Bleach; it's a miracle
Went to work this morning, just as the rest of the house was venturing tentatively from beneath the duvets...
Showered, dressed and up the road; much entertainment on the work front: hungover late teenage males who spend the entire day in a doomed search for the one place in the entire complex where management won't eventually find them, fawning late adolescent males (yummy), idiot staff who think they're management material but can't even tie their own shoe laces, idiot management who think that the rest of the staff can't see what's under their very noses, idiot customers who pay for and walk out with The Wrong Tumble Dryer (only £20 and a brand name difference) and my dear colleague.
She's got a job to do on Sunday that takes the woman she's replacing about three hours to complete: she was still working on it when I left her at the end of the day, having been at it for at least 7 hours.
Got home and found the toilet upstairs smelling of : bleach. It is a miracle. The self-cleaning toilet is upon us. There's no way he'd let my eight year old work with undiluted bleach, is there? and he certainly wouldn't know what to do with the stuff even if he did notice it - I mean, history certainly tells us that.
Curled up on the bed for an hour imagining a pair of strong youthful arms around me, fondling something other than the drippy droopy earrings I was wearing today. A girl can dream, can't she?
Well yes, obviously.
Showered, dressed and up the road; much entertainment on the work front: hungover late teenage males who spend the entire day in a doomed search for the one place in the entire complex where management won't eventually find them, fawning late adolescent males (yummy), idiot staff who think they're management material but can't even tie their own shoe laces, idiot management who think that the rest of the staff can't see what's under their very noses, idiot customers who pay for and walk out with The Wrong Tumble Dryer (only £20 and a brand name difference) and my dear colleague.
She's got a job to do on Sunday that takes the woman she's replacing about three hours to complete: she was still working on it when I left her at the end of the day, having been at it for at least 7 hours.
Got home and found the toilet upstairs smelling of : bleach. It is a miracle. The self-cleaning toilet is upon us. There's no way he'd let my eight year old work with undiluted bleach, is there? and he certainly wouldn't know what to do with the stuff even if he did notice it - I mean, history certainly tells us that.
Curled up on the bed for an hour imagining a pair of strong youthful arms around me, fondling something other than the drippy droopy earrings I was wearing today. A girl can dream, can't she?
Well yes, obviously.
posted by Enyo @ 9:22 pm
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