Today was a day I never want repeated in a billion decades as, drip by drip, I was shat on from above by a vindictive diahorretic deity that doesn't exist.
It's very hard for me in my white male middle-class world to bandy about words like 'unfair' as all of the above makes me pretty damn privileged from the off. I'm also not comfortable sulking about my bullshit when you consider The Biggies; cancer, cot death, Rwanda, Gok Wan.
And of course from a personal perspective, my Mum's got MS. No reason, she just got it and hasn't stood up unaided much less walked for several years now.
So it's hard for me to feel 100% comfortable sulking and pouting, but today took the biscuit, because:
1 ~ My boss and I came to a decision, after consulting our insurers. With our van full of scratches, and a man saying I scratched a thumbnail-sized scar into his sports car, I'm not confident in the slightest, much less keen, to risk an already out-of-control incident going to court. I simply can't predict our chances.
The worst-case scenario, I concluded, will be a wage cut of £50 p/month over the next two fucking years.
"And that still puts me out," my boss reminded me, "because we won't be allowed to build up a No-Claims discount for some time, and... (a number of other factors I can't recall now but the upshot being he loses out too)"
I'm still hoping I won't actually be deducted approx £1,200 of my wages to pay for a £200 paint job, yet I had to tell my boss that my morale would be significantly depleted if I had to do the Day Job knowing I was being paid less thanks to an incident largely thrust upon me, and despite agreeing a few days earlier to pay outright the original 'normal' quote.
So that was a nice start to the day, discovering that I could possibly get a wage cut through no fault of my own, which may ultimately lead to my furious resignation.
2 ~ I was still brooding over this when my Dad walked in unannounced. Although he doesn't do it very often, it does piss me off. My office is not unlike an estate agents. You can walk in off the street and there I am, sat at my desk, scowling and wishing I was in Corfu. And he always makes me feel guilty, because I feel honour-bound to pay him a requisite amount of attention because he's my father and he's come to see me, but I can't because I'm at fucking work Dad, and you didn't warn me you were coming.
So I was curt, I'm ashamed to say, and didn't want to fanny about.
'I'm busy Dad, what's the matter?'
He grinned at me, sheepishly. 'Is it your new iPhone?' I asked. 'I'll set it up soon.'
'Yes,' he muttered, 'If you could just pop round one day and show...'
'Yes, yes, yes, okay. Is that it? I've had a bit of a shitty day and I'm kinda busy,' I said as I tapped my desk, slightly ashamed that I will one day live to regret being blunt to my elderly progenitor.
'It's just,' he leant in to whisper as I turned to see my boss on a phone call, 'I want you to (inaudible)'
'What?' I grimaced, 'You want me to do what?'
'Cut my toenails...'
'Jesus Christ, Dad.'
'Susan can't do it you see. They've got very hard and she can't...'
'Yes, yes, alright, alright. Just... I'll do it,' I added as I shooed him out.
Despite it being lunchtime having not eaten all day, he actually made me lose my appetite. I didn't nip out for a sandwich for another two hours.
I have since been informed by my sources that he can book a chiropodist's appointment with the NHS, but dare I burden the system because I'm squeamish about holding a pensioner's grey foot and crowbarring a scissorblade underneath a filthy, elongated... fuck it, NO WAY. The State can do it.
3 ~ But good news ahoy! I'm back in touch with my Lovely American ex-Girlfriend (again), following her downgrade to 'Ex-girlfriend (American)'. We're swapping emails once more, and photos, and I've even phoned her a couple of times. It's just like it used to be.
And in keeping with old times, it's all gone to shit again. I'm not known for my patience, plus she's developed this annoying habit of appearing to not give a damn in the slightest. A lethal combination.
So we'd reached this impasse where I'd invited her to Jolly Old England and my new flat, and she'd upped the ante by not agreeing, but inviting me to her new apartment instead.
Now I'm not stupid - alright, I'm a fucking idiot - but I'm not so fucking idiotic as to travel back to New York to meet a girl who relished the opportunity to be aloof and indifferent to me 4 years ago. I'd been there before, and it was SHIT.
But I did want to see her again, so I emailed her in my usual tactful way; 'How mental would you be on a scale of 1 to 10 if I were to come visit you?'
She wondered in reply if there was an insult therein, but I reassured her that I was 'testing the water by being deliberately provocative.'
She replied by saying I was being passive aggressive, a concept I've never fucking understood, alright? I reaffirmed that I just wanted a sincere answer, to save us all wasting our time. Perfectly reasonable, blunt, and specific, and eventually, she tells me that 'there's more I want to say and I am simmering the words trying to figure out how to best convey the emotions.'
'Oh?' I enquire.
And then, silence, fuckin' me-killing silence.
4 ~ 'John'. For those who can remember, I wrote a post, since deleted, about an old schoolfriend called 'John' who came back into my life 5 years ago after vanishing for 15 years. We'd grown up as best friends but he disappeared in our mid-teens to get up to no good and fuck as many women as possible. This was, of course, at odds with my life at that time, which was spent home alone, eating myself senseless and crying myself to sleep (I no longer cry that much).
So John reappears, it takes a few years to finally be repulsed by his character and morality, so I'd spent the better part of 2 months avoiding him; replying to one out of every four of his texts and ignoring his calls, because I'd like him to go away.
Now here's where I join everything together.
I decided, after 3 days of silence proceeding Lovely American ex-Girlfriend's ambiguous last email, to write to her.
It was about 'John'. I described our childhood, his disappearance, his reappearance then my slow realisation that I wanted him out of my life.
'The bottom line,' I told her, 'is I'm not replying for a reason. I just want him to take the hint and leave me alone.'
I thought this was a none too subtle way of seeing if - perhaps - she might want to be left alone herself.
Lovely American ex-Girlfriend replied pretty quickly. 'Continue to ignore him. He'll eventually get the hint.'
I grimaced. She hadn't got the hint, so I replied with this picture:
This didn't go down at all well, for some reason. I hadn't realised that her delay in replying was down to her moving apartments that weekend, and in the 3 more days of silence that have passed my badly misjudged picture missive, I can only conclude that whatever words she's "simmering" to tell me aren't going to boil over into actual communication any time soon. Not being told what's on her mind is irritating enough. Imagine what it would be like if I actually went to see her.
5 ~ So I'm sat at work today, pretty fucking livid with everyone and everything and, with all this shit cluttering my head, I'd decided to text the sports car owner, the formerly decent guy who I'd kept in touch with since the accident who'd understood the insurance implications and promised he wouldn't let things spiral out of control.
I was just typing, 'Thanks for letting this spiral out of control. I'm now getting my wages reduced, AS I'D SAID WOULD HAPPEN,' when my phone rang.
I didn't recognise the number and, out of curiosity, I'd answered. The phone was, after all, in my hand.
'Aw'ite mate?' said John.
'Ow's it goin'? Yer not answerin' yer calls.'
He sounded put out. Obviously. I'd been ignoring him for the last two months.
I ran out of the office and kept it light. Fortunately, I'd already spoken to my sister about him, and she'd given me some particularly good advice. 'Do NOT', she said, 'tell him to fuck off and leave you alone.'
Although I am very much of the opinion that you should man up and tell people straight, however unpalatable, this was one situation where I realised there'd be little to gain, other than a broken jaw. And my sister was right; There's something unwary about John. He told me in our conversation that after 20 years, he could tell something was up (that'll be all that ignoring, John). I told him about the whole sports car/van/insurance/wage cut debacle, and said I'd had enough with humanity and wanted to keep my head down.
Luckily, he bought it. Unluckily, he bought it. He said he wanted to meet up in February.
I said no. I was writing.
He said he had some pictures he wanted to give me.
I really wish he's stop being so friendly.
And we hung up, with me certain now that I would see him again, and not because I would've reluctantly given in.
I can see this getting nasty. I can see it getting stalkery. I can see me getting the living shit kicked out of me by the hardcase formerly known as my Very Best Friend while my Lovely American ex-Girlfriend continues to ignore me and I get my wages cut to pay for a superficial scratch on the car of a prick.
Suffice to say, I could've done without a day like today. But my left eyelid twitch has gone.
Oh for fuck's sake, it's just come back.