Monday, 02/27/06 - 8:41 pm.
If you want to spell exploited, just spell my name. And tell that to that wicked woman who can't do a damned thing for herself. The sexuality workshop began today, and she'd told me to arrive at 7:15 am. I arrived at 7:25. She wasn't there, and it took her a while to be there. Only Mr. PhD was in his office, but jesuits start working at 5:30 am, so I wasn't surprised. But hey, he gave me a tiny liquor-filled chocolate. I feel special.
When she did arrive, we started to run some errands, preparing the material for the workshop. She told me Mr. Basket (who was preparing such workshop) said it was ok if I'd like to join. I thought that was really nice, but I had to pass, seeing how there's a lot of work to do, and the semester will begin in about two weeks.
The thing was scheduled to start at 8 am. It was 8:30 and no sign of Mr. Basket. Should've known. I've never met anyone so irresponsible with the schedule, and for a while I hesitated being his instructor for Social Psychology this semester. I know the ways of the wicked man. But instead of sitting around waiting for him, the lady in charge of the project (whom we'll be calling wicked woman) sent me to the supermarket across the street for coffee and water. Jesus, why can't she just have everything prepared on time?!
I went and came back. It was nearly 9, and I noticed Mr. Basket had already started and the room where the workshop was being held was closed. The wicked woman opened the door, and I gave her the water. Give the coffee to the secretary, we'll use it later. And she closed the door. Just like that. Without asking me if I was after all going to join (for a while I thought about it, it's a great subject, sexuality, and Mr. Basket knows a lot). Pissed off, I decided to go on with my life.
I worked in the office for a while, then I went to get my february paycheck (yay) and went to the bank to pay something for my dad, and then went to the library to finish my task of reading 2003 and 2004 newspapers. I got a book I need to read -always for the project-, and by then it was about 10:30 am. The rest of the time, until noon, I spent it working on the computer, in the office.
The workshop was supposed to end at 12. My dad would be picking me up at 12:30. 12:30 rolls around and the mister isn't done talking. The wicked woman walks out and says "oh, I have a meeting at 1, I have to go". I wanted to push her off (we were on the second floor of a building). I asked her "what about the coffee machine?". Since I am the donkey that carries everything, downstairs and upstairs. "Wait, I'll take it out for you. I'm going to the office, you can bring it". YOU BRING IT, BITCH!!! She could've taken it herself, she was going to the same place with free hands. Fucking lazy bitch. I ate the chocolate; I loved the burning sensation, it helped me calm down, for at least four seconds.
1 pm rolled around, and if there was someone more of a victim of the circumstances than me, was my poor dad, who was waiting for me in the car. Mister Basket just wouldn't shut up, and I was about to kick, scream and cry. The wicked woman called me on my cell phone, and I told her I had to go and he wasn't even done. She told me to let him know the transporation for all those people was waiting for them, and they were 45 minutes late. So finally, he wrapped it up.
Then I had to ask for name tags, place the desks, close windows, blablabla. And take everything back to the wicked woman's office. I spoke very little with Mr. Basket, but he started a conversation about how these people weren't taught anything about self-care, given they're working on exhausting conditions (fucked up kids, fucked up workplace, fucked up work schedule, fucked up salary). I'd have loved to chat, but I was running TOO late. He said thank you for helping me. He's a nice man, I just wish he was more time-conscious. My poor dad understood.
In the afternoon I dreamed my lower teeth fell (!!!), and I watched Jersey Girl for a while, but...sorry, it's a boring movie (don't give me any line about Steven Tyler's daughter). So I took Frog for a walk, and a man with a baby girl approached to ask me the usual questions one asks about dogs: he or she, name and age. The baby girl was laughing at Frog. Frog is such a joke to look at. A baby boy in the neighborhood laughs at her, too. I mean, he LOLs, I tell you. I can hear him sometimes.
Another awful morning, tomorrow. My only hope is that Mr. Basket will measure more his time AND that this wicked woman won't send me for coffee again *sobs*. And It's Joseph's birthday, too, but I'm afraid I won't be seeing him *argh*.
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