Thursday, June 21, 2007

Day 345: I Am Back At Work

A morning so ghastly I blanch to think of it! My duck-aligning Italian colleague and I are up at 6am to catch a 9.15 flight from Milan to Amsterdam. But there is traffic! We are in a cab, and are stuck, and are going nowhere. The driver is talking to someone about cheese, over and over again. ("Si. Si. Si. Parmiggiano! Si. Ha ha ha ha. Gorgonzola?").

It is not yet 7am. We have had no coffee and I cannot move my left arm, for in the middle of the night it froze solid; any sudden movements send hot daggers into my shoulder and if I want to move my left hand, I have to pick it up with my right hand.

An hour later, we are still in traffic. It is 8.10! Checkout closes at 8.30 and we have another thirty kilometres to travel! Suddenly, there is a beep from deep within my sac. It is my telephone, communicating a written message. It is from my client!


I phone him up, and he shouts for some fifty minutes. It is not even 9am, and I have not had breakfast. We have turned around in the taxi cab and are making our way to the other airport in Milan. We are booked on an 11am flight, and are forced to go business class.

I listen to the man. He shouts and shouts. I look out of the window and remember quite why it is that I do not like the job that I do. He shouts some more. The amount of shouting he does would be worth it if, say, I had forgotten to do my entire job for a year or killed his mother. As it is, he is asking for something I have already said he is getting.

But then he starts shouting about something I may not be able to get, ever; it is something I have been trying to get for a month myself, but cannot. (It is not a unicorn.) I am sleep deprived for worrying about a Situation in Montreal that I want to resolve well (it is nothing to do with a pathologist, but serious nevertheless). The man keeps talking until eventually, he sounds like the teacher in Charlie Brown, but in Italian. I am overwhelmed by self-pity and frustration, and hot tears spurt from my eyes.

We check in and eat a sandwich. The internet doesn't work. We get on the plane. After more flying (with fish mousse for lunch), and another taxi cab ride, we arrive back in the office. I am feeling sore and cross.

But then a friend helps me tie my sling, and someone makes me a cup of coffee. Things are looking up! I stop being cross and eat some strong drugs; the man says "yes" to some things in quick succession; it stops raining. We talk about someone else we work with. A tiny New Yorker with a tiny dog shouts across the room:

“Would I sleep with him? No. Are you mad? Not even if I was drunk, on roofies, with ointment in my butt."

Time passes; we discuss the difference between "lubricant" and "ointment". Someone's computer pings.

“Jesuschrist. I just received a message from some Arabs on Skype.”

The phone rings again, and my duck-aligning Italian colleague looks at the screen.

“Oh no. ‘Ere we go.”

I laugh immoderately, eat a biscuit, remember I am freelance and think about going home.


Anonymous said...

Dear Ms NWM,

I am totally off topic to comment but this has been worrying me for some time and it has me perplexed (and it doesn't take much to confuse me).

You were on Day 323 and then suddenly warped backwards in time(after a special feature on Vacuuos Twattery) to Day 232...

91 days to relive again.. the biggest Groundhog Day ever!

bloggerly hugs


Anonymous said...

Yeah, Arabs On Skype ! I LOVE their last album, especially their monster hit, Ping My Hookah.


Jenyca I thought something was up and couldn't work out what it was. Now I know! Thank you kindly.

J-boy - have you been eating strawberries?

Ms Baroque said...

Yay! What a day. Hope you had a long hot bath.

You know, I love your cups of coffee. The pictures, I mean. You so GET that thing of little things all making it worthwhile.

Arabs on Skype. Maybe they'd sleep with him.

Mr Farty said...

Something I have been trying to get for a month myself, but cannot.

Oh! Oh! I know!

*sticks hand up in the air*

Is it one of these?

Hope your shoulder gets better soon.

Krabapples said...

The best of times, the worst of times, NWM! It doth happen. But you are freelance, I am not. This makes me slightly jealous,

Anxious said...

I'm exhausted now
*has a nap*

tea and cake said...

We love you, NWM!

The shouting twat seems not to. Maybe he cannot see out of his own arse that he is up. (erm, does that make sense, or not?)

Keep eating strong drugs.


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