Hostility Towards The Opposition

Ah, Jesus, I'm tired.



I'm a horrible bastard when I'm tired. Y'know, when you're tired in the brain, just? When you're just worn down? When it feels and sounds and tastes like your brain is just this fucking full of white noise that's screaming at you?



Oh aye, I'm fucking Drama Central when I'm tired.



Ah. Anyway.



There's a scene in the movie Fight Club in which the narrator character remarks something to the effect of how hard it is to start a fight when you're actively looking for one. It's quite true, on any level you care to take it. People can smell it off you and nine times out of ten just decide to leave well enough alone. I was in this kind of a form all day yesterday, as a result of the scanning episode. Viewed from a certain perspective, you could say I was being a bit of a shit; I was waiting for The Boss to ask me about it, specifically waiting for her to say "Did you scan that stuff through to the accountants?" so that I could become a glorious human Vesuvius. But by three in the afternoon, it still hadn't happened; plainly she knew something was wrong, as she was staying out of my way as much as possible.

So by around this time, the atmosphere in the office was one of palpable tension. I'm starting to think, all this fucking shit yesterday - I don't know if it seems like a big deal, but this is a time-based industry and wasting time is the cardinal sin herein - every stupid question, every bit of wrong-footing; this creates more work for me. I spend about four hours of my day doing anything that approaches something productive, if that; the rest of the time I spend dealing with mentalism and acting as a peripheral equivalent of memory and processing power for The Boss's demented fucking brain - this fucks me off. It fucks me right off.

Royally.

So, yes, I derailed myself there - like I said, I'm tired - but, so, yes, I'm starting to think that she's actually fucking forgotten about it. I am ready to give her ten bells of hell over this issue and it has slipped through one of the myriad cracks in her demented fucking skull. She has wasted yet more of my rapidly dwindling mortal lifespan, made me look like an utter fucking knobhead yet a-fucking-gain, and worst of all, been as usual a cheeky bastard about the whole thing, and now when I am just dying to get into a full on fucking row, she cannot even remember the conversation we had yesterday afternoon which I want to have a row about.

So I'm pacing around the office like a total and utter arsehole caged animal, generally being even more terse and sarcastic than usual, and I'm trying to find paper to put in the photocopier. In all corners of the office there are boxes and packets and so on that look as if they should contain paper, but upon inspection all of them are found to be empty husks. So I start gathering these up, with, I now realise, rather more flourish than is strictly necessary, and start putting them all in The Boss's waste-paper basket. Yes THE fucking waste-paper basket. After a few minutes it is full, and still I continue to lift these empty cardboard boxes and empty packets and start piling them around and on top of the Boss's bin. I am vaguely aware of both that I now have her full attention, and also that I am behaving oddly.

The wastepaper basket is now full and piled up roughly four feet in height and radius with the shite I have collected from all around the office in my hunt for virgin paper. Finally, she cracks.

The Boss : "Are you in a bad mood?"

Here's me, still throwing things around her bin : "Yes."

The Boss : "Why?"

Here's me : "Because I got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning."

The Boss knows me well enough by now to know I do not normally give this kind of answer to any question, and I can perceive that she is now very on edge, but still she will not actually give me the feed line I require to get started on this. This is how I operate, in work. Possibly in life too, but if I start thinking about that right now I'm going to get into very dark territory very quickly, so I shan't.

Here's me : "Is there any fucking paper in here? Or just empty packets? Do you know where your fucking bin is? Can you see it? Do you put empty milk bottles back in the fridge? Yes, you do. Where is the fucking paper?"

The Boss, theoretically, would be within her rights to pull the I Am The Boss card round about now, but doesn't - you can speculate upon thy whys and why nots of this for yourself if you so desire because I'm not going to - instead she just quietly tells me that there's paper in the third drawer down of a desk at the far end of the room. I angrily stomp over and fetch it and ram it into the photocopier, again, yes, I am fully aware that this is utterly arsehole-ish childish behaviour.

I start (angrily) copying whatever it was, and it arrives.

"Oh, did you scan the book?"

Here's me, quietly : "Yes."

The Boss : "Did you send it through?"

Here's me : "No."

The Boss, now warming up the pilot light of her own anger : "Why not!"

Here's me : "read the fkn e-mail"

The Boss : "IT SAYS TO SCAN IT!"

Here's me : "read the fkin e-mail"

The Boss, after a brief pause : "oh"



And right then, do you know what I did?





Absolutely fuck all.





Yes, that's correct. Well what the fuck was I supposed to do? Seriously, what the fuck am I supposed to do? Stand there and scream at and belittle a person? I mean, I wouldn't say I wouldn't do that, but not unless somebody really deserves it. The Boss isn't actually what you'd call a 'bad' person, she's just a total and utter fucking arsehole; there's a difference. She is kind to children and small animals, for example; do you want me to make her cry, seriously? For fuck's sake. It wouldn't make me feel very fucking good about myself, would it now?

Basically, the woman is out of her depth, but it's just the particular cocktail that this makes when combined with certain other attributes. 'Stupid' people can be more dangerous than 'bad' people sometimes - actually, stupid people are regularly fucking lethal. Even very smart 'bad' people at least won't act outside of their own self-interest so therefore the way to deal with them is already mapped out for you - dealing with people who are offensively fucking stupid is nigh-on-im-fucking-possible, as anyone who's ever somehow gotten into an argument with a fundie or a hardcore racist or some other kind of dicksplat-made-flesh will know. Agh, what the fuck am I gibbering about now? I don't know, and it's late and I'm tired.

If you could call my not stabbing her in both eyes right there and then a good deed, then you could invoke the cliché that it did most certainly fucking not go unpunished. 





To be continued.