2005-10-02 - 8:53 p.m.
NOTE: This was actually written on the 28th of September. My stupid work computer wouldn't let me upload on diaryland.com. Anyways here we go...
What a fucking fantastic day I’ve had. I know it’s hard to detect sarcasm in a blog but trust me, that one line is loaded with it. I guess it all started when I woke up at 6.30 in the morning. I actually did a double take on my clock, I was convinced it was wrong. What the hell was I doing up that early when I didn’t have to be at work til 12? Tried to get back to sleep and was just dozing off when Alex comes leaping onto my bed all excited because we’re getting McDonald’s for breakfast.
Wow. Fantastic start.
Eat my super-greasy disgusting Kiwi Big Breakfast, which I then want to throw up because I have been so good with my food and exercise the past week. Costs a fortune. Poor Mum covers it. I feel absolutely sick for the rest of the day (and still do), so sick that I have been unable to eat anything else. That’s probably not such a bad thing with the amount of calories I consumed in those two sausages alone.
I come to work, feeling like shit, but at least it’s quiet! But by lunchtime I am feeling absolutely awful, burping and swearing that I am going to upchuck my breakfast. I’m all flushed and faint and 100% sick to my stomach. I even have that awful taste in my mouth you get before you throw up. Luckily, I have managed to keep it down so far (it is currently 7.56pm!)
Lunch comes and goes with me eating nothing but I had fun working out my course for Uni next year. Then the stupid cow of a receptionist comes storming up to my chair - thankfully I am on the phone - and then proceeds to ask everyone around me if my car is indeed the one with the personalised licence plate CRSADR. I get off the phone and the first thing that’s yelled at me is, “Sarah do you have a personalised licence plate with Crusaders on it?” I feel like being a smart arse and answering back that’s NOT Crusaders it’s just plain old Crusader. How would I fit the plural on there? Anyways timid old me, I just reply “Yup that’s me” and am then bollocked by the dumb ass receptionist for leaving my car in the car park and that it’s about to get towed! She points her bony finger at me and advises that I am not to park in the carpark before 5.30pm.
Which is bizarre because I have been told, several times, that we can park in there after 5pm. Won’t be making that mistake again. She re-itirates how lucky I am that the clampers didn’t come after it because they were in Riccarton and ready to go get my beautiful car. Fucking bastards.
Everything in this company seems to contradict itself. We’re supposed to have the most advanced systems in New Zealand, and yet they always crash, not only on our customers but on our own internal computers! We get told one thing and it turns out to be completely wrong, so we then get in trouble for it. Customers ring up and are assured something is going to happen - but guess what? It never does!
FOR FUCK’S SAKE.
I then walk over to the printer to send through a customer’s bill (her billing address hadn’t been updated, wonderful company that we are) and receive a giant paper cut on my right index finger. Seriously, it stretches across my knuckle and will not stop bleeding. I sigh and fight the urge to slam my fist on the damn printer. Like I needed that today of all bloody days.
Finally to top it all off, David rings to advise me that he is being kicked out of home as his mother has started an argument over cheese FOR CHRIST’S SAKES! Apparently they both came to blows and she ended up crying and telling him to move out. Then his spineless twit of a father who just wants to “relax” and not get involved offers to drive David to a motel for the night.
Oh GOD someone spare me now. Just kill me on the way home tonight! I swear my blood pressure has risen rapidly over the last couple of hours. In fact I’m quite surprised I’m not a young heart attack victim right now! I really don’t care that I sound rather hysterical throughout this because, just quietly, just between you and me…I AM fucking hysterical!
I don’t want to play the poor me card but I really have to. This all happens today, all at once, all at ME. I also woke up from a bloody awful nightmare about our Emirates plane crashing on the way to Dubai. Unfortunately it was very realistic, the plane turned upside down before impact and people were falling out of their chairs onto the ceiling, and now I am shit scared about stepping on the plane in 13 days. And yes, I know I have more of a chance of dying on the way to the airport or in a car crash, but the whole dream was so badly realistic I can’t get it out of my head.
I saw my sister Gemma go flying into the ceiling, heard my family screaming and passengers panicking while a calm flight attendant told us to brace for an emergency landing. How can all that be so accurate? It truly scares me.
Then again, it could just be all those episodes of Air Crash Investigation that I watch on National Geographic all the time.
Well I have calmed down a bit now, having bared my soul on paper…well not paper, but through the written word, even if it is technologically enhanced! I’m going to go home, lie down and do nothing for the rest of the night. Possibly have a vent to Mum, but not about David because he already has such a tarnished image in my family. Telling her he’s been kicked out is not going to improve that somewhat.
I wish I had some wise proverb for the stress I am going through right now. But I’ve found this one on the internet which I’m sure 90% of our customers think when they call us after we’ve fucked up - “Bad planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part.”
Love and hugs, God knows I need them.
