Wednesday, 14 September 2016
On A Happier Note, Here Is A (Direct) Quote From Mother:
"Y'know, I did think of the bin, but it was superseded by the lettuce."
...Yeah.
I stood and blinked for a moment, too.
Alice x
Sunday, 11 September 2016
It's Time For Another Picture Post Folk(s):
Yesterday went exactly as I'd hoped it would.
I got on the train, snagged myself a seat by a window, and proceeded to do as I usually do on trains: perch my bag on my bag on my knees, open up my notepad on top of it, and get writing.
There were delays (as usual) caused by signal problems (also as usual), but I was unconcerned because a) I am well used to travelling via train, b) so were the people I was going to meet and c) I had managed to get to the station in time to catch an earlier one anyway. As it was, the train carrying moi chugged its way into Birmingham Snow Hill at exactly the time the later one should have done, which meant I was right on time.
Then I made my way out of the station to find Birmingham Cathedral:
This turned out to be a wee bit closer than I had remembered. As Mother brilliantly put it when I returned and recounted my day, it was "...not so much 'exit station, turn right, walk' as; 'exit station, turn right, hop'..."
Anyway, all was well. I rang Best Friend 0.5(1) - as he now must be known - and he and - as he is now to be called - Best Friend 0.5(2) were hot on my trail.
10 minutes later, they arrived.
There was some dithering (I love a good Dither, don't you? Best Friend 0.5(2) is particularly excellent at it) with regards to where we should eat, but eventually it was decided that it should be Min Min...
...and off we went.
As we walked, I kept in contact with the fourth of our little group, Best Friend 2, who was running late - I should point out that while she has many excellent qualities and I love her dearly, lateness from this woman is as expected by me as it is from the public transport service - via text. As we actually walked through the door (both Best Friend 0.5(1) and Best Friend 0.5(2) had great fun showing me its 'air-lock' type qualities) she announced that we should go ahead and eat because she had already had lunch. Cue expressions like this from us:
...Yeah...she does this (I'd forgotten).
So, we pulled faces, sent her a little 'Oh, you' message, and because we - unlike her - were good and hungry, moved swiftly on.
It was decided that rather than order 3 main courses, it would be better to choose four or five (five, as it turned out) starters and have a little bit of each. As I hadn't even heard of the majority that was on the menu, let alone tried it, I thought this to be a spiffy idea.
So, we ordered. While we waited for the food to arrive, we carried on chatting about anything and nothing (I love doing that, too) and traded affectionate insults between ourselves to pass the time before the serious business of Operation Stuff Yourself Silly began.
In due course, the food appeared.
To my sheltered and previously unadventurous eyes, the dishes seemed weird and fantastical. The most recognizable one of them looked like this...
...but, never one to shy away from food, I dug in gamely and found them all to be delicious, if a little hard to eat, armed as we were with only chopsticks and a fork.
Just in time for the ordering of dessert(s), Best Friend 2 arrived.
While we waited and then while we ate, conversation continued unabated. We discussed various aspects of our lives: plans for a Masters Degree - Best Friend 0.5(1) - and a ITQ Level 3 computer course - me - and an engagement - Best Friend 0.5(2) ...when he gets around to it - and for Best Friend 2's husband to find a job, as well as the merits of quitting one's job to 'Find Oneself' whilst funded by one's future fiance - Best Friend 0.5(2) again - and the suggestion that technological untrackabilty gave weight to the suggestion that a workplace photocopier be used to aid in the decorating an office's walls with pornographic material - all of them verses me - and finally, the question of whether hating one's boss/employment should be cause to be allocated some form of disability allowance.
There was also the chance for Team Best Friends, along with anyone else in the restaurant, to admire my handiwork as I produced my latest masterpiece from the depths of my bag, with the aim of getting one of Team Best Friends to take a picture of it for me. For those interested, here is the result:
Once dessert was dispensed with, we left and made for somewhere else to camp out.
On route, we stopped in a Chinese confectionery store to look for Matcha Kit-Kats (Best Friend 0.5(1) and Best Friend 0.5(2)) and sweet biscuity things flavoured with Hawthorn (Best Friend 2).
After a trek through a crowded part of town - during which Best Friend 0.5(1) had to keep reminding me to breathe - we finally arrived at EAT:
Best Friend 0.5(1) wanted to stop at EAT especially, due to his determination for me to try one of these:
...Yep...
My first impression was that it looked like a milkshake gone wrong. It was mint green and incredibly gloopy, but to my surprise it was actually quite nice. It wasn't the gastronomical delight that the boys had claimed it to be, or at least not to me, but, yep. Nice, I guess.
Midway through the Matcha Munching (...can one 'munch' a drink?...), a guy called 'Rich' showed up. Apparently, in a moment of weakness, Best Friend 0.5(2) had agreed to help him move house. We all shook hands and said pleased to meet you and such, and then immediately returned to the debate that had been raging before his arrival; should washing done every day (YES!) or not (NO!). One argument (mine) was it should be done every day if possible (it isn't always possible, obviously, but mostly it is) because that's what responsible people do, and in any case, it takes approximately 10-bloody-minutes. The other argument (theirs) was that it didn't matter, the job wasn't going anywhere, after a full day at work including travel they had more important things to do (these 'important things' ranged from going out somewhere to having sex to watching the television), and that I "would understand when I lived by myself". I countered this with the comment that it depends on the person, not the location (after all, there are people that work 12-14 hour days that keep their entire house free of even the smallest spec of grime while at the other end of the spectrum there are folk that don't have a job at all and live in a veritable pigsty), and repeated that it takes 10-bloody-minutes. Rinse, wash, repeat. There were other arguments too; tumble drying verses hanging clothes up by hand, for example, but it was the Washing Up Debate that took the majority of the attention, and quite rightly so.
Towards the end of the W.U.D, Rich and Best Friend 0.5(2) left to move Rich from one house to another. Then, once we had given up the W.U.D as a lost cause, I amused the other two of Team Remaining Friends with the anecdote of my River Cruise Experience - short version; a rift between the group members due to a dog made it a memorable occasion, I shall tell you about it sometime - as we finished our Matchas, before Team Remaining Friends got moving as well.
...As a brief aside, my choice of coat drew some surprised glances from passersby (along with, at some point, rueful head shakes from each and every member of Team Best friends). It's the only waterproof one I have, now my less standout-ish anorak is out of commission (short version: the cat got hold of it), and it looks like this:
...yeah.
I know.
But it works!
...Anyhoot...
We headed for a place called Cass Art so that Best Friend 2 could pick up an easel. From the outside, it looks as though it is quite a small, and unassuming kind of place, but inside, it looks like this:
Cool, huh? The Aladdin's Cave of Paint...
While we waited for Best Friend 2 to secure her easel, plus a few other things, myself and Best Friend 0.5(1) stood off to one side to wait. The W.U.D was rekindled briefly, then abandoned once we realized we were going round in circles (yet again).
After that, we headed towards a shopping centre in search of a hat and a rucksack (Best Friend.2 again). On route, we got distracted by and wasted a lot of time in a wondrous shop called Tiger, which sells all manner of marvelous, fun and useless things:
A while after that, once we had exhausted the possibilities of finding either a suitable rucksack or hat in the centre, we adjurned to the floor below - which handily contained one of the many entrances to New Street Railway Station - so that we could sit down, as we were all tired by that point and my heels were beginning to complain.
A few minutes after that Team Remaining Friends decided to call it a day. Best Friend 2 went into New Street to await her train, while myself and Best Friend 0.5(1) made our way back to Snow Hill in order for me to catch mine (train) and him to catch his (bus).
While we waited for the train, we chatted about various things - that we had had a great day (answer: definitely), whether I intended to keep The Alice Plan going (answer: yes), when the best time might be for us to meet again (answer: possibly in a month or so, if not, during the next half term holiday), and what Best Friend 0.5(1) planned on having for dinner (answer: eggs).
Just before the 18:53 pulled in, Best Friend 0.5(1) told me he expected to see a Blog post describing my day in detail, to which I graciously replied, "of course".
So!
Here it is.
With pictures.
Just for you.
Thank you. That is all.
=bows. walks off=
Alice x
I got on the train, snagged myself a seat by a window, and proceeded to do as I usually do on trains: perch my bag on my bag on my knees, open up my notepad on top of it, and get writing.
There were delays (as usual) caused by signal problems (also as usual), but I was unconcerned because a) I am well used to travelling via train, b) so were the people I was going to meet and c) I had managed to get to the station in time to catch an earlier one anyway. As it was, the train carrying moi chugged its way into Birmingham Snow Hill at exactly the time the later one should have done, which meant I was right on time.
Then I made my way out of the station to find Birmingham Cathedral:
Anyway, all was well. I rang Best Friend 0.5(1) - as he now must be known - and he and - as he is now to be called - Best Friend 0.5(2) were hot on my trail.
10 minutes later, they arrived.
There was some dithering (I love a good Dither, don't you? Best Friend 0.5(2) is particularly excellent at it) with regards to where we should eat, but eventually it was decided that it should be Min Min...
...and off we went.
As we walked, I kept in contact with the fourth of our little group, Best Friend 2, who was running late - I should point out that while she has many excellent qualities and I love her dearly, lateness from this woman is as expected by me as it is from the public transport service - via text. As we actually walked through the door (both Best Friend 0.5(1) and Best Friend 0.5(2) had great fun showing me its 'air-lock' type qualities) she announced that we should go ahead and eat because she had already had lunch. Cue expressions like this from us:
...Yeah...she does this (I'd forgotten).
So, we pulled faces, sent her a little 'Oh, you' message, and because we - unlike her - were good and hungry, moved swiftly on.
It was decided that rather than order 3 main courses, it would be better to choose four or five (five, as it turned out) starters and have a little bit of each. As I hadn't even heard of the majority that was on the menu, let alone tried it, I thought this to be a spiffy idea.
So, we ordered. While we waited for the food to arrive, we carried on chatting about anything and nothing (I love doing that, too) and traded affectionate insults between ourselves to pass the time before the serious business of Operation Stuff Yourself Silly began.
In due course, the food appeared.
To my sheltered and previously unadventurous eyes, the dishes seemed weird and fantastical. The most recognizable one of them looked like this...
Just in time for the ordering of dessert(s), Best Friend 2 arrived.
While we waited and then while we ate, conversation continued unabated. We discussed various aspects of our lives: plans for a Masters Degree - Best Friend 0.5(1) - and a ITQ Level 3 computer course - me - and an engagement - Best Friend 0.5(2) ...when he gets around to it - and for Best Friend 2's husband to find a job, as well as the merits of quitting one's job to 'Find Oneself' whilst funded by one's future fiance - Best Friend 0.5(2) again - and the suggestion that technological untrackabilty gave weight to the suggestion that a workplace photocopier be used to aid in the decorating an office's walls with pornographic material - all of them verses me - and finally, the question of whether hating one's boss/employment should be cause to be allocated some form of disability allowance.
There was also the chance for Team Best Friends, along with anyone else in the restaurant, to admire my handiwork as I produced my latest masterpiece from the depths of my bag, with the aim of getting one of Team Best Friends to take a picture of it for me. For those interested, here is the result:
Once dessert was dispensed with, we left and made for somewhere else to camp out.
On route, we stopped in a Chinese confectionery store to look for Matcha Kit-Kats (Best Friend 0.5(1) and Best Friend 0.5(2)) and sweet biscuity things flavoured with Hawthorn (Best Friend 2).
After a trek through a crowded part of town - during which Best Friend 0.5(1) had to keep reminding me to breathe - we finally arrived at EAT:
Best Friend 0.5(1) wanted to stop at EAT especially, due to his determination for me to try one of these:
...Yep...
My first impression was that it looked like a milkshake gone wrong. It was mint green and incredibly gloopy, but to my surprise it was actually quite nice. It wasn't the gastronomical delight that the boys had claimed it to be, or at least not to me, but, yep. Nice, I guess.
Midway through the Matcha Munching (...can one 'munch' a drink?...), a guy called 'Rich' showed up. Apparently, in a moment of weakness, Best Friend 0.5(2) had agreed to help him move house. We all shook hands and said pleased to meet you and such, and then immediately returned to the debate that had been raging before his arrival; should washing done every day (YES!) or not (NO!). One argument (mine) was it should be done every day if possible (it isn't always possible, obviously, but mostly it is) because that's what responsible people do, and in any case, it takes approximately 10-bloody-minutes. The other argument (theirs) was that it didn't matter, the job wasn't going anywhere, after a full day at work including travel they had more important things to do (these 'important things' ranged from going out somewhere to having sex to watching the television), and that I "would understand when I lived by myself". I countered this with the comment that it depends on the person, not the location (after all, there are people that work 12-14 hour days that keep their entire house free of even the smallest spec of grime while at the other end of the spectrum there are folk that don't have a job at all and live in a veritable pigsty), and repeated that it takes 10-bloody-minutes. Rinse, wash, repeat. There were other arguments too; tumble drying verses hanging clothes up by hand, for example, but it was the Washing Up Debate that took the majority of the attention, and quite rightly so.
Towards the end of the W.U.D, Rich and Best Friend 0.5(2) left to move Rich from one house to another. Then, once we had given up the W.U.D as a lost cause, I amused the other two of Team Remaining Friends with the anecdote of my River Cruise Experience - short version; a rift between the group members due to a dog made it a memorable occasion, I shall tell you about it sometime - as we finished our Matchas, before Team Remaining Friends got moving as well.
...As a brief aside, my choice of coat drew some surprised glances from passersby (along with, at some point, rueful head shakes from each and every member of Team Best friends). It's the only waterproof one I have, now my less standout-ish anorak is out of commission (short version: the cat got hold of it), and it looks like this:
I know.
But it works!
...Anyhoot...
We headed for a place called Cass Art so that Best Friend 2 could pick up an easel. From the outside, it looks as though it is quite a small, and unassuming kind of place, but inside, it looks like this:
Cool, huh? The Aladdin's Cave of Paint...
While we waited for Best Friend 2 to secure her easel, plus a few other things, myself and Best Friend 0.5(1) stood off to one side to wait. The W.U.D was rekindled briefly, then abandoned once we realized we were going round in circles (yet again).
After that, we headed towards a shopping centre in search of a hat and a rucksack (Best Friend.2 again). On route, we got distracted by and wasted a lot of time in a wondrous shop called Tiger, which sells all manner of marvelous, fun and useless things:
A while after that, once we had exhausted the possibilities of finding either a suitable rucksack or hat in the centre, we adjurned to the floor below - which handily contained one of the many entrances to New Street Railway Station - so that we could sit down, as we were all tired by that point and my heels were beginning to complain.
A few minutes after that Team Remaining Friends decided to call it a day. Best Friend 2 went into New Street to await her train, while myself and Best Friend 0.5(1) made our way back to Snow Hill in order for me to catch mine (train) and him to catch his (bus).
While we waited for the train, we chatted about various things - that we had had a great day (answer: definitely), whether I intended to keep The Alice Plan going (answer: yes), when the best time might be for us to meet again (answer: possibly in a month or so, if not, during the next half term holiday), and what Best Friend 0.5(1) planned on having for dinner (answer: eggs).
Just before the 18:53 pulled in, Best Friend 0.5(1) told me he expected to see a Blog post describing my day in detail, to which I graciously replied, "of course".
So!
Here it is.
With pictures.
Just for you.
Thank you. That is all.
=bows. walks off=
Alice x
Friday, 9 September 2016
A Few Things That Have Occurred To Me Over The Past Few Days:
1. with a few notable exceptions, it takes Bingo approximately one hundreth of the time it takes me to make his toys to destroy them.
- but for those 2-10 minutes per time, boy; does he have fun!
2. if I continue trawling the internet for jobs on a daily basis, I am going to go insane.
- after another frustrating week, I've decided to settle on Moday, Wednesday and Friday for the full search, and checking for any job related e-mails the other days.
...I do end up applying for any suitable posts that pop up therein, admittedly, but those are few and far between due to the recruitment website(s) habit(s) of ignoring my saved searches and instead taking random words out of my CV and using whatever the words are as the basis of "hey; you may want to apply for this!".
...seriously. The last job alert had the sentence: "here are 10 jobs that match your search criteria, key words/phrases selected for search: 'the', 'birds'."
=SIGHS=
3. it is becoming apparent that the main reason Mother and myself have lived in the same house together such beautiful harmony for so long is because until very recently she spent 90% of her time outside of said house.
- seriously. Discounting the days that I was out and about doing various things myself, I used to have the majority of weekday afternoons to myself. I came back from work, and the house was empty, and stayed that way from that moment on until at least 3PM - 5PM (or later) if she was at a school - but now, I come home from work, and; she is there. And she stays there until 3PM before leaving for her shift at The Grandmama's (where she now works, 12 hours per week), sometimes 4PM. So between at least 1PM and 3PM there we are; both there together at the same time. In the living room, which during the afternoons, as I said; I used to have to myself, with the television playing reruns of Star Trek (which no matter how quietly she has it on, seems to pierce straight through my earphones in a way that no other television show can) while I am trying to conduct a job search and apply for jobs or concentrate on The Story or write a Blog post or just to simply BE.
...seriously (again). GAH! I love her, and she loves me, and we still enjoy the things we both enjoyed doing together just as we always have, but; GAH!
...Give me back my free afternoons, damn it!
=SIGHS (again)=
4. my fringe swept over to the right hand side of my forehead looks very nice.
- on the same token, said fringe swept over the other way - to try and conceal a small flaw just above my left eye, which thanks to The Grandpapa I am now rather conscious of - just looks weird. I have no idea why, it just does(n't work).
Alice x
- but for those 2-10 minutes per time, boy; does he have fun!
2. if I continue trawling the internet for jobs on a daily basis, I am going to go insane.
- after another frustrating week, I've decided to settle on Moday, Wednesday and Friday for the full search, and checking for any job related e-mails the other days.
...I do end up applying for any suitable posts that pop up therein, admittedly, but those are few and far between due to the recruitment website(s) habit(s) of ignoring my saved searches and instead taking random words out of my CV and using whatever the words are as the basis of "hey; you may want to apply for this!".
...seriously. The last job alert had the sentence: "here are 10 jobs that match your search criteria, key words/phrases selected for search: 'the', 'birds'."
=SIGHS=
3. it is becoming apparent that the main reason Mother and myself have lived in the same house together such beautiful harmony for so long is because until very recently she spent 90% of her time outside of said house.
- seriously. Discounting the days that I was out and about doing various things myself, I used to have the majority of weekday afternoons to myself. I came back from work, and the house was empty, and stayed that way from that moment on until at least 3PM - 5PM (or later) if she was at a school - but now, I come home from work, and; she is there. And she stays there until 3PM before leaving for her shift at The Grandmama's (where she now works, 12 hours per week), sometimes 4PM. So between at least 1PM and 3PM there we are; both there together at the same time. In the living room, which during the afternoons, as I said; I used to have to myself, with the television playing reruns of Star Trek (which no matter how quietly she has it on, seems to pierce straight through my earphones in a way that no other television show can) while I am trying to conduct a job search and apply for jobs or concentrate on The Story or write a Blog post or just to simply BE.
...seriously (again). GAH! I love her, and she loves me, and we still enjoy the things we both enjoyed doing together just as we always have, but; GAH!
...Give me back my free afternoons, damn it!
=SIGHS (again)=
4. my fringe swept over to the right hand side of my forehead looks very nice.
- on the same token, said fringe swept over the other way - to try and conceal a small flaw just above my left eye, which thanks to The Grandpapa I am now rather conscious of - just looks weird. I have no idea why, it just does(n't work).
Alice x
Monday, 5 September 2016
Two Encounters.
ENCOUNTER 1:
Some boys - I'm not good with ages; mid/late teens at a rough guess - walking past nudged one another and sniggered as they walked past me. Sadly, that is not uncommon; it happens with depressing frequency (though in true cowardly fashion, of course only when there are several of them against the one of me), and oftentimes the sniggers are accompanied by some slur or other directed at my weight.
So, having seen them coming and noted the familiar smirks and body language, I donned my Impassive Face and inwardly braced myself for whatever might be about to be either said or yelled. But this time, rather than some version or other of "fattie!" what I got was "dyke!"
...I blinked. That was unusual. I hadn't been called that before. "LESbian", certainly - screamed from a passing car (hence the first part of the word being in capitals, as it was louder) and aimed at myself and Best Friend 2 as we walked along the pavement arm-in-arm - but never "dyke".
A split second later, I heard a sigh, and turning my head, I realized that their sniggers and scorn had - just this once - not been directed at me, but at someone else. She was very tall, and very thin, dressed in a pale shirt, dark blue leggings and big clumpy boots. Her skin was very pale, and her blond hair - what there was of it - was very, very short and combed back.
She glared after them over her shoulder, then glanced over at me and rolled her eyes.
"I'm not," she confided, testily, one woman to another; "but pricks like that make me wish I was".
Well, yes.
Quite.
ENCOUNTER 2:
Reader(s), after all this time, I didn't think it likely that I would see them again, but today I did.
Remember this lady?
http://onefatgirlandherthoughts.blogspot.co.uk/2015/09/yet-another-overheard-conversation.html
Well, today, I saw her again. And this time, I spoke to her.
She was hobbling along, clinging to her long-suffering son's arm, wittering away about what she was going to make him for lunch when they got back - from the sound of it, there were a lot of choices and she was switching back and forth between them - while he walked stoically beside her with that same look of practiced patience on his face.
We reached the escalator at the same time, and as per usual, I gestured that they should get on ahead of me, given the ongoing problem my brain has with regards to getting on which can sometimes be time consuming. This caused Crisp Lady - as I have called her in my head ever since that fateful day - to beam at me.
"Why thank you, my dear", she said, solicitously
"You're welcome", I replied.
I managed to put my foot down after letting just two steps pass by, and as I left the escalator a few seconds later, I could hear Crisp Lady's voice as she carried on talking to her son in a soft yet unstoppable wave of words.
A lovely young lady that, she was saying...manners are hard to come by these days, not many have them now...it wasn't the same in her day; people had respect then...but a lovely young lady; his brother Keith would do well to find a girl like that...a person couldn't play the lad forever, he should settle down...and she looked nice; a nice girl with good hips, after all you need good hips to have children...speaking of children; when were him and Loraine going to start...they weren't getting any younger...were they trying?...they needed to be trying...what kind of underpants did he wear? Because apparently that could make a big difference...
We separated at the end of the street before I heard what, if anything, the poor boy said in response to (any of) that.
As before, I was sorry to see them go.
And worse, this time, as I was left in suspense.
...what kind of underpants DOES he wear...?
Alice x
Some boys - I'm not good with ages; mid/late teens at a rough guess - walking past nudged one another and sniggered as they walked past me. Sadly, that is not uncommon; it happens with depressing frequency (though in true cowardly fashion, of course only when there are several of them against the one of me), and oftentimes the sniggers are accompanied by some slur or other directed at my weight.
So, having seen them coming and noted the familiar smirks and body language, I donned my Impassive Face and inwardly braced myself for whatever might be about to be either said or yelled. But this time, rather than some version or other of "fattie!" what I got was "dyke!"
...I blinked. That was unusual. I hadn't been called that before. "LESbian", certainly - screamed from a passing car (hence the first part of the word being in capitals, as it was louder) and aimed at myself and Best Friend 2 as we walked along the pavement arm-in-arm - but never "dyke".
A split second later, I heard a sigh, and turning my head, I realized that their sniggers and scorn had - just this once - not been directed at me, but at someone else. She was very tall, and very thin, dressed in a pale shirt, dark blue leggings and big clumpy boots. Her skin was very pale, and her blond hair - what there was of it - was very, very short and combed back.
She glared after them over her shoulder, then glanced over at me and rolled her eyes.
"I'm not," she confided, testily, one woman to another; "but pricks like that make me wish I was".
Well, yes.
Quite.
ENCOUNTER 2:
Reader(s), after all this time, I didn't think it likely that I would see them again, but today I did.
Remember this lady?
http://onefatgirlandherthoughts.blogspot.co.uk/2015/09/yet-another-overheard-conversation.html
Well, today, I saw her again. And this time, I spoke to her.
She was hobbling along, clinging to her long-suffering son's arm, wittering away about what she was going to make him for lunch when they got back - from the sound of it, there were a lot of choices and she was switching back and forth between them - while he walked stoically beside her with that same look of practiced patience on his face.
We reached the escalator at the same time, and as per usual, I gestured that they should get on ahead of me, given the ongoing problem my brain has with regards to getting on which can sometimes be time consuming. This caused Crisp Lady - as I have called her in my head ever since that fateful day - to beam at me.
"Why thank you, my dear", she said, solicitously
"You're welcome", I replied.
I managed to put my foot down after letting just two steps pass by, and as I left the escalator a few seconds later, I could hear Crisp Lady's voice as she carried on talking to her son in a soft yet unstoppable wave of words.
A lovely young lady that, she was saying...manners are hard to come by these days, not many have them now...it wasn't the same in her day; people had respect then...but a lovely young lady; his brother Keith would do well to find a girl like that...a person couldn't play the lad forever, he should settle down...and she looked nice; a nice girl with good hips, after all you need good hips to have children...speaking of children; when were him and Loraine going to start...they weren't getting any younger...were they trying?...they needed to be trying...what kind of underpants did he wear? Because apparently that could make a big difference...
We separated at the end of the street before I heard what, if anything, the poor boy said in response to (any of) that.
As before, I was sorry to see them go.
And worse, this time, as I was left in suspense.
...what kind of underpants DOES he wear...?
Alice x
Sunday, 4 September 2016
I Think My Subconscious Is Trying To Tell Me Something...
I am sat in a room. It is a plain, nondescript sort of room with beige coloured walls and biege coloured carpets; no pictures, no posters, no windows, no (other) colour, no life.
My chair is one of those in a large circle in the middle of the otherwise empty room. My co-sitters are all women, dressed in exactly the same outfit - dark grey blouse, black trousers, black socks, black shoes - with identical features and identical eyes (brown) and identical hair (also brown) cut and styled in an identical way.
I, with my blond hair and blue eyes, red blouse and black skirt over red tights, look starkly out of place. But that's okay. After all, everybody is different.
...Well, not these girls, obviously. But other than that, everybody is different...
We sit for a few minutes before a man comes in through a door in the corner; the only thing that breaks the monotony of beige from one end of the room to another. The man is tall with black hair and olive coloured skin. He is dressed entirely in white.
He smiles at us. Taking the sole free chair in the circle, he moves it into the middle, setting himself apart. Then he introduces himself. His name is Matthew - "please, call me 'Matt', okay?" - and he is going to be conducting the group interview that we have been invited to attend that day.
To begin; he asks us all our names in turn, requesting that we state our ages as well. I am discomfited to find that I am the eldest, at 31. Everybody else is in their twenties; 26 to be exact. The voices of the other girls, like their appearance and dress, are monotone and sound exactly the same. Only the names are different.
It proceeds from there as one might expect from a group interview, with a series of allegedly informal and random questions ('just for fun!') asked to each of us in turn. Matt listens to our answers carefully, occasionally making notes on a clipboard. I am, while not fully at ease - I have always hated group interviews, despite the fact that 5 out of 6 of them have led to success (and the sixth was due to the job being not as advertised, rather than anything I did) - confident that I am making a good impression.
I generally do,
To start, I have an aura of 'niceness' that people are drawn to; my rosy, smiling face puts people looking at me at ease. This in turn is backed up by the way I naturally speak, which pegs me as educated, but not smugly so, while at the same time reassuringly polite and respectful. Then, to crown it off; my vivid and colourful imagination comes in handy, setting my answers to the seemingly-pointless-but-actually-cleverly-revealing questions apart, showing me to be a quick and independent thinker.
...Another 'fun' question, another good answer when the turn to reply reaches me that Matt smiles at approvingly as he continues to scribble on his clipboard. Inwardly, I nod to myself, pleased.
This is good.
Things are going well.
...Then, Matt turns his attention away from the group as a whole and directs it straight upon me.
"Now, Alice," he says, shifting position in his chair and crossing his legs; "a question just for you."
Another inward nod. I have seen this before. The interviewer picks a few people out of the crowd to direct a snap question to, to see how the individual will react. Due to what a friend has delightfully described as my "magnetic people puller face", I am nearly always one of those picked on, and my answer has never failed me yet.
So, I smile and nod; ready, and Matt smiles and nods back; also ready, fixing me with his unnerving and level stare before he starts speaking again.
"I was just wondering; what gives you the right to sit here amongst these fine, upstanding people, as though you had even the slightest prayer of getting this job," noting my taken-aback expression, his mouth twitches in satisfaction as he continues; "I mean, really, you seem nice and everything, and you're obviously intelligent, but honestly; it takes a certain kind of person to work as an Administrator, and you, my lovely, are most definitely not it. The other people here are, but you are not. Because the other people here - these fine, upstanding people - are not employed as a cleaner."
Cue: a large gasp from each person uttered at the same time.
The girls turn to look at me with identically shocked, horrified and disgusted expressions on their identical faces. Then, in unison, they each lift their right hand to point at me as they begin to chant, in unison, in their low, monotone voices:
"Cleaner, cleaner,! Doesn't belong, doesn't belong! Cleaner, cleaner! Doesn't belong, doesn't belong!"
...And so it goes on.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
As the chanting continues, I sigh a resigned sigh, and turn to the nearest chanter to say:
"You know, I know this is a nightmare and so it isn't real, but I really don't like this at all."
...And then, I wake up.
Alice x
My chair is one of those in a large circle in the middle of the otherwise empty room. My co-sitters are all women, dressed in exactly the same outfit - dark grey blouse, black trousers, black socks, black shoes - with identical features and identical eyes (brown) and identical hair (also brown) cut and styled in an identical way.
I, with my blond hair and blue eyes, red blouse and black skirt over red tights, look starkly out of place. But that's okay. After all, everybody is different.
...Well, not these girls, obviously. But other than that, everybody is different...
We sit for a few minutes before a man comes in through a door in the corner; the only thing that breaks the monotony of beige from one end of the room to another. The man is tall with black hair and olive coloured skin. He is dressed entirely in white.
He smiles at us. Taking the sole free chair in the circle, he moves it into the middle, setting himself apart. Then he introduces himself. His name is Matthew - "please, call me 'Matt', okay?" - and he is going to be conducting the group interview that we have been invited to attend that day.
To begin; he asks us all our names in turn, requesting that we state our ages as well. I am discomfited to find that I am the eldest, at 31. Everybody else is in their twenties; 26 to be exact. The voices of the other girls, like their appearance and dress, are monotone and sound exactly the same. Only the names are different.
It proceeds from there as one might expect from a group interview, with a series of allegedly informal and random questions ('just for fun!') asked to each of us in turn. Matt listens to our answers carefully, occasionally making notes on a clipboard. I am, while not fully at ease - I have always hated group interviews, despite the fact that 5 out of 6 of them have led to success (and the sixth was due to the job being not as advertised, rather than anything I did) - confident that I am making a good impression.
I generally do,
To start, I have an aura of 'niceness' that people are drawn to; my rosy, smiling face puts people looking at me at ease. This in turn is backed up by the way I naturally speak, which pegs me as educated, but not smugly so, while at the same time reassuringly polite and respectful. Then, to crown it off; my vivid and colourful imagination comes in handy, setting my answers to the seemingly-pointless-but-actually-cleverly-revealing questions apart, showing me to be a quick and independent thinker.
...Another 'fun' question, another good answer when the turn to reply reaches me that Matt smiles at approvingly as he continues to scribble on his clipboard. Inwardly, I nod to myself, pleased.
This is good.
Things are going well.
...Then, Matt turns his attention away from the group as a whole and directs it straight upon me.
"Now, Alice," he says, shifting position in his chair and crossing his legs; "a question just for you."
Another inward nod. I have seen this before. The interviewer picks a few people out of the crowd to direct a snap question to, to see how the individual will react. Due to what a friend has delightfully described as my "magnetic people puller face", I am nearly always one of those picked on, and my answer has never failed me yet.
So, I smile and nod; ready, and Matt smiles and nods back; also ready, fixing me with his unnerving and level stare before he starts speaking again.
"I was just wondering; what gives you the right to sit here amongst these fine, upstanding people, as though you had even the slightest prayer of getting this job," noting my taken-aback expression, his mouth twitches in satisfaction as he continues; "I mean, really, you seem nice and everything, and you're obviously intelligent, but honestly; it takes a certain kind of person to work as an Administrator, and you, my lovely, are most definitely not it. The other people here are, but you are not. Because the other people here - these fine, upstanding people - are not employed as a cleaner."
Cue: a large gasp from each person uttered at the same time.
The girls turn to look at me with identically shocked, horrified and disgusted expressions on their identical faces. Then, in unison, they each lift their right hand to point at me as they begin to chant, in unison, in their low, monotone voices:
"Cleaner, cleaner,! Doesn't belong, doesn't belong! Cleaner, cleaner! Doesn't belong, doesn't belong!"
...And so it goes on.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
As the chanting continues, I sigh a resigned sigh, and turn to the nearest chanter to say:
"You know, I know this is a nightmare and so it isn't real, but I really don't like this at all."
...And then, I wake up.
Alice x
Friday, 2 September 2016
Frust-bloody-ated:
I am - was - midway through a job hunt.
There are 12 jobs that I could be, and should be, applying for today.
But I can't.
...Why, I hear (the two of) you ask?
Because: the Jobmatch website isn't working.
Nor is Reed. Or Total Jobs. Or Jobsite. Or any of the others. I've tried them all, several times. None of them are online.
I have no idea why. Other websites seem to be running normally - including this one - but none of the sites that I need to apply for the jobs.
I can't ring, or write, or anything else; it's all done online. I don't even have a company to contact by e-mail; 99% of the posts are advertised through recruitment agencies with as few details given as possible.
So, for now, I am stuck.
How long for?
...I have no clue.
=SIGHS. STROKES DOG. WAITS FOR WEBSITES TO WORK=
Alice x
UPDATE:
Success.
After further research, the 12 jobs were whittled down to 8, and some of them are a bit unlikely, given the training and experience that are desired and/or required, but hey; 8 jobs applied for is better than none, and nothing ventured then nothing gained, right?
Right.
Today has been a productive day.
I feel pleased with how today has gone...
There are 12 jobs that I could be, and should be, applying for today.
But I can't.
...Why, I hear (the two of) you ask?
Because: the Jobmatch website isn't working.
Nor is Reed. Or Total Jobs. Or Jobsite. Or any of the others. I've tried them all, several times. None of them are online.
I have no idea why. Other websites seem to be running normally - including this one - but none of the sites that I need to apply for the jobs.
I can't ring, or write, or anything else; it's all done online. I don't even have a company to contact by e-mail; 99% of the posts are advertised through recruitment agencies with as few details given as possible.
So, for now, I am stuck.
How long for?
...I have no clue.
=SIGHS. STROKES DOG. WAITS FOR WEBSITES TO WORK=
Alice x
UPDATE:
Success.
After further research, the 12 jobs were whittled down to 8, and some of them are a bit unlikely, given the training and experience that are desired and/or required, but hey; 8 jobs applied for is better than none, and nothing ventured then nothing gained, right?
Right.
Today has been a productive day.
I feel pleased with how today has gone...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)