A Data Processor, Yesterday.

Just to remind you that I have a job. That I go to most days. Except for this week, where I pulled a sickie. I woke up on Thursday morning and thought, shag it, I'm not going in. "What's wrong with you?" asks my boss when I ring in (at around half ten, after I've woken up). 

"Uh, migraine," I say. 

"You can't work with a migraine then, no?" he says.

"Well, no," I say. I've never actually had a migraine, but I gather they're pretty brutal.

"Are you sure now?" He's not giving up. "Isn't that just a bit like a headache or something?"

"Yes, I'm sure," I say. "I'm in a lot of pain here!" Ignorant prick; it's probably the long hours he's been making me work that's given me this non-existent migraine in the first place. 

"Okay," he says, "but remember you have that presentation on Monday that you have to prepare for..." 

What an asshole! My skull's about to split open and spew out its contents onto the phone table and he's talking about a fucking presentation? So I didn't go in on Friday either. That'll show 'em.

Patronising much?

There was a memo sent round during the week in work that I thought was amusing. Amusing in the way that it was really annoying and you're generally discouraged from smashing in the monitor with a stray stapler.

I quote, "While you may struggle to understand why, there is a significant reason as to why we cannot provide greater salary increases or hardware upgrades." The memo goes on to not explain what that reason might be, leaving us to continue to struggle to understand, and perhaps speculate that they're just a shower of tight bastards.

Spunky Bus and Work Update

Okay, so maybe working fulltime is not conducive to writing a blog, along with all my other obscure divarsions... But I will persevere! 

So this morning I got on the bus to work as per usual, sat down and stuffed the old laptop case down between my feet. It was then that I noticed a pale viscous substance slowly sliding down the back of the seat in front of me.

Now, I can't tell you what I thought it might have been, and I can only offer in my defense the fact that it was somewhere in the region of 7am and the brain doesn't kick in till around 11.30. But for some reason I felt the need to investigate further and touch it with the tip of my right index finger. I mean, what the hell was I going to do, taste it?? I then, having been jolted awake by stark realisation, spent the rest of the journey wiping my finger red-raw against the fabric of the seat (having moved down towards the back a few rows).

What the fuck? What gets me about this is that it was quite obviously a recent discharge. So what the hell kind of person gets on the bus before first light and decides to give himself a five-fingered Mary? And was he still there on the bus when I got on? Watching gleefully as the first sucker sat there and got his yucky joy juice all over their good trousers? 

Worst of the lot was I got a streak of it stuck to my bag while trying to extricate myself from the sticky situation and I'm having trouble getting rid of it. Dublin Bus, we clearly need a contingent of armed Bus Marshals vigilant and ready to put a stop to this kind of public masturbation on our public transport. I will be happy to join an interim volunteer force until arrangements can be made...

As for work, well having been promoted recently (yes, that's right ladies, and I'm still single...) I've been putting in a lot more hours so I won't look like I'm slacking off and resting on my laurels. That said, a few interesting things have happened in work-land that I'd like to blather about, so I'll get on that soonish. Maybe at the weekend. Or later in the month. Don't pressure me, I'm on a knife-edge here!

Blizzard Warning

Yesterday at work, the inane chattering turned to the weather forecast and, much like Chinese whispers, the conversation ended in a bold declaration of "Arctic storm to hit Dublin tomorrow morning toaster cocktail vulva". 

"I won't see you tomorrow," said the annoying Welsh bloke sitting next to me, "I'll be at home making snowmen!" High-sterical. Turns out the fat bastard had the day off anyway. Prick.

And this morning, what do you think greeted me at the front door? That's right, the ground was resplendent with a dazzling blanket of slight dampness.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but it hasn't snowed in Dublin for what, about twenty years?? When will people realise that snow is a thing of the past for us thanks to the wonder that is climate change. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. Snow, much like Christmas (with which snow is most famously affiliated), is only really of any interest to kids. Once you reach adulthood, Christmas is no good because there's no Santa and snow is a pain in the cock because you have to go to work. So enough of this talk of snow, I say.