It’s payday. It’s PAYDAY. I am loving the Thursday this week, let me tell ya. Not only is it the payday, but we had Monday off and so this is only a 4 day week. Plus, the weekend was good. Went for a long walk with my flatmate, all the way up to Blackheath, which is lovely, until you find out that it is so called because that’s where they buried all the victims of the Black Death. Isn’t that nice? Spent Monday with Sylvia at her envy-inducing flat in Stoke Newington. It’s a warehouse conversion – all skylights and wooden floors and light, airy spaces, and easily 3 times the size of any of the places I’ve lived in London. I’m not bitter, I’m just saying, that’s all.
But back to this week, and the joy of payday. Today is also special in that I am picking up my new glasses today. I chose them last Saturday. It took about 2 hours – and was not fun. I am very short sighted, and I wear my glasses everyday – so this was a big decision. I was on my own and find it difficult to trust the opinion of the Specsavers sales assistants, because, well, they are sales assistants and they don’t know me. Plus, I had to buy them on Saturday because that’s when their special offer (buy one pair, get the other FREE) ran out. This posed a financial dilemma as, what with today being payday, I ran out of cash about, ooh, 3 weeks ago. Tricky. I’ve picked a gold-framed pair with a quite rectangular shape, very different to what I am currently wearing, and a pair very similar to the ones I already own, but with thin purple frames. When I finally sat down at one of the little tables to wait for an optician to come over and explain that I would have to pay an extra £160 so I could get super-thin lenses, and that no, they don’t have a payment programme, one of the sales assistants ambled past and looked at my selection. Looking at the purple ones, he actually said this: ‘I see you’ve gone for a fun pair.’ Fun? Like, I’m having ‘fun’ with my wacky choice of spectacles? Like I’m a female Timmy Mallet? Excellent. I went for them anyway – they’re fine, and I think I like them. Paying for them was a tad uncomfortable – I had my visa card with me, and although I said to the cashier ‘I’m not sure how much credit I have left on this card, please try it, and if it gets declined I’ll pay by cheque’, when she did try the card, and it did get declined, she looked at me with mix of pity and suspicion, like maybe I am just poor, but maybe I also a common criminal (have you noticed that whenever this happens there is always a queue of people behind you to witness your shame? Always). Then I got the cheque book out, and everything was going better, until they had to call for an authorisation code – this is when I started sweating. More people joined the queue; they called the bank 3 times and got cut off three times, and then finally, they got the code and the sale went through. They were still looking at me like I was a leper though. God – if they weren’t the cheapest optician in town, I swear I’d go elsewhere…
So, I’m picking them up today, no longer convinced that either pair will suit me. They’ll adjust and fit them for me – another peach of a part of the process where they give you a complex about having an unsymmetrical face/wonky ears/one eye bigger than the other. Hmm. Starting to feel less positive about the Thursday…
If I’m feeling brave, I might post some pictures later. Not promising anything though.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
The air-conditioning unit is trying to kill me
Well, ok, perhaps that is a little dramatic. It isn’t actually trying to kill me (as far as I’m aware). Here’s the rub: The air-conditioning unit has been moved. It used to be above Sylvia’s desk, when she worked here, and she constantly complained about how the icy air continually blasted onto her shoulders. But, you know, it gets very hot in the office, and we largely ignored her and enjoyed the cooler temperature as we slaved over our hot PCs. However, she kept complaining, and eventually the deputy MD heard her cries and it was moved.
They moved it in the winter, when you don’t have any call to use it. They moved it to above my desk. It is like a form of torture. I sit here, and someone complains about how hot it is, we have to turn the fucking thing on, and all the muscles in my left shoulder start to seize up. I’m actually in physical pain. It is a remote controlled unit, so you are supposed to be able to angle the blades of the fan so that the cold air would (theoretically) shoot over my desk and not hit my shoulder. Whoever designed this remote control was clearly a frustrated design graduate, stuck in a dead end job at an air-conditioning factory, out to seek revenge in whatever small, petty way they could. Every time you press the button to angle the blades, it beeps. It beeps at a volume that hits a nerve in my brain just so. It beeps and the blades move by less than a millimetre. You have to keep pressing the buttons until it is at just the right angle, then, you misjudge it and the blades start to go in the opposite direction. And you have to start again. I’ve given up doing that now as I have discovered after a lengthy session of pressing all the relevant buttons, that even when the freaking thing is angled just so, it still hits my shoulder like an arctic wind.
Good god.
I raised the issue of moving it elsewhere at the office meeting on Monday. The responses:
‘Just angle the blades.’
‘Did you know you can angle the blades?’
‘If you angle the blades, you can direct the flow of air.’
You. Don’t. Say.
They are refusing to move it because, apparently, there’s nowhere else for it to go. For the love of god.
I see now, and I think you'll all agree, that my only option is industrial sabotage. I’ll report back on my progress.
They moved it in the winter, when you don’t have any call to use it. They moved it to above my desk. It is like a form of torture. I sit here, and someone complains about how hot it is, we have to turn the fucking thing on, and all the muscles in my left shoulder start to seize up. I’m actually in physical pain. It is a remote controlled unit, so you are supposed to be able to angle the blades of the fan so that the cold air would (theoretically) shoot over my desk and not hit my shoulder. Whoever designed this remote control was clearly a frustrated design graduate, stuck in a dead end job at an air-conditioning factory, out to seek revenge in whatever small, petty way they could. Every time you press the button to angle the blades, it beeps. It beeps at a volume that hits a nerve in my brain just so. It beeps and the blades move by less than a millimetre. You have to keep pressing the buttons until it is at just the right angle, then, you misjudge it and the blades start to go in the opposite direction. And you have to start again. I’ve given up doing that now as I have discovered after a lengthy session of pressing all the relevant buttons, that even when the freaking thing is angled just so, it still hits my shoulder like an arctic wind.
Good god.
I raised the issue of moving it elsewhere at the office meeting on Monday. The responses:
‘Just angle the blades.’
‘Did you know you can angle the blades?’
‘If you angle the blades, you can direct the flow of air.’
You. Don’t. Say.
They are refusing to move it because, apparently, there’s nowhere else for it to go. For the love of god.
I see now, and I think you'll all agree, that my only option is industrial sabotage. I’ll report back on my progress.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Where the hell have I been?
What the hell do I think I'm playing at? Eh?
Not a single post since July? I think I'll go with the old 'never explain, never apologise' failsafe, and just get back to business toute suite. How about that?
Oh alright then: if you must know - I went on holiday, came back, had an existential crisis, as you do, stopped blogging, stopped writing, yadda, yadda, yadda, but I'm over it now, and she's back. And apparently talking about herself in the third person. Damn, don't you just hate that?
So to business – the trip up north to visit my parents was a huge success – we spent time on the beach, chilled out had nice meals etc –in short, I had a lovely time, and also managed to come away with a digital camera and an mp3 player. So I am now totally gadgeted up – I have almost everything the modern gal-about-town needs. Apart from a shoe rack. I still desperately need one of those.
With respect, I must now say that I finally get all the fuss about the mp3 players. I’m in love with mine and I now understand that they are essential to life in a similar way to water and oxygen. It’s like having the ultimate mix-tape, on your person, at all times. Genius. My only problem so far is resisting the urge to sing along and/or start dancing whilst on my commute. I’m assuming this would be looked on as a pretty serious faux pas, and have thus far managed to restrict myself to a subtle toe-tapping routine which I am sure bugs the hell out of whoever happens to be sitting next to me on the train. But I don’t care! I’m listening to Honky Tonk Woman! Get me.
In case you hadn’t guessed, I’m in a very good mood today. I had a very good weekend. And that’s all I’m saying.
Not a single post since July? I think I'll go with the old 'never explain, never apologise' failsafe, and just get back to business toute suite. How about that?
Oh alright then: if you must know - I went on holiday, came back, had an existential crisis, as you do, stopped blogging, stopped writing, yadda, yadda, yadda, but I'm over it now, and she's back. And apparently talking about herself in the third person. Damn, don't you just hate that?
So to business – the trip up north to visit my parents was a huge success – we spent time on the beach, chilled out had nice meals etc –in short, I had a lovely time, and also managed to come away with a digital camera and an mp3 player. So I am now totally gadgeted up – I have almost everything the modern gal-about-town needs. Apart from a shoe rack. I still desperately need one of those.
With respect, I must now say that I finally get all the fuss about the mp3 players. I’m in love with mine and I now understand that they are essential to life in a similar way to water and oxygen. It’s like having the ultimate mix-tape, on your person, at all times. Genius. My only problem so far is resisting the urge to sing along and/or start dancing whilst on my commute. I’m assuming this would be looked on as a pretty serious faux pas, and have thus far managed to restrict myself to a subtle toe-tapping routine which I am sure bugs the hell out of whoever happens to be sitting next to me on the train. But I don’t care! I’m listening to Honky Tonk Woman! Get me.
In case you hadn’t guessed, I’m in a very good mood today. I had a very good weekend. And that’s all I’m saying.
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