Cantankerous old moo

How old and infirm do you have to be to get away with being really really rude?

Pip and I spent the morning cruising around Chorlton, handing in her CV at bars and cafes around the place. Some places just felt right - The Marble, Pi, The Bar - others were so wrong that we didn't even waste the paper on them. As we headed for the White Star, we came across a very old lady with a white stick. "Excuse me! Excuse me!" she called out. I looked at Pip. She looked back at me. The right thing to do was obvious.

"Hello. Do you need some help?"
"Oh yes. Can you take me to the bread shop by the post office?"
"Yes no problem. I'm DTRMCR, and this is my friend Pippa."
"Hello! What's your name?" asked Pip.
"It's Pat."
"Nice to meet you Pat."

I took her arm, and we crept slowly towards the Post Office. "Slower!" I looked at Pip. Her eyebrows went up. Oh right. We slowed down. "You have to tell me when we're at the kerb." Okay then. How to diffuse the bad vibes? We talked about the weather, what else? The recent heavy snow was a freak weather event, with very wet air from the Atlantic colliding with very cold air from Siberia over the M4 corridor. The south had been horribly affected. Manchester less so.

Pip: We were saved by the hills of Cheshire to the south
Pat: Rubbish, no hills in Cheshire, where's your geography Pippa? The Pennines, it was the Pennines.
DTRMCR: I think...

Pip squeezed my arm, shook her head slightly. I held my tongue. We plodded on, with me highlighting every kerb we approached. "We're near the post office now, Pat," I said, the relief audible in my voice, "What are you doing in the post office?"
"Pay attention, I said I wanted to go to the bread shop. Don't you listen?"

We didn't speak from then on, a cloud of silence around us until we got to the shop. We held open the door, guided our rude companion up the step, and left. We said goodbye, and she didn't say thank you.

Someone so rude must test the patience of anybody that looks after them. Our fifteen minutes was hellish. Carers are saints.

Pip

NTS 10

Imaginary girlfriend

The formal offer of employment from my new job came today by email, so I formally handed in my notice shortly afterwards. It was a mild anticlimax, but it felt good to have put the wheels into motion. A little later, there was a meeting scheduled about how things would run next year. In advance of it, I was asked into the office of one of the senior managers in the team. He started to explain how the job I’m leaving is going to change quite drastically: more publicity and PR; less data handling; increased front-line involvement with communities; and much less time behind a desk. Whilst he didn’t say so directly, he was heavily suggesting that the work of my job would change in such a way that I’d find it much more rewarding than I do at present.

I felt confused, and a little angry. The impression I got was that if I hadn’t have handed in my notice, then the job wouldn’t have been redesigned. I felt I’d been mismanaged, as the changes that were made, if needed, should have been spotted and acted upon before now. I felt undervalued, in that I wasn’t asked about the proposed changes, even though they were to a job that I was doing. I felt really angry that they’d waited until I’d said I was leaving before they set about addressing how shit my job is. I felt even angrier that they’ve made it quite a good job. I feel like I’d planned to leave a party, and, as I’d put my coat on, the music started to get better. I feel like I’d planned to break up with an imaginary girlfriend, only for her to appear at the door that day looking drop dead gorgeous.

I was subjected to a barrage of bodily noises during that meeting, and it really distracted me. On one side of me, there was a guy with a gurgling tummy and a consistent accompanying refrain of “Excuse me,” or “Pardon me.” I didn’t particularly mind, except that every word that the gurgler said in the meeting was in response to his rumbling gut. Lunchtime meetings suck. One the other side of me, one of the attendees made it her business to communicate her agreement with the speaker with a loud “MMMmmmm!” or a “Yes, yes,” or a slow groan. The more she agreed, the more often she groaned. The more often she groaned, the more sexual it sounded, like an office-based When Harry Met Sally. It was gross, and it really put me off. I’m glad I’m leaving.

I quite like some of the work that my job involves, but I don’t like my working conditions, which I express by saying, “I don’t like my job.” Even though the work of my job is going to change, my working conditions won’t. So I’m still getting out as soon as I can.

The imaginary girlfriend still gets the boot too.

Mel-blah-blah

I’ve worked out how Melba is rude. She waits for the person she dislikes to finish speaking, and then – as if she hasn’t even noticed that they’ve been speaking – entirely changes the subject of the entire conversation. It’s a form of blanking that wouldn’t be out of place in a playground. She does it to me every time she’s at Clare’s, and it makes me feel rubbish. I’ve worked out how Melba is rude, but I haven’t worked out why.