gullybogan

Dear Reader,

So that thing went well on Wednesday, and the head honcho did offer me an impressive amount of money to sell my soul and become one of his zombies, the way i expected him to.

If i’m getting three hundred dollars a week now, he offered me four hundred.

I still said no, even though it was a very generous offer.

But he went off thinking what a brilliant person i am, and all that shit, and no doubt plotting another clever way to lure me into his clutches.

The company zombie that i’m working “under” on this project, on the other hand, was quite circumspect, and had nothing to say about the thing at all.

Later in the afternoon, i started on some work that she’d asked me to do, and i checked with her a bit of the way into it that it was exactly the way she wanted it to be, and she said that it was marvellous and fantastic (she’s always saying that, even when it’s just that i’ve photocopied an invoice for her), so i finished it off, and i went home.

I got home about nine.

This morning, i had a lovely interaction with the baristas at the train station, bought the Green Guide from a street newstand, and i was all positivey about things.

It felt good. I was enjoying myself.

The end.

So company zombie straight came over to my hotdesk before i’d even put down my takeaway hot chocolate, and she asked me if i had any idea what the HELL was going on with the thing i’d worked on for her last night.

I explained that, well, nothing was going on with it other than that it was just exactly the way she had asked for it to be.

For some reason, she was obviously upset (i figured), so i threw in a “sorry”, to help her feel better.

It didn’t help.

“Take all that GARBAGE out of the code, and put it back the way it was,” she demanded, quite put out.

“OK,” i assured her, “I’ll take out all the GARBAGE and put it back the way it was.”

And i did. And then i sent her an e-mail that read: “GARBAGE removed, as requested.”

It was twenty past eight, and my day was ruined.

And then, on the train home, there was this guy sitting opposite me who was so fat that he gave me a sore back. I couldn’t sit straight on my cramped little seat because he overlapped not only the seat beside him and the aisle, but my legroom as well.

It was awkward.

I tried to figure out where he was likely to get off the train, so i could determine whether it was worthwhile moving to another cramped seat, or if doing so would be rude. I tried to remember if there were any towns that i’d noticed had had huge bites taken out of them, but i couldn’t. In the end he got off after Ringwood, so i’d sat with my spine twisted and my legs pressed into each other for three quarters of an hour.

When he got up and walked past me, he hit me in the head with his backpack, because, of course, he fitted the train aisle like the falafel and tabouleh fit a falafel roll.

So that was my day.

[Ed: Harden the fuck up, Gully - these whining rants are becoming tedious. Isn't it about time you did a post that involved tits? or sex? or titsex?]

Yours garbagely,
Gullybogan