 |
| Get a job! I can't take home brand biscuits for one more day my leetle Conchita. |
There’s a Facebook group up here JUST for the mountain folk and Scotto is already a member. Not me, I’m not, because… it’s very exclusive and well, you know… I’d rather remain anonymous for a while for various reasons. I’m not hiding from the police or anything (for now) but how am I going to write stories on my blog if the people I’m writing about start reading it? Anyway, the people on the FB page are a great source of knowledge about all things that go on up here on the mountain.
Scotto asked about a problem with the septic tank last night and he was promptly advised to put a container of yoghurt down the loo. Apparently we now need to feed our toilet antibiographical bacteria or whatever it’s called. WHAT THE BROWN SLUDGY FUDGE?
I don’t know about you but I think that’s a bit weird… maybe they were having a lend of us, you know how tradesmen send their first year apprentices to the hardware store to get a left handed screw driver, a long weight or a bucket of dial tone, maybe the locals were doing something like that.
Besides, if we FEED the toilet bacteria, the things that live deep down in the abyss could grow into virtually anything, poo monsters most likely.
Who here has EVER fed their toilet?
And they also said if you don’t want to use yoghurt you can put sugar down the loo instead. What exactly exists in the pits of our septic tank? A sweet-toothed, dairy product aficionado with long tentacles and sharp pincers who’s preparing to rise up and nip us on the bum when we’re taking our daily constitutionals?
Speaking of bathrooms and toilets, I almost inadvertently scattered my brains all over the floor last night. I slipped on the cheap and treacherous bathmat which some idiot* had stupidly placed on the extremely glossy tiles.
Smack down hard I went, first landing on my tailbone, then my elbow and finally the back of my head ricocheted off the glass shower door. I wasn’t knocked out but I went straight to bed after the incident and fell asleep immediately. I’ve heard you should never do that after a head injury. My last words to Scotto were, “If I die in my sleep can you remember to throw that cheap, shitty bathmat out before our Easter guests arrive and please tell my kids I love them.”
He just nodded absentmindedly and kept watching the telly. When I woke up I thought I must have broken my elbow it hurt so much.
“How am I going to drive to my job interview today?” I wailed piteously.
I did manage to get myself to the interview despite getting lost both ways, on the way there and on the way home. Thank God for my Global Positioning System. I could almost hear the poor woman inside the GPS tut-tutting and shaking her head in disappointment every time I discovered (too late) I was in the wrong lane and failed to take the correct exit. “Recalculating… again, you useless git of a person,” I’m sure I heard her grumble in her odd English accent.
I wonder if I’ll get the job. Naturally they queried my aptitude with technology during the very thorough grilling. They needed to know how much the silly old bat knew about computers and if she could use her probably sparse knowledge to teach small children.
I somehow mustered the common sense to realise they weren’t interested in how many Twitter followers I have.
“I can utilise Microsoft Word with a great deal of expertise,” I smiled nervously.
“Oh, that’s good. You mean you can use Excel and everything?” the lovely interviewer asked.
“No, just the Word bit,” I replied, deflated.
“I have a blog,” I blurted out in desperation. “I’ve published an eBook too.”
They bowed their heads and wrote something down on their pads after failing to conceal slightly furrowed brows.
“Please don’t look it up,” I whispered after realising what a very, very stupid thing it was I’d just done.
“Don’t mention the blog” is what I recited to myself all the way down the hill on the way to the interview. First thing I blab about? The stupid blog. God, I hope they don’t look it up. I blame my idiocy on late onset concussion.
I left the interview with a headache and now I’m wondering if it’s the result of a slow bleed on the brain from my fall or just a tension headache, probably the former knowing my luck.
Somehow I don’t think I’ll get the job. Oh well. I can always work in a shoe shop.
 |
| "How will you ever get a job in a shoe shop you silly woman? You know nothing about fashion!" |
* Me
Anyone got a suggestion for an alternate career to teaching?
