So obviously the verbosity is back
Mar. 14th, 2013 09:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mybackup2022Isn't that nice.
Especially given that I have such interesting topics as allergies, Gerald-induced irritation and tiredness to discuss.
Not exactly the definition of "sparkling"...
Still, the allergy is here and it's making me, at the very least, cranky. The combination of very warm weather since the beginning of February -- i.e. everything's bursting into bloom, especially the thrice-damned birches and hazels -- and lots of cats everywhere, not to forget the mildew thriving happily in the recesses of the Embassy's walls, has led to something like an allergy overload, against which even the usually effective pills seem to be powerless. I'll have to do another round with the steroid inhaler until the worst has passed. Since it's a topical steroid, there won't be any horrible side effects on the bones, but I just prefer to live without it. Then again, one shouldn't complain too much -- even though it's a bit of a pain in the neck, at least one *does* have access to something that alleviates the symptoms.
I suppose most, if not all, of you know that feeling when somebody has been annoying the hell out of you, so much so that their mere existence makes you furious?
That's the stage I'm at now with Gerald.
I am, of course, mature/ professional/ whatever enough to control myself, but OMG is it bloody difficult!
In order to avoid any misunderstandings re. the following rant: I do *not* have any problem with people who drink a bit more than is strictly good for them, and neither do I have a problem with people who smoke pot. Honestly.
But -- to return to the terrible, horrible night when the Embassy was flooded from top to bottom -- I do have a bit of a problem with the combination of "being on phone duty" and "drinking too much/ smoking pot". The two just don't mix, and although I'll readily admit that the number of emergency calls we get is negligible, it's still better, IMO, to refrain from any kind of intoxication while on phone duty. You never know, after all.
So this was (more or less) the dialogue we had at 1.30 a.m. on the phone -- Gerald had already gone to the Embassy to survey the damage together with Kosta, our local man-of-all-jobs.
G, slurring his consonants and generally giving an impression of out-of-it-ness: Um, there's water everywhere...
Me: How do you mean everywhere? Hot or cold? Where's it coming from?
G: It's... everywhere, running down the stairs, everywhere...
Me: Yes, I got that. Is it hot or cold? And if it's running down the stairs, which floor does it come from?
Then there was a lot of mumbling and further exclamations of baffled surprise; at last I snapped at him to fucking pull himself together and *talk* to me coherently. By which time Kosta had evidently shut off the main pipe feeding the heating (we have city heating), and they'd reached the second floor. It was also the time when things got really, really weird.
G: There's a semiautomatic machine gun lying on the coffee table in the common room. (There was, just so he doesn't look a 100% loony)
Me: WHAT????
G: Yes, it's a *gives type* And the light's on in Stefan's office.
Me: OK, are you sure it's Stefan's office? Do you smell anything that might indicate the gun has been fired? Did the neighbour mention gun fire when she called the landlord and Kosta?
G: There's a gun here...
Me: Yes, I fucking heard. Do you smell etc.etc.
G: I'm afraid.
Me: All right, if you're afraid, leave the building together with Kosta and stay there until I arrive!
G: There's water everywhere! And cables! I'm really afraid...
More of the same followed when I arrived, and he was so spaced-out and so fucking useless that I sent him home -- not without pointing out to him, in a not overly friendly manner, that, yes, there was water on the floors, but no uninsulated wires or cables, so the worst that could happen was a big short-circuit if water got into a socket. Besides, he was wearing trainers with rubber soles just like me.
The mystery of the gun was solved by Stefan, the police attaché, whom I had to wake up in order to gain access to his office (where the whole mess had originated): it was (as a blind person could see with a stick) an old piece, with a bayonet attached, that was quite plainly not functional. Vesna hadcleaned it for him, and when he didn't return to his office till 4 p.m., she simply left it there on the coffee table.
And now, the punch line: I heard the next day from he girls that Gerald had been absolutely convinced that somebody had murdered the Ambassador (whose office is on the first floor, not the second, not to mention that the alarm hadn't sounded but still been activated).
Irene told me later that Gerald had confided to her that he'd had a few beers in the evening and "taken a mild sedative" before going to bed. As-bloody-if. I know "stoned out of one's skull" when I see it.
What further endeared Gerald to me was this: I'd got home around 3 a.m. after making the rounds and saving what could and needed to be saved. A lot had to be done in the morning, which means there was no possibility of sleeping in or arriving late at work, which in turn meant getting up at 5 a.m.
There was no way I could go to sleep right after getting home, so simply staying up was the far better solution. I wasn't exactly fresh as a daisy later in the morning, but managed to keep it together. Luckily, we didn't have to send everybody home -- only those who couldn't work because their offices didn't have electricity -- and the consular section was completely dry (the water had damaged only the front half of the building).
I was sitting at my desk writing a preliminary report and quietly wilting, when Gerald came in. "So what's the plan?" he said.
"What plan?" I asked. "Regarding the repairs, or the mess, or work?"
"Well work of course -- why can't I ask a simple question without you biting my head off? And of course I also meant the repairs."
Whereupon I told him, in no uncertain terms, that 1) he was welcome to shove his behaviour where the sun don't shine, 2) the whole consular section was to work according to schedule, because undamaged, and 3) repairs etc. were my domain, and would he kindly keep his nose out of it.
"But," he said, "I'm cold."
"Yes," I said, "so am I. My office is so wet that the windows are running with condensation, it's fucking cold, and I have to keep the windows open so it will dry faster. I also slept only a couple of hours, but do you see me complain? No? Then I suggest you get back to the consular section and do some work."
Absolutely infuriating. Plus, I have to admit that a man behaving like he did in a crisis doesn't make me less infuriated. Rather the contrary.
In other news, I'm tired because I didn't sleep well (see above -- allergy).
I'm pretty cheerful all the same, though, and even managed not to snap at Gerald when he was being irritating *yet again*.
More coffee, I think, and then a bit of work. Not too much, mind you.
ETA: Mwahahaha! I just posted my prompts for the SSHG promptfest :-)
Especially given that I have such interesting topics as allergies, Gerald-induced irritation and tiredness to discuss.
Not exactly the definition of "sparkling"...
Still, the allergy is here and it's making me, at the very least, cranky. The combination of very warm weather since the beginning of February -- i.e. everything's bursting into bloom, especially the thrice-damned birches and hazels -- and lots of cats everywhere, not to forget the mildew thriving happily in the recesses of the Embassy's walls, has led to something like an allergy overload, against which even the usually effective pills seem to be powerless. I'll have to do another round with the steroid inhaler until the worst has passed. Since it's a topical steroid, there won't be any horrible side effects on the bones, but I just prefer to live without it. Then again, one shouldn't complain too much -- even though it's a bit of a pain in the neck, at least one *does* have access to something that alleviates the symptoms.
I suppose most, if not all, of you know that feeling when somebody has been annoying the hell out of you, so much so that their mere existence makes you furious?
That's the stage I'm at now with Gerald.
I am, of course, mature/ professional/ whatever enough to control myself, but OMG is it bloody difficult!
In order to avoid any misunderstandings re. the following rant: I do *not* have any problem with people who drink a bit more than is strictly good for them, and neither do I have a problem with people who smoke pot. Honestly.
But -- to return to the terrible, horrible night when the Embassy was flooded from top to bottom -- I do have a bit of a problem with the combination of "being on phone duty" and "drinking too much/ smoking pot". The two just don't mix, and although I'll readily admit that the number of emergency calls we get is negligible, it's still better, IMO, to refrain from any kind of intoxication while on phone duty. You never know, after all.
So this was (more or less) the dialogue we had at 1.30 a.m. on the phone -- Gerald had already gone to the Embassy to survey the damage together with Kosta, our local man-of-all-jobs.
G, slurring his consonants and generally giving an impression of out-of-it-ness: Um, there's water everywhere...
Me: How do you mean everywhere? Hot or cold? Where's it coming from?
G: It's... everywhere, running down the stairs, everywhere...
Me: Yes, I got that. Is it hot or cold? And if it's running down the stairs, which floor does it come from?
Then there was a lot of mumbling and further exclamations of baffled surprise; at last I snapped at him to fucking pull himself together and *talk* to me coherently. By which time Kosta had evidently shut off the main pipe feeding the heating (we have city heating), and they'd reached the second floor. It was also the time when things got really, really weird.
G: There's a semiautomatic machine gun lying on the coffee table in the common room. (There was, just so he doesn't look a 100% loony)
Me: WHAT????
G: Yes, it's a *gives type* And the light's on in Stefan's office.
Me: OK, are you sure it's Stefan's office? Do you smell anything that might indicate the gun has been fired? Did the neighbour mention gun fire when she called the landlord and Kosta?
G: There's a gun here...
Me: Yes, I fucking heard. Do you smell etc.etc.
G: I'm afraid.
Me: All right, if you're afraid, leave the building together with Kosta and stay there until I arrive!
G: There's water everywhere! And cables! I'm really afraid...
More of the same followed when I arrived, and he was so spaced-out and so fucking useless that I sent him home -- not without pointing out to him, in a not overly friendly manner, that, yes, there was water on the floors, but no uninsulated wires or cables, so the worst that could happen was a big short-circuit if water got into a socket. Besides, he was wearing trainers with rubber soles just like me.
The mystery of the gun was solved by Stefan, the police attaché, whom I had to wake up in order to gain access to his office (where the whole mess had originated): it was (as a blind person could see with a stick) an old piece, with a bayonet attached, that was quite plainly not functional. Vesna hadcleaned it for him, and when he didn't return to his office till 4 p.m., she simply left it there on the coffee table.
And now, the punch line: I heard the next day from he girls that Gerald had been absolutely convinced that somebody had murdered the Ambassador (whose office is on the first floor, not the second, not to mention that the alarm hadn't sounded but still been activated).
Irene told me later that Gerald had confided to her that he'd had a few beers in the evening and "taken a mild sedative" before going to bed. As-bloody-if. I know "stoned out of one's skull" when I see it.
What further endeared Gerald to me was this: I'd got home around 3 a.m. after making the rounds and saving what could and needed to be saved. A lot had to be done in the morning, which means there was no possibility of sleeping in or arriving late at work, which in turn meant getting up at 5 a.m.
There was no way I could go to sleep right after getting home, so simply staying up was the far better solution. I wasn't exactly fresh as a daisy later in the morning, but managed to keep it together. Luckily, we didn't have to send everybody home -- only those who couldn't work because their offices didn't have electricity -- and the consular section was completely dry (the water had damaged only the front half of the building).
I was sitting at my desk writing a preliminary report and quietly wilting, when Gerald came in. "So what's the plan?" he said.
"What plan?" I asked. "Regarding the repairs, or the mess, or work?"
"Well work of course -- why can't I ask a simple question without you biting my head off? And of course I also meant the repairs."
Whereupon I told him, in no uncertain terms, that 1) he was welcome to shove his behaviour where the sun don't shine, 2) the whole consular section was to work according to schedule, because undamaged, and 3) repairs etc. were my domain, and would he kindly keep his nose out of it.
"But," he said, "I'm cold."
"Yes," I said, "so am I. My office is so wet that the windows are running with condensation, it's fucking cold, and I have to keep the windows open so it will dry faster. I also slept only a couple of hours, but do you see me complain? No? Then I suggest you get back to the consular section and do some work."
Absolutely infuriating. Plus, I have to admit that a man behaving like he did in a crisis doesn't make me less infuriated. Rather the contrary.
In other news, I'm tired because I didn't sleep well (see above -- allergy).
I'm pretty cheerful all the same, though, and even managed not to snap at Gerald when he was being irritating *yet again*.
More coffee, I think, and then a bit of work. Not too much, mind you.
ETA: Mwahahaha! I just posted my prompts for the SSHG promptfest :-)
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no subject
Date: 2013-03-15 02:53 pm (UTC)Drat indeed.
no subject
Date: 2013-03-15 10:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-03-18 09:37 am (UTC)I'll drop a hint to my successor, though, just so she's on her guards.