Playing the Race Card

God, how Moteesha shits me! I think I’m going to have to delete and block her on Facebook. I have never in my life met someone as racist as her, despite her proud Cameroonian nationality. She is quick to play the race card whenever herself or another person of colour is pulled up on. She has never explored that it could very well actually have been because of the person’s laziness, incompetence, wrong-doing or fault that they were reprimanded, singled out, not promoted etc. and whatever issue was involved, involved everything but race.

I say that she is the most racist person because she hides behind her own black skin and shouts, “Racist!” at every white or non-ethnic-minority person because “if you’re white then you must be racist”. How easy, cheap and ignorant a thing to do! She will never learn and better herself by doing that. Those for whom she defends are quite clearly deserving of reprimand or not deserving of praise. Clear to everyone except her because she can’t see past skin colour. Part of me would love to shove her race card right up her arse and tell her as it is. On the other hand, I have so many reasons why I will not:

1) I couldn’t care less about her.

2) She would think I was being racist against her anyway.

3) She probably believes that ethnic minorities can’t be racist.

4) She is too stupid to understand the irony of her accusations.

A Country Run By Shaved Monkeys

This country truly is run by shaved monkeys. Administrative staff, payroll, government office workers, telephone operators of banks, gas, electricity boards…the list is endless and I’m excluding Indian call centre operators.

I still receive letters from telephone/gas companies where I have cancelled the account. What part of “No” do they not understand? In a few instances, I’ve cancelled twice. Did I inadvertently cancel my cancellation?

Pay Office were informed weeks in advance that I would have an earlier start date than the usual hospital term. I again reminded them just prior to my start. Being paranoid and distrustful, I contacted them to ensure that I was being paid for my work. No, I was not.

The Postal Redirection have not been able to enter our correct name and address details on each occasion that we have used their service. For God’s sake! I’ve written down the details exactly as they should be – all one has to do is to copy them. I just can’t understand where the difficulty is. What part of the task is causing a problem?

Hello, Council Tax department. We’ve moved. These are the names of the people ie. Thabo and I, who will be residing at this address. Our first council tax demand – “Dear Dunce and Thumbo…”

Hi, Council Tax. It should be T-H-A-B-O and I on the account. “Well, Dunce needs to call us.” But Council Tax, Dunce doesn’t live at this address, nor will he, or has ever. What is the point of me letting you know the details of the changes if you’re not going to act on them? “Okay, I’ll changed it to yours and Thabo’s name. Anything else I can help you with today, Ma’am?” Yeah, how about, get a brain?

Hello, Thames Water. We’ve moved. Thabo and I will be residing at this address. Our first Thames Water bill – “Dear Dunce…”

Every day, there is some kind of, even if minor, battle. What concerns me greatly is that professionals aren’t immune to lack of common sense or intelligence. My lawyer exhibits no discernible work pride or is it competence? I paid through the arse to have a professional sort out my HSMP application. I needn’t have. I’ve had to mark up every form that she completed and sent to me for signing. Scarily, she even got my visa category incorrect. Here’s just a list of other things that made me question her abilities:

Commenting on how policy changes through Home Office into chaos. WTF?? Did she mean “threw” Home Office into chaos?

Incorrectly writing my address on separate occasions. You can’t just put the flat number and postcode without the street number; Is she not aware that many flats can occupy the same street?

Printing incorrectly my e-mail address on documents despite corresponding with me via e-mail.

Me having to clarify what she means in each of her e-mails…Thabo, who is a master drafter of contracts had difficulties understanding her. Eg. “You will be invoiced when we have received the completed application.” What? You mean you haven’t received the application I sent you three weeks ago? (She meant, yes, they have received my completed application. They are waiting for HO processing). I still haven’t received my visa-stamped passport but I have been invoiced. So, I’m left wondering if her initial statement was just wind, or if they’ve returned my passport but obviously to the wrong address.

(Arrgh! I irritate myself with all this nit-picking.)

She asked, “What were we going to charge you for our service?” Umm, did she actually mean how much I think she should charge for her service (disservice)?

Unfortunately, she came recommended by a friend. I could see that her purposeful manner and manly booming voice could give the impression of straight-shooting no-nonsense let’s-do-this~ness. The lesbian haircut helped too. I wonder if she could have done a better job if she was a lesbian, ‘cos you know, she’s a woman, I’m a woman. Sisters doin’ it for themselves. Who am I kidding?

Friday Afternoon Shit Fan

Nightmare. Absolute nightmare of an afternoon at work. At 4.30pm, all other staff members had pissed off leaving just myself and one of the nurses, Mirabelle, to continue a full clinic. One of the them (let’s call her Kimberley) wasn’t even professional enough to hand over a patient who required further management – just left without letting anyone know. After closing time, the patient was still sitting at reception wondering whether or not we were going to provide a service which the clinic proportedly provides. Besides creating an absolute cock-up for the patient, I felt even more furious at Kimberley. Her turfing of every other patient my way was one of the reasons why the clinic was running behind; I helped with every one she sent across and I expected the same courtesy of her. Obviously, that expectation was too great.

Poor Mirabelle. Ordinarily timid and quiet, her feathers were ruffled at the inconsideration and disrespect shown to her by her nursing colleagues (unfortunately, she sometimes bears the brunt of my wrath when shit is hitting the fan, as well). I’ve not seen her voice an opinion so emotionally and so forcefully. No one offers to remain and help at the end of the week. Management are aware and have apparently resolved the situation. She’s the only one who stays behind to close clinic well after other staff members have left because someone has to and no one else will.

I said, “Mirabelle, you have to say something about this.”

Her response, “We’re all adults. We’re professionals. I shouldn’t have to say anything. They should know that when it’s busy they should help. But they just think, ‘It’s just Mirabelle, she’s so quiet, she won’t say anything.’”

And she’s right. Instead of hiding in the lab avoiding work or killing time as some do, or racing off after the last of their own patient has been seen, it should be a matter of teamwork. A couple of people extra can make a world’s difference compared to one person doing the job of three.

I think I’m going to have to champion her cause and be her voice. And try to not offend anyone in the process. It could easily turn into a case of “because of her, we all have to stay back.” Well, too fucking right! We’re all paid to work the same hours, not some of us work late and the rest piss off at 3pm.

Brazilian Tax

What is it with Brazilians I meet and their need to be petulant and arrogant? Are they inherent traits of the people? Even a friend’s Brazilian girlfriend, who initially seemed sweet as pie and so un-Brazilian in her lack of self-importance and indignation at all things non-Latin, soon couldn’t contain herself any longer. Imagine my surprise (and equal parts delight and embarrassment) during a recent trip to France when she:

1. Threw a tantrum when her requested meal was not available for dinner.
2. Was challenged by a proud French waiter at lunch, who quite clearly knew how to wait and provide his service, and didn’t need a spoilt princess barking at him.

My views are somewhat skewed by my occupational exposure to Brazilians, the majority whom are in London “studying” on student visas and earning tax-free pocket money in the oldest occupation. And are demanding and ever ungrateful. And I’m the one getting taxed. Surely it should be the other way around. Humility is not a sin. Saying, “Thank you,” once in a while is not a sin. And give up with the poor developing nation shit – I don’t regard a Louis Vuitton handbag to be a basic necessity, or the lack of, human deprivation.

Although my line of work exposes me to the sensitivities and wonderful complexities of human nature, I’m also exposed to the worst elements. I, by second nature, profile people now despite my desire to be open-minded. Walking stereotypes confront me daily (and I can’t even describe them here anonymously for it means that I have to face up to the possibility that I might actually be racist) reinforcing my pre- and mis- conceptions. I laugh and jest but secretly I’m not joking sometimes. That is my secret shame.

A Very Bad Person

I must preface this with, “I definitely do not think that I am perfect or without my annoying habits and personality defects, but…”

This is the second installation to “The Habits of a Pig.” I cannot tolerate Dunce. We’re a little over a month until our tenancy agreement expires, finally. We really should have agreed to the original 12 month contract instead of extending it a further 6 months. It’s quite difficult for me to verbalize exactly why I despise him so much. In particular instances I don’t mind him (usually when I’m drunk – this became clear to me when I stopped drinking excessively in the first three months of my arrival). Those are few.

What just happened 2 minutes ago, serves to drive a nail in the coffin. Hearing my unhygienic acne-covered flatmate’s orgasm in the next wafer-thin walled room has just put me off sex for life. Not because I’m put off by sex, but because any association of sex with him induces such an intense nauseousness that I’m surprised that I haven’t indeed thrown up on myself. Since Thabo has been away, Muppet, it appears, has moved in. Shouldn’t Dunce show a little respect and keep the ‘good’ vibe of the household? Thabo suggests we move into the Dorchester until our lease is up.

It began with Dunce’s excessive drinking, then the denial, the need to bring alcohol into every occasion, and not in a social manner, but to get trolleyed with the slightest excuse of a reason. What better way to ruin a dinner, than to have him scull glasses of wine that deserve to be appreciated and savoured, bottle after bottle. And, we carry the cost of it.

For someone who devours as many novels as he drinks bottles, one would think that his repertoire of adjectives would include more than just, “really,” and, “nice.”

“How was dinner?”
“Yeah, it was really, really nice,” as if the extra ‘really’ will convey the passion of his statement and the breadth of his gustatory experience. “We went to the -insert venue-, you know, on -insert street name- by the corner of -insert street name-, near -insert street name-. You should go, it’s really nice.” Thank you for the very comprehensive review. Your directions, as detailed as they are, perhaps don’t do the quality of the food or service justice, nor do I know any more about your night than before you started talking. I also wish to remind you that we’ve had the exact conversation on five separate occasions in the last month.

Korsakoff’s Syndrome: Decreased ability to acquire new memories due to thiamine deficiency (eg. in alcoholics). He will confabulate to fill in the gaps in his memory.

“How was your weekend away in -insert city-?”
“It was really, really nice. We had a really, really nice time.” Read here, that really, really nice in the context of time means “the case was strong” or “huge” – both references to his need of alcohol consumption, or the amount consumed.

The drunkeness brings out his inane booming laughter at anybody’s half-attempt at a joke. His stories are repeatedly, and frankly, after two years, drivel and shit-filled with nothing but waste and of no interesting value. I have to go to my room, because the boredom from listening to him makes me want to scream, “Why don’t you just fucking shut up?” And I would ask it really, really nicely.

I thought Dunce was having me on. During dinner preparations one night he asked, “Why do you and Thabo season your steak?” What on Earth does he expect the answer to be? And he’ll ask equally stupid questions at random moments. How is it possible for a professional who earns a living by giving advice be so thicky, thick, thick? I live in crazy wonder at his inability to grasp simple concepts pertaining to life.

I don’t trust any of Dunce’s reviews:
Food – see above. Additionally, he is someone who adds about 1 tablespoon of salt/plate. God must have transposed his anus for his mouth.
Wine – see above. Every drop is a nice drop according to Dunce’s pickled tongue. He would think that vinegar served from a wine bottle was an excellent choice.
Movies, books, music – Why doesn’t he just come out and admit that he’s a 50 year old fat chic, gay man? I shouldn’t make judgements on someone else’s tastes. We don’t share any interests.

In conversation, there is always shows an initial interest, followed by a rapid turning of the conversation back to him. He doesn’t really show genuine interest, only makes the right noises (I hate that; saying what he perceives to be the right thing or what he should say. I want to slam him for that, catch him out and it’s such an issue for me now, that I’ve stopped listening to him) for a moment before redirecting the topic of conversation back to his own limited experience.

I hate that he’ll express an opinion and as soon as it is opposed, he’ll change his own to conform. I don’t care that one should have an alternative view but to be so lacking in strength of character and value in oneself, to be so soft-cocked and spineless…to sell yourself out like that…I despise that more than anything else.

Everyone sees him as a harmless, funny, can’t do anything wrong, not a bad bone in his body kind of guy. Which leaves me with the only possible conclusion, that I’m a very bad person. The truth, however, is that if we didn’t live together I wouldn’t know these other things about him and I’d think exactly the same as everyone else, and I wouldn’t have written all these nasty things. If it weren’t for the current circumstances, I’d actually enjoy his company. Going our separate ways will be a good change for the friendship.

Neighbours

Dear Dan what are you doing with a cow like her and Bobby you stupid bitch,

Please don’t take offence with this letter. You probably don’t realize because you’re too up your own stinking arse (and we should have said much earlier) that the ceiling/floor boards between us conduct noise so well that we can hear every fucking step you take like a herd of elephant bulls in musk and even when you drop your shoes to the floor. What do you guys do?! Throw bowling balls and ten pins up in the air and to the ground in celebration of your supremacy? It has become an annoyance having our sleep disturbed repeatedly by the beat of your doof-doof middle-age crisis trying to recapture youth and hip trance music each morning and occasional every night. Will you please be mindful of the above during week days and in fact everyday?

Thank you so much for your consideration for once. We don’t mean to be party-poopers but decent sleep is so precious and we would like a few fucking beat free nights!

Kind regards shove it up your arse,
Anderes, Thabo and Dunce.

The Habits Of A Pig

1. “Washed” glasses – still filthy!
2. Never wiping down bench or stove top.
3. “Cleaned” spoons still caked with instant coffee.
4. Thinking that bins empty themselves.
5. Throwing out recycling into general refuse.
6. Leaving old/off milk/food in the fridge.
7. Leaving food stains on doors and handles.
8. Leaving food on stove/floor.
9. Ashing out on the balcony/window.
10. Leaving table top filthy.
11. Never sweeps/cleans floor.
12. Rarely vacuums common area.
13. Leaves lights/radio on.
14. Turn on empty dishwasher.
15. Bangs doors.
16. No fucking clue when the house around him breaks down….unless it directly affects him.
17. Hasn’t cleaned spilt red wine in room.
18. How difficult is it to turn on vent when cooking? Especially during Dunce’s Stinkout Special.
19. Never replaces household items.
20. Never pays bills on time/leaves them then forgets.
21. Excessive: alcohol, cigarettes, fat, salt –> belief it’s all compensated for by a bowl of raw vegetables doused in oil and seasoned with a bucket of salt, washed down with a lager and bottle of red wine, and smoko afterwards for the effort.
    
    Lack of hygiene No common sense Doesn’t listen Pathetic
    Little general knowledge Insincere In denial

Is it possible to have such a lack of respect for someone?? He repulses me and he has no balls.