and Thong, and Tighty Wighty, and Bikini, and...
Politics
I'm the Vice-Pres of the Atheist, Agnostic, and Secular Society. We're holding elections tonight for a new Pres. (I don't want to be it. I don't have time to do the job I've got.) Mostly my concern is that the one person who's being doing all the work for the last 18 months will have to continue to do all the work, and when he graduates there won't be a society any more. We need to start spreading some responsibility around or the club will die, which would be a huge shame.
Health
I'm seeing a chiropractor. Although the ruptured disk is as healed as it will ever be, my pelvis is apparently out of alignment. This is causing me to put 15 more pounds of pressure on my right foot than on my left when I stand. Such misalignment puts a twist in my spine that will make reinjury more likely, so I'm having it sorted. Which is good. I guess. I'm a bit skeptical of chiropractors. They're not doctors. I worry that it's all just so much snake oil. Any thoughts?
Finance
I can't afford the chiropractor. I earn about 100 pounds a week. This is my only regular income. I could earn more, but I don't have time to take on a third job. My rent is 78 pounds a week. I have the remaining 22 to live off and buy things like food, books, and pay for rowing expenses. The chiropractor costs 50 pounds a week, plus 12 pounds a week in bus fares to get there (his office is in a different city). Ow. I'm afraid this will hurt my wallet more than it will help my back.
Arts
Went to see Ladysmith Black Mambazo at Colston Hall last night. They were amazing. Rich, soulful, powerful, and even a bit camp at times. At one point a bunch of women jumped up on stage and started hugging the guys! There is not enough music in my life right now. It was wonderful to sit there with their round, full harmonies filling my ears. I needed that.
Celebrity
Our Roving Reporter spotted the Pirate this weekend down at the Bristol boat house on the Avon near Bath. He was helping his stiff, sore, pathetic, degenerate, dejected girlfriend lift her scull out of the water. Later, our source informs us, he took her to his gym to get a proper workout in, since her water session was too painful for her back and she returned after doing a paltry 3k. At the gym he spotted her while she did an upper body weights circuit and helped her stretch afterwards. Later that evening (according to our snoop) he spend nearly an hour giving her a full-body deep muscle massage with lots of beramot-scented oil and a rolling pin.
Obituaries
Daisy the Wonderbeagle passed away last week. She had to be put down owing to excessive feebleness and inability to hold her pee. She leaves behind 4 grieving bipeds and numerous friends and admirers. She was 15 1/2.
Horoscope
Your position is shaky right now, but that is temporary. You will find a way out, as you always do. In love, you are coming to a crux. Soon you will know for certain where you stand, one way or the other.
Showing posts with label money. Show all posts
Showing posts with label money. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Frivolous II: The Guilt Strikes Back
Seeking advise from those I trust most, here are the words of my dear pater:
You may want to read Ann Rand's book on selfishness for a bit of philosophy on human nature and why it may not be so bad as it first appears by my and your Christian moral heritage. Also, there is an issue of pleasing the father and looking accomplished in his eyes, but that's probably well buried deep in the Pirates's sense of worth or accomplishment. I bought a Rambler sedan rather than the Jag I really wanted when I came home from Vietnam, looking back I would have been no worse off and would have had many happy hours cruising in the Jag vs the more rational Rambler. You have a limited time on earth so perhaps, when you're young is the best time to reach for the brass ring and damn the consequences. Enjoy the ride, don't worry too much about the trade-offs.... both his and your economic potential over the next 50 years is very substantial, you are poor as a church mouse now, but that is a temporary affliction.
Love,
Dad
Perhaps a touch of hedonism isn't a bad thing. Again, as with all things, it's a matter of scale. Dad is also of the ilk that my feelings are the result of my temporary poverty, and such feelings will disperse when I'm back on a more sound economic footing. This may be partially true, but I'm pretty sure that even if/when I have that kind of money, I would still consider that level of luxury unecessary and decadant.
I've been giving this whole issue a LOT of thought lately, in an attempt to understand exactly what is upsetting me, why, and what steps, if any, I should take. Here are some ideas that have occured to me:
It may simply be human nature to view all those with less than us as unfortunate and underpriveledged, while those with more than us are spoiled, greedy, mean, priveledged, etc. I think every one of us feels that our personal balance between frugality and indulgence is an appropriate balance, and anyone differing significantly from out own spending habits is in the wrong, one way or t'other.
It may also be partly due to the fact that growing up in a very working-class and pro-labor household I was taught to resent on some level those people who were more affluent than myself. Furthermore, such people were often described in terms of their material wealth, such as "people who live in houses like that X___." or "people who drive cars like that Y___" etc. I think the unfortunate coincidence that Pirate has purchased an item which in my youth was made out to be an indicator of greed and selfishness is, when I really think about it, at the bottom of what's troubling me.
So I'm left to reconcile the apparent paradox that either my parents were wrong and wealthy people with unnecessary and expensive cars aren't necessarily the greedy bastards who are the source of all the world's ailments,
or
I have critically misjudged the Pirate and actually he's not the amazing guy I thought he was, but actually he's one of the rich, greedy baddies. (I am exaggering slightly for the sake of clarity, but I think you can forgive me for that.)
On the surface this doesn't appear very difficult. The first statement assumes a lot of absolutes (all problems are caused by rich people, all people who drive nice cars are rich, it's easier for a camel to fit through the eye of a needle, etc.), and absolutes are rarely true. So it should be easy to write an addendum to that philosophy pertaining to exceptions and accept that my parents are not always right and that wealthy people can be good people.
It should be easy. But accepting a change in your views, a change in a philosophy that has colored the way you've seen the world since you were old enough to open your eyes, rarely is. In some ways it would be easier for me to admit that I was wrong about the Pirate, because that's a view that I've only had for a year, as opposed to a lifetime. Furthermore, changing your view about one person does not shatter one's whole socio-economic mindset.
But of course I love the Pirate deeply and I don't want to be wrong about him. I want to continue to believe that he is a good, moral, ethical, generous, honest man. As I've often pointed out before, though, wishing don't make it so, and wanting to believe something, even believing it, doesn't make it true.
Do I really think that buying a car suggests that I've grossly misjudged the Pirate's character? No, not really. I'm just trying to explain to you lot why this whole situation has made me squirm so much. Fundamentally it boiled down to me being wrong about something, either the strong, anti-money values I'd been raised with, or my assessment of Pirate's character. And that, I think, is what this whole thing is all about. It's forced me to confront and re-evaluate some of the assumptions I make about people and the world regarding material wealth. And questioning one's fundamental assumptions about the world is a very squirmy process indeed.
You may want to read Ann Rand's book on selfishness for a bit of philosophy on human nature and why it may not be so bad as it first appears by my and your Christian moral heritage. Also, there is an issue of pleasing the father and looking accomplished in his eyes, but that's probably well buried deep in the Pirates's sense of worth or accomplishment. I bought a Rambler sedan rather than the Jag I really wanted when I came home from Vietnam, looking back I would have been no worse off and would have had many happy hours cruising in the Jag vs the more rational Rambler. You have a limited time on earth so perhaps, when you're young is the best time to reach for the brass ring and damn the consequences. Enjoy the ride, don't worry too much about the trade-offs.... both his and your economic potential over the next 50 years is very substantial, you are poor as a church mouse now, but that is a temporary affliction.
Love,
Dad
Perhaps a touch of hedonism isn't a bad thing. Again, as with all things, it's a matter of scale. Dad is also of the ilk that my feelings are the result of my temporary poverty, and such feelings will disperse when I'm back on a more sound economic footing. This may be partially true, but I'm pretty sure that even if/when I have that kind of money, I would still consider that level of luxury unecessary and decadant.
I've been giving this whole issue a LOT of thought lately, in an attempt to understand exactly what is upsetting me, why, and what steps, if any, I should take. Here are some ideas that have occured to me:
It may simply be human nature to view all those with less than us as unfortunate and underpriveledged, while those with more than us are spoiled, greedy, mean, priveledged, etc. I think every one of us feels that our personal balance between frugality and indulgence is an appropriate balance, and anyone differing significantly from out own spending habits is in the wrong, one way or t'other.
It may also be partly due to the fact that growing up in a very working-class and pro-labor household I was taught to resent on some level those people who were more affluent than myself. Furthermore, such people were often described in terms of their material wealth, such as "people who live in houses like that X___." or "people who drive cars like that Y___" etc. I think the unfortunate coincidence that Pirate has purchased an item which in my youth was made out to be an indicator of greed and selfishness is, when I really think about it, at the bottom of what's troubling me.
So I'm left to reconcile the apparent paradox that either my parents were wrong and wealthy people with unnecessary and expensive cars aren't necessarily the greedy bastards who are the source of all the world's ailments,
or
I have critically misjudged the Pirate and actually he's not the amazing guy I thought he was, but actually he's one of the rich, greedy baddies. (I am exaggering slightly for the sake of clarity, but I think you can forgive me for that.)
On the surface this doesn't appear very difficult. The first statement assumes a lot of absolutes (all problems are caused by rich people, all people who drive nice cars are rich, it's easier for a camel to fit through the eye of a needle, etc.), and absolutes are rarely true. So it should be easy to write an addendum to that philosophy pertaining to exceptions and accept that my parents are not always right and that wealthy people can be good people.
It should be easy. But accepting a change in your views, a change in a philosophy that has colored the way you've seen the world since you were old enough to open your eyes, rarely is. In some ways it would be easier for me to admit that I was wrong about the Pirate, because that's a view that I've only had for a year, as opposed to a lifetime. Furthermore, changing your view about one person does not shatter one's whole socio-economic mindset.
But of course I love the Pirate deeply and I don't want to be wrong about him. I want to continue to believe that he is a good, moral, ethical, generous, honest man. As I've often pointed out before, though, wishing don't make it so, and wanting to believe something, even believing it, doesn't make it true.
Do I really think that buying a car suggests that I've grossly misjudged the Pirate's character? No, not really. I'm just trying to explain to you lot why this whole situation has made me squirm so much. Fundamentally it boiled down to me being wrong about something, either the strong, anti-money values I'd been raised with, or my assessment of Pirate's character. And that, I think, is what this whole thing is all about. It's forced me to confront and re-evaluate some of the assumptions I make about people and the world regarding material wealth. And questioning one's fundamental assumptions about the world is a very squirmy process indeed.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Good day
11 am
The phone rings. It's the Agency: "We have a job that might interest you... {details}... Shall we tell them you're interested?" Absolutely.
11:30 am
The phone rings. It's the Agency: "Are you available for an interview at 4 pm today?" Yep. "Fabulous. It's a very prestigious outfit, so you need to go suited and booted." Okey-dokes.
Problem. The Agency knows me well. They've seen me in interview attire. I always look professional. The fact that they felt the need to emphasize the point suggested that I needed to look more professional than usual. Except I've been wearing the very best clothes I own. But the very best clothes I own are all ill-fitting and old. My absolute best shirt is 3 years old and 2 sizes too big. Time to go shopping.
12:30 pm
Walk to T.M. Lewins, where they are having a sale on women's blouses. 40 minutes later and 82 pounds poorer I am the proud owner of three very nice, beautifully-fitting striped blouses with French cuffs and three sets of cufflinks to match. Whee!
1:30 pm
Look up company's website. Study structure, mission, news releases.
2:00 pm
Take shirts out of packaging, iron one for interview.
2:30 pm
Print off extra copy of CV for interview. Discover printer is out of ink. Email CV to Agency with note asking them to print for me so I can pick up on way to interview.
2:45 pm
Shower, dress, hair, makeup.
3:30 pm
Leave for interview, pick up CV en route.
4:00 pm
Have interview. It goes very well.
4:50 pm
Arrive home. Phone rings. It's the Agency: "The company would like to offer you the position." I accept!
I love it. 6 Hours from start to finish, and I have myself a new job. It's one day a week working front reception for a real estate advice company. It's perfect. It fits in with my life, it won't interfere with my research, rowing, teaching, other work, or visiting the Pirate, and the pay is good. So good, in fact, that one day a week will be just enough to cover my rent. So that, plus the other odd jobs here and there will be enough for me to keep my head above water. I am officially declaring the Crisis of the Bastards Who Took Away the Money They Promised Me and Screwed Me Over over. Now I'm just back to being my usual, tight-fisted self. Whee.
The phone rings. It's the Agency: "We have a job that might interest you... {details}... Shall we tell them you're interested?" Absolutely.
11:30 am
The phone rings. It's the Agency: "Are you available for an interview at 4 pm today?" Yep. "Fabulous. It's a very prestigious outfit, so you need to go suited and booted." Okey-dokes.
Problem. The Agency knows me well. They've seen me in interview attire. I always look professional. The fact that they felt the need to emphasize the point suggested that I needed to look more professional than usual. Except I've been wearing the very best clothes I own. But the very best clothes I own are all ill-fitting and old. My absolute best shirt is 3 years old and 2 sizes too big. Time to go shopping.
12:30 pm
Walk to T.M. Lewins, where they are having a sale on women's blouses. 40 minutes later and 82 pounds poorer I am the proud owner of three very nice, beautifully-fitting striped blouses with French cuffs and three sets of cufflinks to match. Whee!
1:30 pm
Look up company's website. Study structure, mission, news releases.
2:00 pm
Take shirts out of packaging, iron one for interview.
2:30 pm
Print off extra copy of CV for interview. Discover printer is out of ink. Email CV to Agency with note asking them to print for me so I can pick up on way to interview.
2:45 pm
Shower, dress, hair, makeup.
3:30 pm
Leave for interview, pick up CV en route.
4:00 pm
Have interview. It goes very well.
4:50 pm
Arrive home. Phone rings. It's the Agency: "The company would like to offer you the position." I accept!
I love it. 6 Hours from start to finish, and I have myself a new job. It's one day a week working front reception for a real estate advice company. It's perfect. It fits in with my life, it won't interfere with my research, rowing, teaching, other work, or visiting the Pirate, and the pay is good. So good, in fact, that one day a week will be just enough to cover my rent. So that, plus the other odd jobs here and there will be enough for me to keep my head above water. I am officially declaring the Crisis of the Bastards Who Took Away the Money They Promised Me and Screwed Me Over over. Now I'm just back to being my usual, tight-fisted self. Whee.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Goddamn poverty
Last night I was ecstatic because I learned that Art Garfunkel* is playing Colston Hall next Thursday evening, and I determined to go.
This morning I want to kill myself because tickets cost an entire week's wages, so I can't.
Goddamn poverty.
*Art Garfunkel is my favorite vocalist of all time. His songwriting abilities are no match for Paul Simon's, but his voice is a gift to the human race: lighter than a feather in orbit, gentle as warm snowflakes. I grew up listening to his music, and his voice is as familiar and soothing to me as my own mother's.
This morning I want to kill myself because tickets cost an entire week's wages, so I can't.
Goddamn poverty.
*Art Garfunkel is my favorite vocalist of all time. His songwriting abilities are no match for Paul Simon's, but his voice is a gift to the human race: lighter than a feather in orbit, gentle as warm snowflakes. I grew up listening to his music, and his voice is as familiar and soothing to me as my own mother's.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
The Order of Operations
I hesitate to write this, because it's going to sound like one of those gahdawful self-help books, an also becuae I'm actually thinking of writing aforementioned self-help book, purely for the money of course (and why give it a way free if I can sell it?). But I decided to let you Be My Guinea Pigs. (Now why don't they ever put that on a candy heart, i ask you.)
Here's the basic premise:
There are two ways to structure your life and make decisions.
1. Figure out what's feasible and choose from the available options, or
2. Figure out what you want and find a way to make it feasible.
Number 1 is perfectly practical and many people do it and it will bring a modicom of success with relative safety and ease. But it's inherently limiting. That method of reasoning will always, in the end, be a cage. It might be a very big cage, and you (as many people are) might be very happy living in your corner of it. But there's a lot more out there beyond the bars.
The second thought process is more risky, but the rewards are far greater. It's harder. It involves exploring and discovering your actual desires, instead of selecting from a few options before you. It's like the difference between going to a restaurant and deciding what to eat based on the menu selections, and taking a few minutes to stop and thinking 'what kind of food do i want to eat,' and then figuring out where to get it or how to cook it.
I have always lived my life by the latter method, but i've only recently become aware that this is what i was doing, and it's different from what i observe a lot of my friends doing. What do you think of all this? Would you find this sort of advice interesting/useful? Do you think other people would? Yes, it would make me a whore to the system. But I'm doing it because I've identified needs (money) and I'm trying to figure out ways of achieving them. Thoughts?
Here's the basic premise:
There are two ways to structure your life and make decisions.
1. Figure out what's feasible and choose from the available options, or
2. Figure out what you want and find a way to make it feasible.
Number 1 is perfectly practical and many people do it and it will bring a modicom of success with relative safety and ease. But it's inherently limiting. That method of reasoning will always, in the end, be a cage. It might be a very big cage, and you (as many people are) might be very happy living in your corner of it. But there's a lot more out there beyond the bars.
The second thought process is more risky, but the rewards are far greater. It's harder. It involves exploring and discovering your actual desires, instead of selecting from a few options before you. It's like the difference between going to a restaurant and deciding what to eat based on the menu selections, and taking a few minutes to stop and thinking 'what kind of food do i want to eat,' and then figuring out where to get it or how to cook it.
I have always lived my life by the latter method, but i've only recently become aware that this is what i was doing, and it's different from what i observe a lot of my friends doing. What do you think of all this? Would you find this sort of advice interesting/useful? Do you think other people would? Yes, it would make me a whore to the system. But I'm doing it because I've identified needs (money) and I'm trying to figure out ways of achieving them. Thoughts?
Friday, February 02, 2007
cloud and lining
the bad news is i just broke the news to the team that i won't be rowing any more this season. i'm going to cry for a little while now if that's ok with you.
the better news is that the employment agency is on a mission, and they've already got me an interview next week for an admin job that pays 8-some an hour. it's a start.
the better news is that the employment agency is on a mission, and they've already got me an interview next week for an admin job that pays 8-some an hour. it's a start.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
etc.
Thanks guys for all your love and support. (Anyone passing a hat around yet?*)
Hey, did anyone else notice I passed 30,000 hits today? Yay! It's sad that that stupid ticker should make me feel loved and validated, and yet...
So plans are in the works. I've applied for a few part time jobs, I've sorted out arrangements with my landlord so I don't get evicted, I've sent apps for a few emergency scholarships and hardship funds, and while those are cooking I'll continue to look for more.
It's a pisser that I won't be able to compete at rowing this spring. You lot know how much I love it -- it's in my blood, a burning desire, a religious need -- but at the end of the day it's only one season, and if the worst thing that happens to me is that I miss out one season of racing while working a p/t job, well, I'm still pretty fucking fortunate. Sure a lot of people have it a fuck lot easier than me, but a lot of people have it worse, too.
I read the letter I received rescinding my scholarship to my mum. It began "Dear (my name)." I didn't tell her what it was beforehand, I just started reading it, and her first reaction was that the Pirate was dumping me in a letter. That got me thinking, watching 5 grand dry up and blow away sucks big time, but i'd rather lose 5 large than the P any day. I'd rather lose any amount of money than him. I think as long as I have him to love and be loved by I can survive anything. And that's an encouraging thought.
So it's not the end of the world. It just requires a little adjusting of the schedule for the next few months, and it means I'll have a bit less fun. But it's not the end of the world. (I keep telling myself that.)
The other silver lining is that my parents are coming to Brizzle for a visit next September, so that'll be fun.
Ooh, and if you're really really really really really bored, go back a few posts and check out the comments thread on I Can't Let This One Slide. It's gotten wicked out of hand.
*Just kidding.**
**actually no, i'm not kidding.
Hey, did anyone else notice I passed 30,000 hits today? Yay! It's sad that that stupid ticker should make me feel loved and validated, and yet...
So plans are in the works. I've applied for a few part time jobs, I've sorted out arrangements with my landlord so I don't get evicted, I've sent apps for a few emergency scholarships and hardship funds, and while those are cooking I'll continue to look for more.
It's a pisser that I won't be able to compete at rowing this spring. You lot know how much I love it -- it's in my blood, a burning desire, a religious need -- but at the end of the day it's only one season, and if the worst thing that happens to me is that I miss out one season of racing while working a p/t job, well, I'm still pretty fucking fortunate. Sure a lot of people have it a fuck lot easier than me, but a lot of people have it worse, too.
I read the letter I received rescinding my scholarship to my mum. It began "Dear (my name)." I didn't tell her what it was beforehand, I just started reading it, and her first reaction was that the Pirate was dumping me in a letter. That got me thinking, watching 5 grand dry up and blow away sucks big time, but i'd rather lose 5 large than the P any day. I'd rather lose any amount of money than him. I think as long as I have him to love and be loved by I can survive anything. And that's an encouraging thought.
So it's not the end of the world. It just requires a little adjusting of the schedule for the next few months, and it means I'll have a bit less fun. But it's not the end of the world. (I keep telling myself that.)
The other silver lining is that my parents are coming to Brizzle for a visit next September, so that'll be fun.
Ooh, and if you're really really really really really bored, go back a few posts and check out the comments thread on I Can't Let This One Slide. It's gotten wicked out of hand.
*Just kidding.**
**actually no, i'm not kidding.
Screwed
I've been waiting for the arrival of a $5000 scholarship that i was promised. I was banking on this scholarship to cover my rent and utilities for the next 6 months. Last night I received a letter informing me it had been withdrawn due, not to any failing of mine, but simply a shortage of available funds.
This morning I'm going back to the temp agency that hired me last summer in order to find some part time work. Sadly, in order to work 20 hours a week and keep on top of my research, I shall have to give up rowing for the remainder of the year.
I could really use some of your hugs right now.
This morning I'm going back to the temp agency that hired me last summer in order to find some part time work. Sadly, in order to work 20 hours a week and keep on top of my research, I shall have to give up rowing for the remainder of the year.
I could really use some of your hugs right now.
Friday, October 13, 2006
You really shouldn't waste your time reading this one
You're really not going to let this go, are you? Ok, fine then. Here's what's been going on:
(don't say I didn't warn you):
First, the money thing. Namely, I don't have any. The Bristol U finance office fucked up (read: LOST) the paperwork for my federal student loan. I should have had the money weeks ago. I was expecting it any second. Here's the timeline:
August somthing: I took my Student Aid Report to the Bristol Finance Office, whose job it is to apply for the loan on my behalf.
September: The FO informed me thy needed something called a Master Promissory Note. They were unable to tell me how to get this, I had to figure it out. I got the MPN, signed it, and took it in to them. They thanked me, and told me they needed my SAR (the thing I gave to them in August). I heaved a sigh, went and got another copy of my SAR and gave it to the FO. They assured me they would get my my $18,500 as soon as possible.
October: I wait nervously for my $$$ to arrive.
Last saturday: I call home to find out when my parents are due back from holiday. The dogsitter informs me that there was a message on the answering machine from SallieMae (the lender) stating that my loan application is incomplete and cannot be processed.
Monday: I send an email to the woman in the FO who handles my case. (I would have gone personally but scheduling didn't permit.) I told her about the message. She replied to the email and said I should find out what exactly the problem is. How? I thought. The application was filed from your office! I don't have any contact information at all. So in the afternoon I walk up to the office and ask in person, expaining that I have no means of investigating the trouble. The woman in the FO (let's call her Troll, shall we?) is one of those people who can't be bothered to do her job. Whenever you ask her to do something that is the thing she is paid to do, she heaves a great sigh and makes likes she's doing you a huge personal favor out of the goodness of her heart. The only way to get her to do anything is to appeal to her sense of charity and let her believe she's some kind of fucking saint for bending over backwards to help you. This is why she is a Troll.* Troll phones SallieMae, they tell her everything is fine, they will cut the cheque on Wednesday, and I will have it by Friday. Too bad my rent is due on Thursday, and will be deducted from my account automatically by direct debit.
Tuesday: I get an email from SallieMae telling me my loan app is incomplete. Remember, this is after Troll called them and supposedly sorted everything out. I pray that the email was sent automatically, and that everything is still fine. There was a toll free number, so I rang it. They told me they never received my MPN. You remember the MPN, right? The one I took the FO back in September? Yeah, that one.
Wed: I download another MPN from the web, sign it, and take it up to the FO. The whole office is in a meething, there is no one there to help, and I will be gone the rest of the day. Bugger.
Thursday (yesterday): I took the MPN to the FO, Troll gets all huffy about how she sent the last one, I ask her sweetly to just send this by the fastest means possible as otherwise I won't get any money. She agrees. (How good of her.)
Friday (today): I receive a phone call from HSBC. My account is overdrawn, but as an international student I'm not allowed to have an overdraft. I had told my landlord on Monday about the difficulty, but it seems he wasn't able to halt the direct debit. SO, HSBC informs me that I'm 400 quid overdrawn, and i'm going to incur all kinds of penalties and feeces and interest. The woman from HSBC (who called me, remember), told me that I had to call another number. I rang the number, but because I was calling from Skype I wasn't able to navigate their number menu thingy, and I couldn't get a person to pick up the line. So I walked around the corner to my local branch (wearing a tight, low-cut blouse. Don't look at me like that - most bankers are men and I'll use every weapon in my arsenal, damnit.). After I waited in a queue for 45 minutes, I was helped by a lovely hormonal chap named J. J's eyes darted back and forth between the computer screen and my cleavage for 20 minutes. Good, pawn, good. After i 'splained the situation, J said that he would speak to his manger and see what could be arranged. A few minutes later he returned and informed me that the transaction would be reversed and as a good will gesture they'd get rid of the fees. (I have a new favorite blouse.)
And that's just the money issue. There was also the teaching thing.
I'm teaching a 2nd year literature class. This was the first week of class, which of course involved all kinds of logistical nitty gritty like contracts, room assignements, email lists, attendance forms, photocopies, etc. This wouldn't have been a problem, except that the University just restructured everything. The English department no longer has its own office; we're lumped into a central office with several other departments in the newly created School of Humanities. So I'm bugging the new office with all kinds of questions about aforementioned nitty gritty issues, and finally the woman says to me "you know, I put all this information in your pigeonhole. didn't you get it?"
"What pigeonhole?"
"Your staff pigeonhole. You're teaching staff now. You have a staff pigeonhole."
"I do? Where is it?"
"In G9."
"G9? Isn't that the photocopy room?"
"Yes."
"Isn't it locked?"
"Yes. Don't you have a key?"
"No I don't have a key! Where would I have gotten a key?! If you didn't give me one, then I clearly don't have one. May I have a key, please?"
"Sorry, I'm all out."
"Let me get this straight. You put a bunch of information in a pigeonhole that no one told me existed, that is in a locked room to which neither of us has keys. How exactly was I supposed to retrieve this information?"
I'm not kidding, it was like the opening sequence to Hitchiker's Guide.
In addition to all this hoo-ha, I was of course prepping for tutorials and doing actual teaching things.
Then we had the pain thing. The pain thing was because on Monday I began boxing again. My body was in agony. Following monday boxing which left me hobbling all over uni, i had to do a 2K erg test on tuesday morning. Naturally I overslept and didn't have time to warm up, so I did it cold. Needless to say, by tuesday evening I was in teeth-shattering agony. Every muscle in my body stiff and store. I couldn't move. I couldn't sit, stand, bend over, type, or take a piss. So that helped my mood.
Somewhere in there I'm supposed to be doing research. Whatever.
There were a few other more minor things, but that's the big stuff. And it all happened in the first part of this week. I'm better now. Mostly. The pain is better, anyway. My bank account is still a bit sore, but my quads are ok, and that's the important part.
Ooh, would you like some good news? Here are the good things that happened, all in the last 24 hours:
Are you still reading this? Good god. Get a life.
*I humbly apologize to any trolls reading this that may take offense at the comparison.
(don't say I didn't warn you):
First, the money thing. Namely, I don't have any. The Bristol U finance office fucked up (read: LOST) the paperwork for my federal student loan. I should have had the money weeks ago. I was expecting it any second. Here's the timeline:
August somthing: I took my Student Aid Report to the Bristol Finance Office, whose job it is to apply for the loan on my behalf.
September: The FO informed me thy needed something called a Master Promissory Note. They were unable to tell me how to get this, I had to figure it out. I got the MPN, signed it, and took it in to them. They thanked me, and told me they needed my SAR (the thing I gave to them in August). I heaved a sigh, went and got another copy of my SAR and gave it to the FO. They assured me they would get my my $18,500 as soon as possible.
October: I wait nervously for my $$$ to arrive.
Last saturday: I call home to find out when my parents are due back from holiday. The dogsitter informs me that there was a message on the answering machine from SallieMae (the lender) stating that my loan application is incomplete and cannot be processed.
Monday: I send an email to the woman in the FO who handles my case. (I would have gone personally but scheduling didn't permit.) I told her about the message. She replied to the email and said I should find out what exactly the problem is. How? I thought. The application was filed from your office! I don't have any contact information at all. So in the afternoon I walk up to the office and ask in person, expaining that I have no means of investigating the trouble. The woman in the FO (let's call her Troll, shall we?) is one of those people who can't be bothered to do her job. Whenever you ask her to do something that is the thing she is paid to do, she heaves a great sigh and makes likes she's doing you a huge personal favor out of the goodness of her heart. The only way to get her to do anything is to appeal to her sense of charity and let her believe she's some kind of fucking saint for bending over backwards to help you. This is why she is a Troll.* Troll phones SallieMae, they tell her everything is fine, they will cut the cheque on Wednesday, and I will have it by Friday. Too bad my rent is due on Thursday, and will be deducted from my account automatically by direct debit.
Tuesday: I get an email from SallieMae telling me my loan app is incomplete. Remember, this is after Troll called them and supposedly sorted everything out. I pray that the email was sent automatically, and that everything is still fine. There was a toll free number, so I rang it. They told me they never received my MPN. You remember the MPN, right? The one I took the FO back in September? Yeah, that one.
Wed: I download another MPN from the web, sign it, and take it up to the FO. The whole office is in a meething, there is no one there to help, and I will be gone the rest of the day. Bugger.
Thursday (yesterday): I took the MPN to the FO, Troll gets all huffy about how she sent the last one, I ask her sweetly to just send this by the fastest means possible as otherwise I won't get any money. She agrees. (How good of her.)
Friday (today): I receive a phone call from HSBC. My account is overdrawn, but as an international student I'm not allowed to have an overdraft. I had told my landlord on Monday about the difficulty, but it seems he wasn't able to halt the direct debit. SO, HSBC informs me that I'm 400 quid overdrawn, and i'm going to incur all kinds of penalties and feeces and interest. The woman from HSBC (who called me, remember), told me that I had to call another number. I rang the number, but because I was calling from Skype I wasn't able to navigate their number menu thingy, and I couldn't get a person to pick up the line. So I walked around the corner to my local branch (wearing a tight, low-cut blouse. Don't look at me like that - most bankers are men and I'll use every weapon in my arsenal, damnit.). After I waited in a queue for 45 minutes, I was helped by a lovely hormonal chap named J. J's eyes darted back and forth between the computer screen and my cleavage for 20 minutes. Good, pawn, good. After i 'splained the situation, J said that he would speak to his manger and see what could be arranged. A few minutes later he returned and informed me that the transaction would be reversed and as a good will gesture they'd get rid of the fees. (I have a new favorite blouse.)
And that's just the money issue. There was also the teaching thing.
I'm teaching a 2nd year literature class. This was the first week of class, which of course involved all kinds of logistical nitty gritty like contracts, room assignements, email lists, attendance forms, photocopies, etc. This wouldn't have been a problem, except that the University just restructured everything. The English department no longer has its own office; we're lumped into a central office with several other departments in the newly created School of Humanities. So I'm bugging the new office with all kinds of questions about aforementioned nitty gritty issues, and finally the woman says to me "you know, I put all this information in your pigeonhole. didn't you get it?"
"What pigeonhole?"
"Your staff pigeonhole. You're teaching staff now. You have a staff pigeonhole."
"I do? Where is it?"
"In G9."
"G9? Isn't that the photocopy room?"
"Yes."
"Isn't it locked?"
"Yes. Don't you have a key?"
"No I don't have a key! Where would I have gotten a key?! If you didn't give me one, then I clearly don't have one. May I have a key, please?"
"Sorry, I'm all out."
"Let me get this straight. You put a bunch of information in a pigeonhole that no one told me existed, that is in a locked room to which neither of us has keys. How exactly was I supposed to retrieve this information?"
I'm not kidding, it was like the opening sequence to Hitchiker's Guide.
In addition to all this hoo-ha, I was of course prepping for tutorials and doing actual teaching things.
Then we had the pain thing. The pain thing was because on Monday I began boxing again. My body was in agony. Following monday boxing which left me hobbling all over uni, i had to do a 2K erg test on tuesday morning. Naturally I overslept and didn't have time to warm up, so I did it cold. Needless to say, by tuesday evening I was in teeth-shattering agony. Every muscle in my body stiff and store. I couldn't move. I couldn't sit, stand, bend over, type, or take a piss. So that helped my mood.
Somewhere in there I'm supposed to be doing research. Whatever.
There were a few other more minor things, but that's the big stuff. And it all happened in the first part of this week. I'm better now. Mostly. The pain is better, anyway. My bank account is still a bit sore, but my quads are ok, and that's the important part.
Ooh, would you like some good news? Here are the good things that happened, all in the last 24 hours:
- I bought plane tix yesterday for Christmas. That's tickets, plural. Two of 'em. One for me, and one for the Pirate, who is coming home with me for Christmas!!!!! YAY!!!! I can't wait for him to meet my family, and vice versa. I havn't been this excited about Christmas since I was about 10.
- For my birthday presents, mom bought tickets to see Spamalot while the Pirate and I are home for the holiday. Whoo-hoo!
- I took a bicycle ride this morning, and saw 3 deer. It was cool and grey and misty, a lovely autumn morning, and these three deer were lying in the grass of a field, having a bit of a lie-in.
- I picked 3 pounds of sloe berries along the way, which will make me 3 pints of sloe gin. Mmmmm.
- The Pirate's business excursion is half over, and he should be home in 6 more weeks, if all goes according to plan. Half way is good. This is the downhill stretch.
Are you still reading this? Good god. Get a life.
*I humbly apologize to any trolls reading this that may take offense at the comparison.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Job
Needed some dough. Hairy man and I are planning a trip to Bordeax for a week at the end of this summer. I need money. For that, and for groceries, and for my winter training camp, and for my own piece of mind. (I really hate living on savings. It makes me terribly worried every time I have to make a simple purchase, and I'm sick and fucking tired of living off Sainsbury's basics pasta. *gags*)
So needed a job.
I needed a temporary (summer only), part-time job. (My visa only allows me to work 20 hours a week.)
They are few and far between.
At the Hairy Man's suggestion I hit the pavement and spent an afternoon walking between temp agencies with a stack of CV's in my hand. As luck would hav it, there are no fewer than ELEVEN temp agencies within a 2-minute's walk of my flat. Scary.
I hit all eleven. Most of the told me to bug off. A few took my CV. The last one, the very last temp agency in Bristol, hired me on the spot.
Now I work 15 hours a week at a DHL shipping depot.
This is my job:
I scan squarish things with a scanny thing that beeps.
I make beeping noises. *Beep, beep!*
I stick sticky things on the squarish things.
(Unless the squarish things aren't squarish, but lumpy. Then sometimes the sticky things don't want to stick and I cry.)
Then I shove the squarish sticky things down the rolly things and they go bye-bye, and the next squarish thing appears in front of me. Magic!
So needed a job.
I needed a temporary (summer only), part-time job. (My visa only allows me to work 20 hours a week.)
They are few and far between.
At the Hairy Man's suggestion I hit the pavement and spent an afternoon walking between temp agencies with a stack of CV's in my hand. As luck would hav it, there are no fewer than ELEVEN temp agencies within a 2-minute's walk of my flat. Scary.
I hit all eleven. Most of the told me to bug off. A few took my CV. The last one, the very last temp agency in Bristol, hired me on the spot.
Now I work 15 hours a week at a DHL shipping depot.
This is my job:
I scan squarish things with a scanny thing that beeps.
I make beeping noises. *Beep, beep!*
I stick sticky things on the squarish things.
(Unless the squarish things aren't squarish, but lumpy. Then sometimes the sticky things don't want to stick and I cry.)
Then I shove the squarish sticky things down the rolly things and they go bye-bye, and the next squarish thing appears in front of me. Magic!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)