The boyfriend is moving in with me. I expedited this decision by offering all his furniture free of charge to one of the mechanics at work. It’s amazing how focused somebody gets when you remove a lot of the areas of previous comfort. There is a natural gravitation towards localities that have a bed, kitchen utensils and tv. Oh, and blowjobs on tap, but that is a pre-existing situation and shouldn’t really be factored in.
The number one dickhead at work, that has made my life miserable since December, has resigned! I did a little happy dance around the room when I heard that news. Tomorrow is his last day and, although he hasn’t let up on using me as the primary line of fire for outraged customers, who he has promised the world to, and then failed to deliver, I can tolerate it.
Somebody asked me today if they were replacing him and I said that I didn’t know. Asker commented that he was full of shit and I responded that he was in sales, and he was a prime example of why everybody universally loathes the genre, so anybody new might not be as huge a calibre arsehole but it did go with the genre.
For the last week I have been subtly invoking payback by giving every caller his mobile number and his after hours number, on the basis that he once told me that he was always available to clients. I also fail to take messages, telling them that he prefers email and personal contact, with messages as a last resort.
Everything else at work is going well, though. Well = busy; so much so that I have taken to going in early to get work done, before the phones start ringing (think six instead of seven), and I routinely work through my lunch hour. I’ve pretty much worked through my probationary period and now the inner me has risen to the surface, irrepressible, authoritarian and organising. It really is a good work thing but people are looking sideways at me, not reconciling the crass, ebulliant and detail focused person they see, as compared to the nice, ever-pleasing humdrum work drone that I was employed as.
Yesterday a brand new bus that my company had ordered for a specific job came to grief. There were a great many mine specific modifications that needed to be made to it, including a lot of electrical work necessary for safety reasons – lights on automatically, battery isolation switch, overhead flashing lights, UHF radio etc. These things are supposed to be installed as part of the new vehicle order we place with Toyota but we test everything anyway before it goes out (or I do – part of my job) and we frequently find that some parameters have been missed or don’t work.
Such was the case with our bus. Oneof our mechanics fitted up a radio and Toyota came out to fix a problem with the electrics and starter motor. All good; the bus went off with a happy client.
But fifteen minutes later he called to say that the bus had just cut out and wasn’t working, and while he was actually on the phone the whole front section burst into flame. Luckily, he got out through the rear door but a $100 000 brand new bus went up in smoke.
So, today there is a lot of blame going around and I have been yelled at, as the first line of contact, way more than I wanted or even deserved. The client is making his unhappiness felt and it was unfair. After all, it really wasn’t our fault (subsequent tests showed it was Toyota’s fitting out). I got fed up.
So, when the sales guy arranged a new vehicle as a substitute, and emailed the front office staff with the new specifications, I passed them through. But I did add extras, under ‘sundry items’.
If anybody cares to read through those notes they will discover that this bus is supposed to go out with the usual northwest package, plus work lights, water containers, a packet of sausages and barbecue tongs.
Healthwise, I suppose I am recovering. My right breast is still very storm cloudish and it continues to be very painful. The dressings have come off now and I am not pleased to notice that it appears the initial incision has decided to heal as a keloid scar (raised lumpy red scar; far worse than the original surgical swipe. Also, it seems that I am now allergic to Tegoderm, judging by the almost brown photocopy of the original dressing that now exists on my boob, once it has been peeled off. It looks like a brand, is sore and itchy as hell, and has brought down my tolerance of sticky wound dressings to only micropore.