Geoff the Stoic...

 

I was driving past one of the local schools. I was thinking how the school day seems to end a hell of a lot earlier than it used to when I was a kid. Or maybe in reality it doesn't. I always wanted the school day to finish approximately 30 minutes after I arrived and not at 3:30pm when it was scheduled to end. I didn't care much for high school. I still maintain that I would have been better going straight from primary school to working and travelling overseas. But there were these pesky rules and regulations that necessitated me turning up each day and attempting to pretend I cared. 

Anyway - my point is and I do have one - as I drove past the school I was thinking about one of the high schools I went to for around 18 months - I'm an ex army brat. The school always gave one kid the responsibility of ringing the end of day school bell. At Seymour High School, it was a kid call Geoff. He was in a lot of classes with me - most importantly the detestable math class that was at the end of the day. Geoff took his job very, very seriously. I took his job very, very seriously because the minute he stood up at 3:28pm every afternoon, in that dreaded math class, I knew that soon there would be a reprieve and I'd be able to get the hell out of working out the whole algebra, trigonometry and whatever whos-a-ma-jiggery problem I was pretending to be working on. 

Now, the thing with Geoff was he never ever rang the bell early. He was always on time...damn him. This is probably why he got the job. The school wasn't silly. He wasn't an army brat who would, undoubtedly, in a free spirited way who gives a crap way break the rules and ring the bell early and then try and look all innocent-like. No matter how many pleading looks we sent him, Geoff, stoic soul that he was, did his duty to the exact second and never wavered.   

So, what's the point of all this? Geoffs keep us on track. Wanna get off the track? Ask an Amarinda.

Interim-dude....

So, the last manager at work resigned – actually he was pushed because he screwed up in monumentally, superbly stupid, inane, fuck-wit-ish ways and we have a new interim manager dude looking after the place until they get all their ducks in a row and employ someone else to oversee the circus known as our office. The interim-dude pulled me aside, shut the door and said ‘what’s with the bell on the wall?’ Well, if you have been following my blog/facebook on Quasimodo and his need to ring a bell or  have read Accidentally in Love, you’d know the guy who got sacked absolutely insisted on having a frigging bell he could ring in the office to generate excitement. No, he wasn't 6 years old… at least I’m pretty sure…anyway we had some knock-down-drag ‘em out fights over this bell. So, I explained the situation to interim-dude. He looked at me like I was mad, and that’s a fair call in many ways, however his basic line of thought is the bell is wrong, wrong, wrong and we’re all grown ups and this is not kindergarten. Correct.

So, riddle me this, why did it take over a year  before the corporate dudes, where interim-dude comes from, realize that the shit-fest that had become our office had become a dangerous, business situation? The answer? If you’re a man in business where other men are in charge, they look after their penises and other men’s penises and refuse to believe someone who has a penis can be as useful as a chocolate fireguard. Penises – very useful things in the right hands…that's why a woman need to be in charge. She knows how to direct a penis. 

Expendable my arse...

So, I got an email from someone saying they were interested in pubbing a story of mine because they were looking for someone who wrote about heroines with an expendable income. Ah, no…I don’t, not unless we’re talking about average working women whose money goes towards paying bills, eating and the odd treat here and there. You know like me – like you – that kind of expendable. I was kind of surprised by their request especially when they named Accidentally in Love as one of the expendable women stories. Ah, no…it’s not. The heroine is based on me. An Office Manager who has issues with a nitwit manager who has a bell ringing fetish. She works for a living. She pays bills and stuff. Write what you know I say.

I started to wonder what ‘expendable income’ means to people. I would think it means disposal and superfluous. It also sounds pretty damn shallow in a blonde heiress way. But then I wonder if some people see a strong, independent woman making it on her own as someone who is considered successful and ipso facto has money to burn. I gotta tell you that being single doesn’t mean you have any more money to burn because you have no dependents. It doesn’t. Don’t even go there. Single women will be reading this and thinking ‘yep, exactly.’ But maybe some people with limited vision see it like that.

Can I help you with a book about an airhead with an expendable income? No. I write about women I know. Ain’t no one I know got money, sister.