A Little Vent

Oh it’s on with me and Craptrainer.  Spent 20 mins fighting with him about why the bank does a certain thing a certain way (answer ”cause it does” – hmmm sign of a feeble mind or a useless trainer?) only to discover the thing he was non-training us on is something we will NEVER DO IN OUR JOBS.  Point?  ”So you know it happens.”  Point?  None.  Not my fault you were bullied as a kid, and not my fault nobody here likes you.  Grow up, move on, and lose some weight – maybe stop eating mars bars in bed when you’re crying over your crap childhood in the wee small hours of each stinking night.  Prick.

It’s not just me.  There’s eleven of us in the room, and about four of them this afternoon attempted to speak to Craptrainer about how difficult it is to learn banking procedures when one person stands in the front of the room, giant book in hand, and just reads from it.  All the things he reads have all got accompanying systems on the computer that need to be mastered, yet we aren’t looking at them.  Why?  Unanswered.  Then somebody tried to explain how nobody in their right minds could learn about ”unusual currencies” one minute and ”hot codes” for stolen cards the next without some discussion, or practice, or role plays or all of the above.  Gnashing of teeth, general putoutedness face and then we all went back to the book.

To top it all, we have a test tomorrow.  Yes.  In what?  I don’t know.  Most people took the book thing home but it’s a thousand pages long and tonight is junk food night in the apartment and I didn’t want it ruined by working out how much it costs to send a foreign bank draft.  Besides, Prickfeatures has already booked time for the following day for all the people that will fail the test.  If the time is already booked, why delude myself tonight?  Best to eat the junk, sit back,

I even found myself drinking a bottle of coke for the afternoon session, something I NEVER do as it makes me hyper.  Such was the comatose state I found myself in however the coke did little more than provide a long enough sugar rush to induce semi-happy thoughts, preventing me jumping out the window, or flushing myself down the toilet (as the windows are those typical of those found in banks in Ireland nowadays – sealed shut, with no options to open – fresh air and the banking fraternity never mixing well historically, plus there is always that urge to jump and join the socialists on the ground).

Grrrr dribble.



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