To Kill a Mockingman

Troubles rumble on with my buddy in the shipping company, whom I called today to vent with/at, which was great, as she sighed a LOT and complained about customs too and said her contact there was ”useless”.  Like all good public servants in Ireland, the ”lady” in customs dealing with my cheap workclothes is completely unaccountable for her lack of actions, meaning I cannot talk to her directly lest she has to work, or deal with humans or some other horror.  Instead she can retreat quietly into her cavern of sloth, never to be disturbed again.  My shipping contact also unhelpfully added that she had never had so much trouble with customs before, so I am feeling extra peachy about that. 

I also remembered that my two cookbooks are in the boxes, and I am most miffed about that, as one is my Nigella ”Kitchen” which is quite expensive, and my new wages just about cover the cost of transport to get to the office and not much else.  The other one I’m afraid, I don’t know the name and author of so if I do not get it back I will sink ever lower into my pool of self pity, as it is a bloody brilliant book.  I only learnt to cook in Melbourne last year, because I was alone 95% of the time, what with Ex-Himself still pretending that he loved me, but always ”disappearing” into the Australian sunset (which is crap by the way, because the sun goes down and then it is dark night, instantly, have these people never heard of the beauty of dusk???  The answer is NO.  Poor little Australians).  Anyway, this book covers EVERYTHING, even how to make scrambled eggs but best of all it is the only cookbook I’ve ever read that tells you upfront how many bowls, pans, spoons, spatulas etc you will need for each recipe and I LOVE that.  Plus I made the chocolate mousse recipe from scratch using it, and for a girl who could only burn toast mere months before, this was a HUGE (and tasty) leap.  I love this book, and I will kill the bitch in customs if she gets her greasy paws on it.

Far more worrying is my trainer at work.  His ”thing” is to read from an oversized manual for the eight or so hours that we are there, and presume that we absorb this fascinating information (for example how to send a customer a change of address form, how to stop a cheque, how to unstop that very same cheque, how to see the expiry date of a bank card etc etc) quickly and quietly.  He does not respond well to questions, or ”what if” scenarios.  In fact, he takes questions as a personal attack on his droning reading, something I find most odd.  He refuses to let us use the systems to do practical examples of his ramblings.  Why is this?  This afternoon, after the drool on my chin alerted me to the fact that I had been sleeping deeply during his speech on unlocking ATM pin numbers, I awoke suddenly and told him I was feeling rather overloaded with the information being delivered in this manner, to which he replied that he did ”not see how”.  Several of the group began stating the same fact, but I got the filthy look.  I asked him if he thought I was stupid, to which he moved gently away. 

Apart from this, he does occasionally venture into storytelling mode where we get to sit, non-enthralled, at his amazing impressions of stupid Dublin people (he is NOT from Dublin and therefore, in my opinion, as a proud Dub, NOT allowed to do an impression of a Dub anytime he tells a story of someone who he believes to be stupid).  So far, this terrible impression of a dumb Dubliner (of which none exist) has been used to prop up stories about unhelpful IT staff, drunk people at ATMs, people borrowing more than they should, banks lending more than they should, impressions of talk show radio hosts who talk about people and banks borrowing and lending more than they should, people who call talk show radio hosts about all that is wrong with society, people who forget that they have spent money in music stores and then call the bank saying that someone has stolen their money, people who engage in fraud and generally anybody that is not himself, and therefore of lesser intelligence, according to him.


And, like the Customs Cretin, he must go away, and stop embarrassing his profession with his existance, and fuck off and die.