Notes
Notes from yesterday:-
"Today I'm working in a shitty place, washing dishes or something, I'm not exactly sure. The fat bastard who is in charge hasn't bothered to tell me anything, and being a temp means I have no idea what is going on, so I just stand around being bored out of my brains. The guy [in charge] is truly disgusting, a huge fat bag of shit, and he stinks. At first I thought the smell was coming from the cheese, because there was a plate of it on a shelf just next to me. And the cheese did smell, Danes love cheese that smells like a foot that hasn't been washed for a week and then stuck in an arse crack that also hasn't been washed in a week [though I still ate it]. But no, ha had his own particular stench, like a fat bag of lard that hasn't been washed in a year, as a result I have to hold my breath every time he comes near me [and the stench lingers long after he's gone]. At the same time the radio is blaring loudly, some horrendous station that must have an obligation to play at least one Robbie Williams song every half hour. Between them is a collection of other shit songs and inane radio banter by one of those annoying DJ teams that consist of a dumb girl with a high pitched voice and a wanker guy talking incessant crap. Amazing that they get paid for this. I know I sound like I complain a lot, but have you ever read about these people who think everything is so wonderful? It's boring as hell.
Yesterday I worked at Ikea, I rode my new "old" bike there too. It was hectic, a massive queue of hungry yuppies ordering meatballs, and being a temp meant I wasn't the fastest meatball dealer. In between was the occasional hillbilly who just wanted beef. But time flies when it's hectic, as opposed to here, sitting around, with enough time to write. Before I knew it, it was 9 o'clock, and time to ride the 10km home again. Yes, the new bike. Technically it's not new, not even slightly. It had been sitting in my friend's backyard for what looked like a century at least. So the chain was rusted into a solid block of brown dust. There were (and still are) unknown species of moss growing on different parts, and of course the tyres were flat. But I took my puncture repair kit (lappe grej in Danish), and proceeded to fix the tubes, the front one turned out to be ok, and I managed to fix the back one. The problem was whoever owned the bike previously put a racer tube in a mid-size tyre, which is kind of like wearing a shoe which is way too big. The result being a kind of wobbling back wheel, I had to take it easy on corners, coz it felt like the whole tyre was just gonna fly off. It didn't help that the tyre was half rotten, so parts of the tube poked out through the holes [and we know what happens when these parts meet the asphalt]. But there was a simple remedy, under the cover of dark I rode around until I found a nice abandoned bike with the same wheel size. I've talked about abandoned bikes before, but it was too dark to properly see, yet the fact that the wheel was shaped like a boomerang gave me the impression that no one was coming back to get it. My beliefs were confirmed the next day when I saw that the tyre had it's own moss growing on it. Still, I put it on the old rust bucket, and alas, it goes like a demon now, amazingly fast. Hopefully the fact that it still looks like a piece of shit will deter anyone from stealing it, coz I bought the same kind of crappy lock that they cut through like paper last time.
Did I mention the fat fucker also has cornflake sized chunks of dandruff (he just came in and glanced at what I'm writing...), and a smile like a set of piano keys. I just walked into the office to get more paper, and he was slothing in the chair with his hands behind his head, allowing his foul rotten onion stench to fill the entire room. Made my eyes water. I don't really wanna hassle the guy too much, but I hate when I arrive at a place and basically get ignored, he didn't even say hello, and when he breathes it makes this disgusting dribbly wet whistle sound, as the snot in his nose bubbles. Yet I've been earning money while writing this, yeah, I'm a paid writer."
Notes from today:-
"Thought maybe I was a bit harsh on the guy, but I wanted to write this stuff the way it was, coz it was how I felt at the time, but he was a rude bastard, every time he wanted something done it was a one word command, "wash", "eat", "go". And when he left he didn't say goodbye or anything, there's no need for this rudeness, I was polite and friendly, introduced myself, shook his hand. Though I felt a bit sorry for him when he signed his name on the paper, looked like he struggled a bit to put it down, unless he was writing left handed to try to be cool. I have nothing against overweight people though, though some of them could lose some weight for health purposes."
"Today I'm working in a shitty place, washing dishes or something, I'm not exactly sure. The fat bastard who is in charge hasn't bothered to tell me anything, and being a temp means I have no idea what is going on, so I just stand around being bored out of my brains. The guy [in charge] is truly disgusting, a huge fat bag of shit, and he stinks. At first I thought the smell was coming from the cheese, because there was a plate of it on a shelf just next to me. And the cheese did smell, Danes love cheese that smells like a foot that hasn't been washed for a week and then stuck in an arse crack that also hasn't been washed in a week [though I still ate it]. But no, ha had his own particular stench, like a fat bag of lard that hasn't been washed in a year, as a result I have to hold my breath every time he comes near me [and the stench lingers long after he's gone]. At the same time the radio is blaring loudly, some horrendous station that must have an obligation to play at least one Robbie Williams song every half hour. Between them is a collection of other shit songs and inane radio banter by one of those annoying DJ teams that consist of a dumb girl with a high pitched voice and a wanker guy talking incessant crap. Amazing that they get paid for this. I know I sound like I complain a lot, but have you ever read about these people who think everything is so wonderful? It's boring as hell.
Yesterday I worked at Ikea, I rode my new "old" bike there too. It was hectic, a massive queue of hungry yuppies ordering meatballs, and being a temp meant I wasn't the fastest meatball dealer. In between was the occasional hillbilly who just wanted beef. But time flies when it's hectic, as opposed to here, sitting around, with enough time to write. Before I knew it, it was 9 o'clock, and time to ride the 10km home again. Yes, the new bike. Technically it's not new, not even slightly. It had been sitting in my friend's backyard for what looked like a century at least. So the chain was rusted into a solid block of brown dust. There were (and still are) unknown species of moss growing on different parts, and of course the tyres were flat. But I took my puncture repair kit (lappe grej in Danish), and proceeded to fix the tubes, the front one turned out to be ok, and I managed to fix the back one. The problem was whoever owned the bike previously put a racer tube in a mid-size tyre, which is kind of like wearing a shoe which is way too big. The result being a kind of wobbling back wheel, I had to take it easy on corners, coz it felt like the whole tyre was just gonna fly off. It didn't help that the tyre was half rotten, so parts of the tube poked out through the holes [and we know what happens when these parts meet the asphalt]. But there was a simple remedy, under the cover of dark I rode around until I found a nice abandoned bike with the same wheel size. I've talked about abandoned bikes before, but it was too dark to properly see, yet the fact that the wheel was shaped like a boomerang gave me the impression that no one was coming back to get it. My beliefs were confirmed the next day when I saw that the tyre had it's own moss growing on it. Still, I put it on the old rust bucket, and alas, it goes like a demon now, amazingly fast. Hopefully the fact that it still looks like a piece of shit will deter anyone from stealing it, coz I bought the same kind of crappy lock that they cut through like paper last time.
Did I mention the fat fucker also has cornflake sized chunks of dandruff (he just came in and glanced at what I'm writing...), and a smile like a set of piano keys. I just walked into the office to get more paper, and he was slothing in the chair with his hands behind his head, allowing his foul rotten onion stench to fill the entire room. Made my eyes water. I don't really wanna hassle the guy too much, but I hate when I arrive at a place and basically get ignored, he didn't even say hello, and when he breathes it makes this disgusting dribbly wet whistle sound, as the snot in his nose bubbles. Yet I've been earning money while writing this, yeah, I'm a paid writer."
Notes from today:-
"Thought maybe I was a bit harsh on the guy, but I wanted to write this stuff the way it was, coz it was how I felt at the time, but he was a rude bastard, every time he wanted something done it was a one word command, "wash", "eat", "go". And when he left he didn't say goodbye or anything, there's no need for this rudeness, I was polite and friendly, introduced myself, shook his hand. Though I felt a bit sorry for him when he signed his name on the paper, looked like he struggled a bit to put it down, unless he was writing left handed to try to be cool. I have nothing against overweight people though, though some of them could lose some weight for health purposes."
posted by Brett at 13:59
4 comments
