Friday, July 07, 2006

Rhapsody On A Flatulent Night

Wednesday saw me angry at the inability to understand who we're trying to sell to, and what they think of relatively simple concepts.

Thursday saw me angry at what is frankly just a disappointingly complacent bunch of idiots. I'm not amused that they put more effort into organising a night out to celebrate their failure than they do into discussing how they might stop failing. When I state my lack of amusement, I get an earful. And not of wax.

So when on Monday I get to interview a kid with a clear load of talent, and ability to really get on in life, and fast, there is a horrible quandary. Do we hire, and frankly exploit her for twelve months until she stops being quite so incredibly green and realises she can do better for herself elsewhere, but has as a consequence become at least as cynical as me and possibly embittered, and in the meantime we have failed utterly to invest in her and wasted that talent, or do we send her back to the agency who sent her with an instruction to do the right thing by her?

I challenged our HR people that if they wanted me to hire her they must commit to a proper eighteen month career development plan for her. It'll be interesting to see the response.

[It was interesting. Such a scheme is on the agenda, but not yet. So I told the agency what I thought they could do for her, and made it clear what I thought was their responsibility to her. I can be a bastard, but she doesn't deserve it, she deserves a lot better.]

God, am I in a dark place right now. The best I can hope for here is another twelve months of learning, but the capstone is to be set in place; there is nothing glass about this ceiling.

iPol and the Burrito Bros. are conspiring to offer me 'The Dark End Of The Street', and there's a tear in my eye. Thanks chaps. The next alley is full of whiskey and slow songs from Garcia and Pigpen, and if I get there, when I finally kick over the dustbins it will be to find the Black Sabbath and Rollins file, and that's just shit for all concerned.

I've had an instruction to go back to the doctors following the last round of bloodtests, and frankly I'm bricking myself. The only question is what's wrong. I still have a bruise from the last bloodtest, and that was ten days ago. It took four attempts to get a tiny phial-full (try saying that with a mouth full of Monster Munch). Then we tried the other arm, and only three there before we struck a vein and did the biz. I don't blame the phlebotomist, it's always been like that. The worst time was fourteen attempts at a thigh, then twelve in the other. My legs looked like a seive. I have deep veins, apparently. But no fear of thrombosis - the reason that the bruise lasts ten days or more is that one of the consequences of the Long Purple Shadow is it fucks up my blood, thinning it like warfarin. Which precludes a number of common painkillers e.g. aspirin, and means that it takes bloody ages for a cut to crud over. (Geddit?) Anyway, is it my liver, kidneys or the blood itself which is problematic. Long Purple Shadow has a major impact on the liver apparently. When I was twenty-nine, a locum GP got snotty with me when I commented that I was looking forward to going out to party with some friends, because I shouldn't drink. I pointed out that I've been taking the stuff since I was eleven, shouldn't someone have said something before? My current level of maintenance is so poor that I wouldn't be surprised if cholesterol or diabetes were on the agenda. DVT-freeness is one of the few positives of LPS. It's negatives are that it makes me fat, bald, miserable and moody, and increases body hair. So I swap Legion for Mr. Hyde. I look like a particularly successful werewolf.

Or Tony Soprano. Without the money, guns or shags. But plenty of paranoia and self-doubt. I don't even get Carmella to cook up a meatballs for me.

--

But I do get attractive offers of lasagne, cheers FN. Honestly, you have no idea just how popular lasagne is with this Baker. I wrote all that stuff above on Wednesday morning. It's now Friday evening, and things have moved on. I 'phoned the doctors and asked that, if the GP wished to send me sphincter-twitching letters, could he also ring me to explain what is wrong. Apparently all is fine, other than one of the four tests on the liver, which is the one most likely to show an error, so they want to repeat, and I have no further need to fret. Phew. Honestly Doc, you can't just send out scary letters like that and not make some effort to help me through it, you know? Anyway, this was facilitated by the rather attractive receptionist, with the big eyes, lovely skin and, frankly, gorgeous breasts. Mind you, most breasts have some appeal at present. More on this later...

Another interviewee yesterday, and, er, no love, especially when you're telling me that your looking for a less challenging, easier life. Forget it.

Right, you may note that whilst the mood is still a bit mixed, there is a slight lifting, and I took FN's advice and 'fucking told 'em'. And they fucking listened. I have won a major victory, and have succeeded in banishing a number of marketeer phrases from the business this week, to the eternal limbo where they belong. They still seek their revenge, with two of my more intransigent and blinkered colleagues wasting a large part of my afternoon with their inability to understand my dealings with one of our larger customers, but we then had a Brian Clough conversation. Namely, we decided to discuss it, we discussed it, we had a full and frank exchange, and then we agreed that I was right all along. [It occurs to me that the Wendys of this world won't know who Cloughie was, well I'll encourage you to look elsewhere for further info, but he is virtually unique in my opinion of football, and football managers especially, in that he does not come up in mine and J's game 'Cunt Or Twat', because he was neither. Unlike, say, O'Leary or Redknapp.]

I'm disappointed that the video no longer works, for those who missed it, it was of course (oh, yeah?) Hawkwind at Stonehenge, with the Pied Piper in particularly good form. Regulars here will be aware of my enthusiasm for all things of a 'windish persuasion, and indeed descendants thereof, hence recent spate of Motorheaddery.

You may also recall that my enthusiasm for popular beat combos led me to propose a game some time ago, namely suggestions for worst song by another of my enthusiasms. The response was shit - was that Krusty-esque apathy, or my overestimating the number of people who might have a working knowledge of suitable material, I'll never know - anyway, it doesn't matter, and Effay, who did offer a suggestion, has shut up shop, mores that pity, ah, the Kurse of Krusty. [Sorry, I'm going to break off here and comment on the current sonic environment here at the Bakery, where Creedence Clearwater Revival are giving some on their cover of 'Grapevine', and I'm lovin' it, I've really enjoyed doing the records this evening, plenty of variety, from Fairground Attraction to ZZ Top, and some French electro-pop for good measure, Indochine for those who give a hoot.]

Well, it's time for a new game. What I'd like us to do, and we can all play, is see if we can compile an A to Z of words and phrases used to refer to breasts. Not that word itself, such a lovely word, no, I mean slang. Boy-words and girl-words, please, let's compare notes.

And on a linguistic theme, which do you prefer to describe the qualities of organic farming and produce; 'organicness' or 'organicity'?

Right, I've written reams tonight, time to go and order a take-away. Well, more of a bring-to, really, but you know what I mean. In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy a bit of 'Dirty Deeds...', which rather illustrates my thoughts regarding a recent post elsewhere - we don't have the Clash in this house, whereas we do have Bon Scott.

See you soon, friends, and remember....


...what was I going to say? xx

14 comments:

betty said...

Doctors and hospitals have a tendency to frighten the life out of you, offering you tests, sending frightening letters or phone messages saying you need to get in touch with your GP RIGHT AWAY or being very vague and not informing you of the results for months on end. This is why I avoid them like the plague. Sorry about all the bother.

John Effay's blog is still going, albeit with a new template and title (it's still at the same URL address).

Wendy said...

I wouldn't know about Clough, not because he was British (I did check Wikipedia), but because I don't watch any sports. At all. Ever. Except billiards. And poker, which I don't think is technically a sport, but give it time.

Too much in your post for me to address it all, but I wanted to say that I saw The Clash when I was 15 or 16, hundreds of years ago. It was the first time I saw a grown man violently spit into a crowd. And throw a metal folding chair. For a silly little Valley Girl, it was one of those traumatizing-yet-totally-cool experiences.

tom909 said...

I'm with Wendy on the 'too much to reply to' point, although it is good to have a good read like that.
You high-powered career is something else - I've never been anywhere near anything like that. I think I would definitely go for sticking my neck out as much as possible there - what the hell is in it for you just rolling over and collecting the money every month.
Hope the liver test goes ok - not been there either so far.
Hawkwind played in a college near us in 1970 (Alsager near Crewe) and we were so cool we went backstage and smoked dope with them. Can't remember the performance though. Did enjoy your video but I'd no idea who it was.

krusty the baker said...

Betty - yes, I've discovered that John Effay is still with us, and that is good news.

Wendy and Tom - apologies for length, thanks for sticking with it, just I hadn't vented for yonks so really good to let rip, albeit in a fairly uncritical way. Sorry to all for verbal diarrhoea. Just hope there was a little something for everyone.

Wendy - poker, ace, it's more of a sport than ice dancing. How is it sport when it's scored on artistic merit? So yeah, I will give it time.

Tom - high-powered, ha, that's a fucking joke, just old-fashioned enough to care about it, and try and take a pride in it. My old man always taught me that he didn't really care what I did, just that I did it the best that I could. He had no time for 'near-enough merchants'. And your dead right about not rolling over.

Cherrypie said...

LPS? Liver tests? I thought I'd had a tough week. What is LPS?

It looks like you've drawn a blank on the breast thing too. Probably 'cos no-one can think of anything beginning with 'A'.

I remember how much they swelled shortly after having Jack, so I'll start the game off with ' Armpit Cushions'. Revolting, I know.

tom909 said...

I like Bazookas, and Bristols is good too.

Carmenzta said...

Krusty,

"Sphincter-twitching"? Loved that term and am still wiping tears of laughter.

I read the whole post and I wanted to say that I wish there were more people (especially people in hiring positions) as ethical as you. Even if you are checking boobies out!

Cherrypie said...

B? Is that the best anyone can get to?

Ok - Candy Bags

Baton back to you, Tom for a D

Carmenzta said...

Double D's?

krusty the baker said...

I was going to offer one of my Daddy's favourite terms, namely 'Chessies' or 'Chezzies'. He too is a big fan of chezzies.

tom909 said...

Duggs - and that's from the immortal Bard.

Glad I haven't got E

krusty the baker said...

Tom, didn't you read your James Herriott? Ewers.

Pamela said...

I would use Breasticles as the B for them. Chesticles for C.

Ha, didn't know I had it in me, did ya? ::grin::

Krusty, I've read your entire post. I hope that whatever illness is causing you such problems ceases to do so. I know the pain of being used as a pin cushion when the nurse can't find a vein. It's brutal.

Wendy said...

I couldn't come up with an "e"-word so I'm skipping to "f" for "Fun Bags."