Exactly WHY I hate my job (and why I love weekends)

Dear Diary,


You'll have to excuse my extreme lateness, dear readers. Even my followers (well, all 2 of them!) have noticed how long I take to write one simple blog a day. From now on, it is my mission, no.... my QUEST to write at least once a day - if anything to stop me blowing my brains out from boredom. SO - what have I to catch up on?


Wednesday - had work as usual. For some reason, the "gang" who stand at my end of the bar have been treating me really nastily recently. One of them, "Talking Tim" who likes to think he's a cockney (despite actually being from Salford) actually told me - between "lav's," "blaady's" and "geezer's" that I just "didn't get" the barmaid thing. He said everything goes over my head and I clearly don't get "banter." Someone's very CLEARLY misunderstood - I totally get banter, I just don't want to spend all day talking to these people, because I hate them.


Yes, "hate" is a strong word that gets thrown around too much, but I genuinely hate them. Especially Pat. I've probably mentioned him before, the cynical twat. He's the one who fell out with me after an excellent sex-related comeback (well, he shouldn't give it out if he can't take it). After seeing him silently glaring at me for while, I asked what was wrong.


"Is there a problem, Pat?"
"No no..... just can't believe you're sitting on your arse reading the paper and getting paid for it."
"Well, Pat... I have actually emptied the dishwasher, there's no glasses to collect or put away, no-one wants serving and every surface is clean, so it's not as if I have anything else to do."
(*Pat glares some more and shakes his head*)
"What?"
"Nothing, it's just you do it EVERY week"
(*thinking; "Yes, I do it to piss you off*) "Well, usually cos I've done all my jobs"
"You're just so..... LAZY."
"Yeah, well, always have been. I've told you this before!" (*jokey laugh*)
(*deadpan stare*) "You know what, love? I know what kind of person you are."
"OK......"
"Basically, love, you're gonna fail."
"I'm....... sorry?"
"I can tell, you're just the kind of girl who's not going to make it as a person in life."
(*enraged*) "I'm SORRY??!"
"Well, you're not. People like you sit on their arse, reading the paper, can't be bothered finding a proper job or moving out of your parents'...."
"EXCUSE me - I have been applying for jobs for 6 MONTHS - it is INCREDIBLY difficult to find anything at the moment....... and trust me, I would do ANYTHING to move out."
"Yeah, but you won't. Because that's who you are. Everyone else does the work and you just....."
"Pat, for your information, I've lived away from home for 3 YEARS whilst at uni - and I seemed to survive that. How DARE you say someone won't 'make it' as a person in life??!"
"Yeah, well, you won't."
"Why would you even SAY something so hurtful to someone you hardly know?!"
"Because it's true. I can tell. You're the kind of person who does nothing and then wins the Lottery."
"Oh, fantastic! Let's hope so, eh?"
(*grunts and rolls his eyes*)
"Well, wouldn't YOU like to win the Lottery?"
"Well, yeah, we all would, but...."
"Exactly." (*storms off*)


How fucking DARE he??! HOW DARE HE say something like that to me??! And even if it IS his opinion, why would you SAY something so hurtful and soul-destroying out loud to ANYONE, let alone someone who's been struggling with feelings like that for a while? Who the fuck is HE to decide how my life works out? It may be what he sees as the "truth" - but if I went in there and called him out on being a "fat, balding, bad health, ill-mannered, potty-mouthed, cynical, sex-starved ugly cunt-flap living in a sad bachelor flat alone, with a fucked-up ex-wife situation" I'd probably get in real trouble.


He even felt the need to tell me how at my age he was "married with a kid." Well, fucking bully for him. Scuse the hell out of me for not being stupid enough to get knocked up in my teens, I have plans for my life, and I can tell you right now, they don't involve being pregnant for QUITE a long time yet. But it's the way he threw it out, as if he was so WORTHY and FANTASTIC for achieving parenthood at such a young age. Well, Pat, I can tell you right now, it's NOT the 40's, we don't ALL have kids and get married in our teens, and if you think I am for one SECOND going to take any notice of a bitter old dick with kids by 3 different mothers, you can fucking think again, mate.


Because if there is one thing about that place I'm fucking sick to DEATH of, it's people thinking they are so much better and have practically saved mankind just by having children. I'm sure it's very wonderful and everything, but if one more time, I have to hear the words: "you don't know NOTHING, love, when you've been a parent as long as I have......" Oh, WHOOP-DE-FUCKING-DOO!!! You have kids!! Does that for a SECOND suggest you are better than me? Yes, I don't know the wonders of birth, and yes, you have experienced things I haven't even dreamed of. But that does NOT mean I am any less of a person. I'm 22, for fuck's sake, I'm not SUPPOSED to know stuff like this yet!! And that does not make me worthless. I just wish they'd realise that. I am so fucking SICK of people passing off self-righteousness as some kind of VIRTUE.


Ahem. Rant over. Rang Joe when I got home and wailed down the phone to him about it - which curiously made me feel better.

Thursday - was a hell of a lot better. Deaf class was great as usual, the teacher giving Joe and I knowing looks as we left together. And even better - there was the most staggeringly glorious sunset I've seen in years, and Joe had booked Friday off work. So with joy in our hearts, we headed for the pub, before traipsing back to his for Maccies and Guitar Hero. (Bad news: we've been set our Unit 2 + 3 exams in September. And the teacher is off in the 2 weeks beforehand. I see plenty of revision heading my way!)

Friday - As day's off go - I like to think this was a good one (not that I'd know, every bloody day is a day off for me, grrrrr....). To celebrate, we decided to pop Joe's cherry...... Trafford centre-wise. He'd never been, so I made it my mission to introduce him to the wonders of it all. The best moment was on arrival, where we decided to get lunch straight away before shopping. Taking him through "New Orleans," past the old-school American restaurants, I told him to shut his eyes, and led him to the railing, ("Titanic-style") overlooking the food court. He was a little freaked out (fear of crowds, etc....) but once he opened his eyes, he was stunned. And quite rightly too, what a magnficent view.


One Pizza Hut buffet later, and we were ready to hit the shops. Much to my extreme anger and dismay, the Pink Floyd t-shirt turned out not to fit after all, even when I tried a size up (my god, how much WEIGHT have I put on??). So have decided to leave it for now - it'll go on sale in 9 weeks anyway, and hopefully should've lost weight by then. To cheer me up, Joe bought me a t-shirt with a cartoon of the Ghostbusters on - and I bought an "adult" DVD from Ann Summers.


We went home and spent the afternoon desperately trying to beat the Playstation into submission on FIFA, before I made tea. Signature meal - 3 guesses! Afterwards we watched "Silent Hill" - which annoys me somewhat...... not because I hate the film itself (it's bloody brilliant, truth be told) but because it always reminds me how it was the film I stuck on and watched with Aaron, right after he dumped me. It annoys me that I was spineless enough to watch a film, eat SuperNoodles and fall asleep, instead of slapping him till his ears bled and fleeing into the night. Yes, neither of us wanted me to walk home alone at 2 in the morning, but really, it probably would've made more sense. Any mugger would've possibly come off worse in a fight with me, at that moment.


After finishing a bottle of wine, we put the "adult" DVD on. What absolute shite, it was clearly some "woman-produced" effort, and at the risk of sounding sexist, I think men make them better. There were 6 "stories," you couldn't see anything (if you catch my drift), and the whole thing looked incredibly fake. Putting your hands on boobs does not make it "lesbian" - anyone could do that. In a fit of annoyed vengeance, we made our own effort instead..... I will never be able to look at the sofa again. Actually, I will - probably thinking "HA!! Fuck you Mum, guess what I got up to on your sofa??!! I am rebelling! HAAAAAAAAAAA!!!" I have issues, I know.


Saturday - Woke up in Mum and Dad's bed, which was LOVELY - although Joe refused any sexual activity out of sheer morals (that's what I get for seeing a good Catholic lad!) He overslept though, such was the comfiness, and had to leg it to his football match. Having housewife qualities now ingrained in me - I set about preparing the aforementioned Meditteranean meal, which took 3 HOURS!!! Sounds unbelievable, but I seriously hadn't imagined the ORGANISATION that goes into something like that. I had to find matching bowls, sort out placement, line up all ingredients, draw up a time-scheduled PLAN, pre-lay the table, make everything that could be served cold in advance, draw a MAP of the table and where everything would go...... it was mental.

Sadly, I'd had a phone call the night before offering me weekend shifts, so had to go to work at 4 - faced usual abuse. Raced home, making an it's-expensive-but-it's-quicker dash into Marks and Sparks for crusty bread, salad and pudding....... and threw myself into a get-changed-pre-heat-oven-marinate-chops-make-salad-finish-laying-table-light-candles-set-lighting-play-music etc...... cacophony of organisation, all before Joe arrived. Steered him into the lounge with a beer and the Playstation - with promises NOT to enter the dining room until called.
Thankfully, it all went spectacularly. Forgive me for bragging, but it was simply perfect beyond all possible belief. I have cooked before, obviously, for families and (once) friends, but I'm always used to at LEAST one thing going wrong, due to lack of planning, mainly. But NOTHING went wrong at all, and for once - I discovered the joys and rewards of being organised. Joe's face was classic - he was absolutely stunned and apparently couldn't believe that someone "would do such a big thing" for him. YESSSSSSSSSS!!! Ladies and Gentlemen, this is my "Hilton."

MENU: (Imagine spread over a large table, all in different bowls and platters)

Lamb chops (with a jug of port sauce)
Cold potatoes
King prawns
Greek salad (feta)
Cous-cous
Crusty bread
Dipping sauces (Pink Mojo, Balsamic vinegar, Thai Lime, Nando's Piri-piri and Miso)
Baby tomatoes
Sweet peppers

PUDDING:

Chocolate trifle (Sparks' own)

Afterwards we basked in the Meditteranean goodness and watched "Hot Fuzz." And simply could NOT stop imitating Nick Frost pretending to be a swan. "Honk!".............. "HONK!" Oh, and I feel I should point out - being that I'm fiercely proud of my music collection - that Joe thought the "Meditteranean Playlist" I'd created was superb, and matched the setting perfectly. YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!! It's nice getting things right, for a change.

Sunday - was pretty sweet. We hung out all morning after a Maccies breakfast (and I wonder why I'm putting on weight) and had a Red Dwarf fest, whilst I miserably contemplated work. To my amazement and delight, Joe offered to accompany me - which I let him, on the promise that he didn't say anything to the "gang" without clear provocation or open warfare. They didn't say a WORD to me for the whole 3 hours. It was like having a BODYGUARD! They didn't even make the usual sex jokes or tell me what to do - apart from Fat Keith who had his normal go at me and made jokes about me breaking things. I've never once broke a glass whilst working there, I'd like to point out. Except when one fell on my head, which wasn't my fault. Anyway, his Highness stood in his usual corner, (making it awkward for me to get out) and talked ACROSS Joe all afternoon rather than just moving his fat arse and swapping places to talk to his mate. Awkward cunt. He probably wanted to wind me up. Oh well. When was the last time HE had sex, I wonder?

After a remarkably quick 3 hours (having visitors makes time go quicker, it would seem) I shuffled off home, to have a mini-Meditteranean meal and cosy up with the remaining wine in front of "Night of the Living Dead." Really not that scary. Am I just NUMB to all this, now?
Shaun came back from work and announced he was staying at his mate's till Mum and Dad returned. Guess I'm cleaning the house alone, then. Why is everyone trying so hard to get on my tits recently??!

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Current Mood: irritated by pub men
Current Music: "2 bad" Michael Jackson