Work, Boobies, & Geriatric Roadrage (a week report)

I've had a rather curious week. This in itself is not unusual, because I manage to get myself into weird situations without even trying. However, most of this wasn't even my fault.

It started on Monday, when I was going to meet the girl who's going to replace me at work. Why do I need to be replaced, you ask? Well, that in itself is a bit of a story. Long story short : I'm going to India for a month.
This came to be because I thought the work project would only last until the end of September - or at the very last the end of October - so when my friend M. mentioned she was going to India, I actually started looking for ways to come along. Since it apparently was not too late to get a seat on her flight and a visum....well, India here I come.

Of course, the thing is, the project at work is not quite finished and has been prolonged a little. By a little I mean several months. And this is how it came to be that they need a replacement for me.
My replacement is a psychology graduate (or like one of my colleages says : a psychopathy graduate) who shouldn't be doing silly administrative jobs any more than I should, but apparently the so-called economical crisis can be felt on the job market.

Now to add to the visual image : The young lady came to take a job interview of sorts, along with two guys from the agency that recruited her. Now here's the twist...one of these guys...is my dad.
Not many people at work know this, at least not from me, as it isn't something I'm particularily proud of. But I digress.

Back to the interview: The unfortunate choice of location for this event was the porn room.. Well, it's not called that, of course, but that's what I call it in my head. It is, as a meantioned in an earlier blog, the place where field-working guys from our company eat. However this little messhall has some a particular wall decoration: namely posters of naked women. There's also some particular literature to be found on the tables. And I don't even mean Playboy or Penthouse: no, there's stuff of a slightly more seeedy and hardcore variety. As I mentioned before, I find this mildly amusing. It's also slighly surreal.

Imagine this scene: I'm sitting in between my dad and the replacement. Sitting across the table from us were my boss and my dad's colleague. Myself and my replacement had excellent view of some nudie posters (there isn't a direction you can face where there isn't excellent view) and my dad ended up sitting right next to a magazines that had headlines such as "I like semen" and "I like to be banged hard".
And while imagining this, keep in mind this is a job interview. Also keep in mind, the girl actually took the job.
See, I want to capture this moment. And I want to play it in my head every time I hear the word "surreal". Oh, and if at all possible : I never want to discuss it with my father.

So, that was another thrilling Monday. Tuesday was more calm. I booked a hotel in Mumbai, so we'll have a bed and a roof over our heads for the first night we're in India, as we'll be arriving after midnight local time. I don't exactly feel like running around trying to find a hotel at the spot. And these people have airport pick-up. Of course the owner insists on calling me "Sir" in his e-mails. I wonder if he just uses the title in a unisex fashion, of if he'll be very surprised to find two girls at the airport.

Yesterday I went shopping. Christmas shopping one could say. As I'll only come back from India on the 17th of December, I might not hve much time when I come back. I also went and bought some new underwear, as I'm very particular about what I will and will not wear, and it's hard to find that where I live - let alone in India I suppose.

When I was walking home fom the shopping trip, something hit my hand and my shopping bags with a considerable thud. It took me a few moments to realise that I had actually been hit by a car! Looking back on it, I was lucky to be holding some bags ,because otherwise my hand might have taken more damage.
Oh, and what's worse : the guy in the car didn't even stop and just went to park his car further down my street. I cought up with him : it was a geriartic case with glasses and an equally mummified wife. When I suggested to him he might try to be more careful driving, he actually got very mad and rude towards me. Obviously I called the cops, who are lazy as usual, and told me not much can be done unless a doctor can actually prove I've been hurt (which isn't really the case, and if it were I still don't know if I'd like to invest time in it.)

However, I'll say it here. If you come across a burgundy car with the Belgian number plate CBZ-943, RUN, they are geriatric road pirates!

So this is how I conclude this week's events in my personal life. This weekend I'll be in Monschau, Germany, for the Mensa weekend. I'll let you know if some stories can be told about that...

Yikes, I have a job

My absence can be explained by one simple thing: I have been busy. One of the reasons for my lack of free time is that I now have a job, albeit a part-time one. I can now in all honesty say I’m no longer a jobless bum. It’s funny how it came to be, really. I had kind of set my limit for job hunting for 3 months. Reasons being that a) lack of cash is bad for my spending habits and b) doing nothing is bad for my morale. Since I haven’t found what I have been looking for, I just took something that came along (read: something that apparently no-one else wanted to do and yours truly agreed to).

I now work as an administrative monkey for a company that shall remain unnamed, who in their turn work for Bayer – that would be the people who brought you Aspirin.

The job is in the Harbour of Antwerp; I can actually see ships coming in from where I work. I can also see a nuclear plant, so if that blows, well, I’m rather screwed. (Just a side thought: is it just me or does it seem to be a BAD idea to have a nuclear plant right next to your most important river? If there is waste, or an accident, the river can carry it all the way to the sea.)

Anyway, I basically work in a container on a construction site. Occasionally it smells quite badly there. Bonus: I get extra cash for working in a “hazardous environment”. I think I should have gotten a helmet. Not that I really need one, it would just have looked cool. I did get to see their fabulous *cough* security video and now have a super-duper security badge. Yes, I’m all responsible now. Apparently you need to keep your car away from the huge tubes all over the site, because they can leak hazardous materials – like acid. A car is rather required, since there is no public transport available for several kilometers around there. And I don’t want an acid hole in my cute baby car.

Oh, another thing. As far as I know I’m the only female in the company, except for the cleaning lady. Yes, apparently it’s so bad that while signing one of my contracts I saw it said “Mr.”, not “Miss”. Furthermore there is no women’s loo. So every day is an adventure really: will I startle the shit out of peeing men, or won’t I? I have of course found the obligatory collection of naked titties posters. It wasn’t really hard to find – they’re displayed in the canteen. (So apparently food and sex do go together.)

While telling this to friends, I’ve had several people tell me I should sue them for this. Apparently, women have sued companied for less. However I’m not inclined to do so because a) I actually like my co-workers b) they pay me well for the dumb monkey-job I do and c) I find it F***ING HILARIOUS. So I’ll just not sue, and keep you posted. Thank the Gods I’m not American…