Stressful Dog Story

Another long day at work, today’s main topic being the Christmas party last night which I did NOT attend, and how one bloke thought it was hilarious to draw a girl’s lipstick all over her face.

This girl is of a gentle nature and I am quite upset on her behalf.  Last week she told me through tears in her eyes how she was walking around a block of flats and espied a dog standing on the edge of a balcony.  She screamed, told the dog to back the fuck back, which he of course didn’t do, and then she began to feel stressed as she was carrying a packet of ham in her hand, unbagged because she refuses to pay the 25 cents needed to buy them at the shops, and hoping the dog wasn’t thinking her screaming was an indication to jump down to her and the ham.

The dog never moved, but she stayed where she was whilst her boyfriend ran up to the apartment owners who expressed a total lack of concern, even stating that the dog regularly stood on the edges of the balcony, with no indication of jumping, for processed ham or any other reason.

My colleague was then so distraught at this additional information she went home for an immediate lie down.

Is this the sort of girl who deserves her lipstick smeared all over her face?

 

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Where The Streets Have No Name (Literally)

So I finally hauled my increasingly flabby arse to a new gym for exercise classes, and today I can’t sit down it.

The gym was incredibly hard to find mainly because the roads surrounding it are so tough the STREET SIGNS have been kicked out!!!

The building, which is actually a proper, sweaty, ‘Rocky I’ style boxing club complete with smells, dirt, and aincent old men with huge bellies, is behind a school that appears to have a bit of a ‘reputation’.  Lilsister advises me that as a student she was driven to a basketball match there, and told that scores were not to be kept, to prevent rioting and the burning of teacher’s cars after, should the result not match the hopes of this evil place.

Lilsister is a terrible person and decided that if she could not win, she would have many fights during the match, and she hated her teachers anyways, so who cared if their cars got burnt?

 

Vomit Negotiations

Occasionally we serfs at work are left alone to chat amongst ourselves and get to know each other.

There seem to be a lot of hangovers in the building, are people drinking to escape the complete non-excitement that is our office?

Personally, I haven’t been drinking in months, perhaps I am going into reverse alcoholism, whatever that is.

I have had to listen to my colleagues vomit whilst I had my tea and biscuits, as the bathrooms are, naturally, next to the kitchen.

One girl vomited out her balcony before coming to work (small mercies) and was too ill to clean it up.  She got her younger brother, aged 18, to do it, after paying him seven euro.

There was a WHOLE tomato in her vomit, and he had originally requested ten euro.

 

 

You Asked!

I have ‘taken’ a job in a delivery company.  It fails to ignite fascination, and I pretend to be surprised.

It is one of those places where mistakes are often made, and never tolerated.

When asked why a mistake had been made, a staff member told our boss the reason:

‘My brain did a fart.’

 

Mammy Usurps the Irish Medical System, Adds Gin

After shelling out for the world’s nosiest doctor, Mammy and Daddy depart Irish shores to travel to the lovely Lanzarote, where it’s warm and medication costs less.

‘Get me my sleeping tablets,’ I bark at Mammy, ‘as I have no money left from the Doctor Prat-a-lot.’

Mammy does, and hands them over upon her return, alongside a very cheap bottle of gin, my drink of choice.

Gin and sleeping tablets – would the doctor be worried?  Surely they don’t cause alarm bells to ring if your mother gets them for you in a sunny place?

 

My Doctor Hates Me

I’ve been really ill so I went to the doctor.  Not because I was ill, but because my job refused to believe I was ill unless I paid sixty euro to a doctor to scribble a note to them saying ‘she is ill’.

Sixty euro?  I want something more than mere notage from a doctor.

‘Can I have some sleeping tablets?’

‘Why do you want sleeping tablets?’

‘To help me sleep.’

‘Why can’t you sleep?’

‘I am stressed out.’

‘You should assess the root of your stress which will help you sleep.’

‘I have and I am trying to deal with my problems.  However I am very tired.’

‘I am not giving you sleeping tablets.’

‘I haven’t slept properly in two years.  I would love a night off.’

‘This is no good.  Why are you stressed?’

‘I don’t want to talk to you about it.’

‘I need to understand why you are not sleeping.’

‘I am not sleeping because I am worried all the time.  Can you give me something to help me sleep?’

‘No because tablets will not solve your problems.’

‘I am not looking for tablets to solve my problems.  I just want some sleep.’

‘You need to work out why you are worried and work on that.’

‘I am working on them.  In the meantime it would be great to get some good night’s sleep before work.’

‘I need to know why you are stressed.’

‘I don’t want to talk to you about it.’

‘But I need to know.’

At this stage, I burst into tears, quite by accident.

I get two weeks worth of sleeping tablets, and my sick note says I have the shits.