Fuck Nuggets: How they ruin your day.

I’ve decided that today is empirical evidence that there is a greater force at work in this universe.

My reasoning for this? Because, whatever it may be, hates me.

“Come now, surely you’re being a little bit melodramatic”

Perhaps.

Or maybe I’ve finally understood the world. You know what I’m talking about. You think you don’t know but you do. It’s the cluster fuck of fuck nuggets kind of day.

Allow me to explain:

Fuck Nugget –

A fuck nugget is a little nugget of demonic spew that has been coughed up from the depths of Hades and has unfortunately landed in your day – this usually results in a constant exclamation of “fuck” being uttered repeatedly until said ‘nugget’ either disappears or is replaced with something more pleasant.

There is nothing you can do to prevent this.. this is just a scientific fact. This in itself is a nugget of “fuck”.

This can range from the fact you missed your alarm, or that you forgot your umbrella. Really anything that makes you look up to the ceiling, eyes closed, and curse ever so slightly before sighing dejectedly.

Now the Frequency by which the fuck nugget occurs is directly proportional to the levels of stress experienced throughout the day, as demonstrated below:

Now you can either have one massive fuck nugget which ruins your whole day (something like a death or loss of a job), or you can have the better known Cluster Fuck.

A cluster fuck is a large amount of fuck nuggets all surmounting and combining into one very large nugget of ‘Fuck My Life’. Consider it the Optimus Prime of hatred and suffering. This does not happen often, however when it does it makes up for it’s lacking presence thus far.

If you’re still struggling to understand, please find an example below:

Missed alarm – Small Nugget
Missed Train – Medium Nugget
Someone bumped into you and your headphones fell down the gap between train and platform – Curse Loudly Nugget
Trying get through the crowd and someone’s abnormally sharp umbrella ripped your coat – How-did-this-even-happen Nugget
Coffee machine at cafe not working – Eye Twitch Nugget
Ordered a tea but they don’t accept card and the closest machine is 2 blocks away and you’re already late – Boulder sized Nugget
Lift broken, you work on the 5th Floor – Homicidal Nugget
It’s actually a bank holiday and you’re not even supposed to be in  – Cluster fuck.

There are no known ways to prevent Fuck Nuggets, however there are a number of cures available.

These include, but are not limited to:

– Tequila
– Whiskey
– Any form of alcohol to be honest
– Cake
– Anything with cheese
– Building a small city on Age of Empires and then drowning them/setting fire to them

And don’t worry – it’s almost over. It might only be mid-day, but it’s almost over.

Reasons why I won’t work on phones

That’s right folks – I has a job.

It’s to work as an advert writer for a recruitment company, which is great! Mainly because it’s a paid writing job.

The title is deceiving because it makes it seem like I’m doing something far more creative than I actually am. It’s more of a data entry position, I get sent fact sheets along with another writer and then we have to create ads which say the same thing but in different way to “broaden our capture zone”. Don’t worry, it’s not as gestapo-ey as I’ve made it out to be.

I’m starting to have fun with it, and decided that a better title for my job position would be “Company Thesaurus”.

My favourite so far has been “Visual Clarity Executive” for the position of “Window Cleaner”.

In all honesty it’s pure bliss. Why I hear you ask?

Because I do not have to speak to people on the phone. I do not have to deal directly with clients in any way.

What I discovered from my previous position was that dealing with customers/clients/people in general is horrific as it is, but doing it on the phone is worse. Suddenly the illusion of relative anonymity gives people a false bravado turning them into a deformed cross between Clint Eastwood and Liam Neeson from Taken.

This is how it works, the less likely it is that you will ever be able to actually meet or see the person, the more confident they are to be a dickhead.

Observe:

1. Email –
The internet gives complete anonymity. Everything about them can be fabricated, their name, age, gender and even email address. This allows people to revert to their inner Id and become the profane, debauched, rude little prick they secretly are inside.

Purely because they are without consequence.

Dickhead Level: ULTIMATE
Threat Level: SHARK BRED TO WALK ON LAND AND IS ON STEROIDS

2. Phone -Not as bad as email because voices can be recognised, however because there is still distance and no possible chance of the other person immediately having physical access to you, the inner disgruntled complainer comes out.

“And if I do say so myself, frankly the customer service I have been forced to endure has been appalling and I demand compensation!” (an actual call I’ve had)

Suddenly, time elongates and the inner lawyer takes over; the more complex the sentence structure, the more annoyed they are.

Dickhead Level: INTERMEDIATE
Threat Level: AGGRESSIVE DOG BEHIND FENCE

3. Face to Face –

It takes a special kind of person to be a complete dickhead in person. This is where there is nothing to hide behind, no screen nor receiver. Suddenly the “I demand”‘s turn into “Pardon me, but would you mind?” and the “Frankly I am appalled”‘s turn into “I don’t mean to interrupt my good sir”.

Dickhead Level: MILD
Threat level: PREMATURE BABY SQUIRREL

Without further ado, here are reasons why I hate dealing with customers over the phone:

1. Obnoxiousness will get you absolutely no where
Using the words “demand”, “do you know who I am”, “Excuse me” or any other form of this will not get you Gold Star service, it will get you Bare Minimum service.

Kiss goodbye to getting any where. I are now going to play by the rule book, and play by it hard. I will do exactly what you ask me to, which is exactly what you don’t want, purely because you don’t know what you’re talking about. 

That means that, despite the fact I have the information you need here, I’m not technically allowed to give it to you so you’re going to have to do it the hard way.

Don’t for a second think I’m going to go out of my way to help you.

Not with that attitude, missey.

2. I am giving all the information that I can and you won’t let up

Following from point 1, if I have given you all the information I can (and I’ve now folded and given you all the information I can but shouldn’t give you) there is nothing more I can do.

This call is going no where, and it just ends up being torture for me because, not only am I not allowed to hang up on you (as I would do had this been a normal conversation), I have to endure more of you.

3. Calling repeatedly hoping for a different response

You are not some kind of voice Houdini. I know it’s you.

I talk to the people I work with, I can hear them on the phone. They are going to tell you exactly the same thing as I did – because this is the way it is. 

Calling me every half hour for the next 3 days is going to do nothing apart from make me cry and develop an eye twitch every time I see your number.

4. Eating whilst on the phone

This is by far the worst habit ever. If you won’t eat with your mouth open to my face, do not do it on the phone. I don’t want to see it so why on Earth would I want to hear it?

5. Putting me on hold when you called ME

This is just ridiculous. Just. No.

6. You ask me a question, repeatedly.

Cunningly rewording your question does not change the answer. Yoda not you are.

7. Stupid questions

“So you give me the menu, then what happens?” or “It says apply online with my CV, so.. do I apply online?”

These kind of questions make me laugh because there is no other feasible alternative. Sometimes I’m not even sure how to answer the question.

Now, I get to listen to music and just reword adverts – and there are no people apart from the ones I directly work with.

Utter.

Bliss.

Getting Sick – The Struggle is Real

My throat is essentially closing in on itself.

I hate the beginnings of illness. No one really understands what it’s like. You’re not weak or incapable enough to warrant sitting home alone pathetically answering every query with ‘tea please’. And you get no sympathy from anyone, because you yourself have done this when other people are ill – You almost forget what being sick feels like until you start to become ill again.

“Psh. Man up. It’s just a cold.”

And in all honesty, it’s your own fault half the time. You go from scoffing in the face of the indecisive ‘spring’ weather – declaring forever that it is finally ‘shorts weather’ and insisting you need nothing more than sandals and a smile – only to end up the next day sniffling and ‘ha HUUU’ing all over the shop.

The snot monster that now currently resides in my sinuses, like some slimy greenish squatter, is giving one massive phlegm finger to the rest of my body. My body is in turn responding to this by shutting down my ability to hear, speak and breathe. Not the most effective means of retaliation I must admit, in all honesty my immune system is about as threatening and effective as the Canadian Army.

I can’t even find the energy to be overly cynical. I’m not scowling and mocking life in the face, merely weakly coughing phelgem in it’s general direction.

Unnecessarily complicated things that annoy me

Best thing to do after a run?

Watch a show devoted to foods you feel guilty eating.

This week’s episode is devoted to Swiss rolls, foccacia bread, mac and cheese and meringue. It’s the party my teenage self was never invited to.

She’s making pavlova seem like the croquembouche of the meringue world. Which is ridiculous. I’ve made this dessert drunk many, many a time and I can’t even master opening doors when I’m drunk.

It was invented by Kiwi’s/Aussie’s (we’ll get into that debate later). A nation of people who barbecue most of their food.

Literally set fire to it until it’s charred and thus unquestionably cooked.

The two countries that, independent of each other, invented Marmite and Vegimite; two things that taste like you’ve come in from a night out, shoved every thing you own into a pot and then fell asleep as it burnt to the bottom of the pan.

And you think they’d create a difficult desert?

Honestly.

Flowers of the Week – The Archives!

I used to work in a restaurant as a receptionist where one of my duties was to write a brief description of the flower display every week.

I did not appreciate this.

I had far too much to do and this was something that was taken far too seriously in my opinion.

So I went a bit extreme with my tongue-in-cheek-ness with it. It ended up being a massive hit and was the first time I considered writing as a career.

In the name of nostalgia I have dedicated a blog to it, this will not be updated, it’s acting purely as an archive for my past work, and you can find it here.

I’ve also started a Facebook page for myself (you know, to take it seriously) and you can find (and like!) me here

Enjoy!

Commuting, Stupid people and Ties

 

These are things I’ve come to realise:

1) People, who go out or commute, are generally stupid

I don’t know what happens – you have a reasonable, sane and logical person and then the moment you put them in a restaurant or on a commuter route and they suddenly become petulant, impatient and generally stupid.

I worked as a TA for primary school students for a while and after doing so began to think of myself as an extremely patient person.

I was wrong.

So incredibly wrong.

The only difference between children in primary school and these adults is height. 

And the fact children are more reasonable.

2) I hate people.

Not even just hate them. I actually resent them for existing.  And not even just stupid people – just people in general at this point.

3) Commuting is my punishment for hating people.

Having to deal with the early morning commuter who would push a small child into the gap between trains and use them as a ramp is my punishment.

Push, shove then tut. Push, shove, swear, tut again. Rather than waiting 1 minute for the next train. Literally 1 minute. In the time it takes the next train to be there, you can’t even formulate a thought about being annoyed for having to wait.

Below is my interpretation of people I see on the underground:

 

Reasons I do, in fact, need money

“For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil”

My high-school English teacher drilled this into my head so much that I now automatically correct people when they get it wrong. It can be embarrassing, especially when you weren’t even part of their conversation – bus journeys get that much more awkward.

Money is pretty much pointless and I have no need for it – well apart from, you know, being able to buy things. Like that cute leather satchel, or food. Priorities are questionable when you’re unemployed.

Leaving the house has now become more treacherous than before because not only do you forget how to interact with other humans, there lies strong temptation. Strong temptation to shop – which, as mentioned previously, is impossible without money. It’s a fragile balance to maintain.

Recently my friend and housemate’s mum came to visit so, being not employed and at home all day, I was free to do things. I love spending time with her, she’s amazing and so funny, but as she was on holiday she wanted to go shopping; which just turns into a very long list in my notebook of “things I will buy when I have money”. And always resulted in my coming home and immediately searching for a job. Any job.

Camden market was tough. It’s always tough. They have everything – literally. They have all that you need, all that you don’t need and all that you didn’t know you needed but are now vastly aware you do. And you need it immediately.

There is always the risk I’ll come out with about 70 used vinyls, a fedora that will be worn once (bought in on a whim of “because wearing a fedora is who I am now”) and some incense.

That’s beauty of Camden, with it’s hipsters, patchwork clothing, up-cycled tables and lighting that, despite it’s seemingly tatty value, has a price-tag rivaling Alexander McQueen. Everyone’s walking around in balloon trousers, neon and large amounts of incense can be found everywhere – and it makes you feel like you too can be part of this trendy subculture. After all, you’ve always loved tie-dye, wanted dreads, had a strange connection to everything Indian/Aztec/Vintage/Tribal.

Do not buy into this.

You are not committed enough to be hipster. Trust me. I’ve tried. And I am Indian – I’m supposed to be all zen, incense-ey and covered in massive, decorative throws.

Back to the point, here are reasons I need money:

1. Travelling is surprisingly expensive

Like more expensive then it really should be. How is it possible that I spent £20 on travelling? I feel this is something that is more expensive than is necessary.

Honestly, I’m tempted to buy a horse and just travel that way – because I can justify spending money on feed and housing. This seems reasonable because it’s alive.

Or maybe just buy a bike.

2. To save it

I was actually earning quite a bit of money, and now that I am without it, I’m wondering what the hell I did with it? No idea. It could have been anything – blowing my nose, buying beer, using it to make a paper mache unicorn called Pepe – honestly these are all plausible things.

I was earning enough that within a year I could have safely put aside at least part of the deposit for a house. Well, if I had given up going out for dinner and buying booze. Hmm.

3. To learn how to invest money

 

When I was at school, they drill everything from the boiling point of acid to the exact geographical location of Jupiter’s moon. They ensure you are full of knowledge that would guarantee you pride of place in any pub quiz group. And things like algebra, trigonometry and, of course, French.

For all those students out there, apart from the French, you could probably quite safely be successful in life without anything else listed. And unfortunately there are some very important things that they do not teach you which you will definitely need to know, but as is the way of life, you will not:

– Taxes

– What interest is and how it can affect you

– The importance of taking an inventory and dated pictures of a house before you move into it or good luck getting your deposit back

– What your rights are as a tenant and an employee

– Budgeting; and including “miscellaneous” as part of it because you will buy something useless so ensure you have some money aside for it

and finally

– how to make money from money you already have

For more on what I wish I had been taught in school you can check out The Oatmeal’s Awesome Post

4. To buy important, useful and actually valuable things

Enough with the silly extendable forks (despite how much joy, and stolen macaroni, it brought me). If you look at my bank statements it would be like what would happen if you gave a 12 year old lots of money and a fake ID. One day it’s an absurd amount of books, the next it’s a series of gag presents and coffee.

I mean I value my books and vinyls but they are not intrinsically valuable – they’re not first editions or mint condition. Genuinely, my possessions are more like a sack of Office Secret Santa presents (limit of £10) than “assets”. For example, I do not worry about burglars because I’d just laugh and help them look, and if they find anything behind my piano that I or the hoover haven’t found they are welcome to it.

I need to invest and buy things like a good computer, first editions – you know. Valuable crap. Things that would make me worry if I found out my house had been broken into.

So I’ve been applying for lots of jobs, any kind of jobs; writing jobs, cake decorating jobs, dog walking jobs. One of them should come back to me so I’ll finally have some mula and, now that I am a reformed spender, I will save.

Fingers crossed.