop scotch with all the side stepping I had to do.

I got to the jobcentre and went upstairs to wait for my case worker. That changes pretty regularly but I recognised this guy, I'd had him before (not in the creepy way it sounds). He was bald, no vestiges of the hair follicles he rocked during the 60's. He had a goatee though, stubbled with grey hairs and glasses. I think they were one of those frameless ones, but to tell you the truth I wasn't paying that much attention. I try to go in and out as quickly as possible, if I'm too attentive I have to stay there longer. I still wanted to make it back for the rest of Judge Judy.  

Him: So how are your job searches going?

Me: Fine.  Keep the answers short

Him: Mmm...aahhhhh...hh  Doing that annoying mumbling thing again 

Him: Did you apply for these jobs?

Me: No, I forgot.  Hurry up

Him: So... aahhmmmhh... you didn't apply?

Me: No. I forgot.  Redundant

Him: Mmmmhhhhh...aaaaaaahhhh  Uh oh, that's an extra long 'mmh'

Him: Excuse me.

So he left for a while, I thought he was printing off some job searches for me, but to my surprise he comes back with a form. An official form for me to fill in and sign explaining why I didn't apply. It's not like I didn't do any job searches, I just didn't do those ones. I'm very much a fan of the expression 'beggars can't be choosers', I'm not at the stage in my life where I'm a beggar so I ain't gonna do some crappy job just cause they shove it in my face. He made me wait for some guy to interview me about why I didn't apply. I'm really pissed off. I missed Judge Judy.

Neighbours from Hell... or in that direction

So yesterday the neighbours decided to make themselves known. My relationship with the neighbours is a lot like my relationship with the strangers I encounter on the London underground; they're invisible. I mind my own business and they mind theirs. These neighbours are African but I'm not sure which part they're from; I know that they're not Ghanaian but that's all I know.

I don't know what type of music the were playing, nor do I particularly care, but when I could hear it in my bedroom that's when I got irritated. At 6pm, or there abouts, they started with that crappy music. Normally I wouldn't be dismissive of other people's varying tastes in music, but these pricks just pissed me off. A couple of hours later when the music got louder my oldest sister and I decided to ask them to keep it down. When the neighbour opened the door he told us that they were having a baby shower or some shit like that. Who has a baby shower with obscenely loud, crappy music. It was bloody cold in England that night so we quickly retreated to our house and waited 10 mins. No change. I walked 7 whole feet, in the bloody cold, to they're door for nothing. That was it. I got on the phone to the police who redirect me to the noise division of my local council, meanwhile my sisters went back to knock and ask the neighbour for the SECOND time to take it down a notch. No Change.

I got a hold of the council, which did me absolutely no good. The noise division arrived around 11pm only to tell us that they'll send a letter to the neighbours. A letter, that's it, what a waste of time. So my Saturday night was filled with mostly expletives aimed at the neighbours.

What will I do? Well, they rent so as soon as my mother locates the landlady's phone number I'm going to let her have a piece of my mind. My anger has been redirected at her because in the past 2 years that she's owned that house every single one of her tenants (and there have been at least 6 different ones) have been either illegal, dirty or both. She's either lazy or stupid, I'm going to find out. My mother suggested that I should go along the lines of "...I want to be a good neighbour..." blah, blah. No. That's not going to happen, I prefer to subtly threaten her with informing the council about the type of tenants she places in the house. But, with the amount of time my mother is taking to find the phone number, (I suspect deliberately) I'm running out of steam. Bah Humbug!!!