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Car Park Art
The company I now work for is a bit of a shambles in the way that they start new recruits. Emails go unanswered, and I had to wrestle from them my schedule for the first week.
As I was trying to unload my trolley from the train yesterday (making a hash of it, using the wrong ramp) I was upbraided by the Duty Station Manager who asked me why I had no uniform, no name badge, no staff pass, and no safety shoes. "I've not been issued with anything," I pleaded. He went to my superior colleague to confirm that I am in fact employed with them.
Later the same day, in the office, they dug around in some cupboards and found a shirt for me and name badge with someone else's name on it. So now I'm called Glyn.
On Monday, I was out for training with two men who soon discovered they were both Kurds. The younger one, who spoke in the half-Jamaican, half-Cockney accent that unmoored young men often affect, told me that this world is all temporary and that Allah is a God of forgiveness. Doing a little foot-to-foot dance, he told me that if someone asked for his last ten pound note, he'd give it to him. "I'd tell him to fuck off," I said, trying to slow this alms race of fundamentalist preening.
Trina came down for the weekend. We had an almost entirely enjoyable time. We went on a hunt in a car park for an artwork that was designed, it was said, for the mice, with little ladders, walkways, and mousehole covers, aligned on each floor.
On her last afternoon, we wandered into a protest organised by the local Hong Kongers, against Beijing's Security Law and Extradition Bill. Trina wandered off to the cathedral to use the loo. In an idiotic misjudgment, I decided to take the opportunity to ring Mel. As Trina returned I steered the conversation round to East Asian politics before ending the call. Too late: Trina quickly deduced that I was talking to Mel, and stomped off down the road.
From the train, she sent me a sad little couple of texts asking that I allow her to sever relations with me, and wondering out loud why she copes so badly with rejection. I couldn't think of anything to say that would be helpful, so I said nothing. That was a week ago, and nothing since.
5 comments
Man, you really have this je nai sais quoi with them damsels …
It’s because I take them to exotic car parks.
You have a rakish appearance and a sparkle in your eye - women will more often as not drop at your feet - some never learn! If you ever end up in a care home you will be well treated and spoilt.
Anyhow, I like the mouse art.
Sx
Oh Scarlet, I got in from work today and read that. That put a right zest in me lemon as I prepared the couscous for my tea for one. Thank you petal X
I never could’ve performed your rat removal service. Not enough testosterone. I caught a mouse in a trap (no maggots) and after picking it up using a shovel had to go to bed to calm my nerves.
Nobody in this pig country would ask permission to make a phone call. They’d do it and dare you to say something.
I love koftas but they’re not wrong about the appearance.
My wife snores like a longshoreman. I am continually sleep deprived.
My daughter recently spent four weeks in a psychiatric rehab facility for self-harm. It’s my first experience with a mental healthcare industry. It’s no joke. Once she was admitted we relinquished our rights as parents. She wasn’t released until she said she was ready and, more frighteningly, the doctor said she could go.
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