So my atm card expired and my bank sent me a new card only they sent it to my old address in Rouen (as you may or may not recall I have not had a proper address for about a year). Seeing as how I am now legitimate and all I went to my bank in Paris to get it sorted out.
Only turns out the only bank that is "my" bank is the branch in Rouen where I opened my account. Nevermind that the branch in Paris has exactly the same name and looks exactly the same. No, they couldn't do anything to help me. Could the bank in Rouen do something? Yes, but if they ordered a new card for me it would be sent to Rouen. Could the bank in Rouen order it and have it send to the bank in Paris? No, of course not you silly foreigner! Rouen is YOUR bank and all your dealings will be with them and them only.
Uh, could somebody please tell me why this bank has branches all over the country? What is the point of that if only to frustrate and annoy me and make me think my bank is accessible everywhere when clearly, it is not.
But ok, this is the way it works in France (I asked around, this "national" but NOT bank thing is very common) and I choose to live in France so ok, tell me what I have to do to get my card without having to travel one and a half hours by train.
Them: You can transfer your account to the branch in Paris.
Me: Ok.
Them: But it will take three days before the bank in Paris will have to power to order your card.
Me: Ok.
Them: And it will take another week to receive the card.
Me: But in Paris right?
Them: Yes.
Me: Ok.
One week and three days later I go to the bank in Paris to pick my card only... wait for it...
It's in Rouen. What??? How did that happen???? Did I or did I not just jump through all your hoops so the card would not go to Rouen.
Them: Well yes.
Me: So?
Them: The card is in Rouen m'am.
Me: Yes, I know. But WHY???
Them: I don't know why m'am but the card in is in Rouen.
Me: But... WHY???
Them: I don't know why m'am but the card in is in Rouen.
Continues on like this this for a while.
Me: [different tactic] What can you do for me?
Them: We can have it sent here from Rouen. It will take one week.
Me: Do you realize I've already been without a bank card for a week and a half? And I'm going to London this weekend.
Them: The card is in Rouen m'am.
Me: Yes I get that. Can you send it faster?
Them: Let's see, it's already the afternoon so it would have to be tomorrow (Friday) at the earliest that the card can be sent. You are not here this weekend. We're closed on Mondays. Tuesday there's a strike....
I know when I'm beat.
Them: You know m'am you can always get cash out.
Me: Good idea could you give me some cash?
Them: No, sorry we don't have cash here. But we can call the one a 10 minute walk away to tell them you are coming and to give you cash.
It was at this point that I turned around and walked away.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
cours de francias
Professeur: Mlle, c'est quoi un aperitif?
Moi: Beh, une petite verre de quelque chose a boire avant manger?
Professeur: [Big smile] Mlle je pense que vous avez beaucoup des amies en France, n'est pas?
Translation:
Teacher: Ms. what is an aperitif?
Me: Uh, a small (alcoholic) drink one has before eating?
Teacher: [Big smile] I'm guessing you must have a lot of friends in France isn't that right?
Turns out he said 'impératif' (imperative) and not 'un aperitif' which you know, makes sense in a French course.
I am dum.
Moi: Beh, une petite verre de quelque chose a boire avant manger?
Professeur: [Big smile] Mlle je pense que vous avez beaucoup des amies en France, n'est pas?
Translation:
Teacher: Ms. what is an aperitif?
Me: Uh, a small (alcoholic) drink one has before eating?
Teacher: [Big smile] I'm guessing you must have a lot of friends in France isn't that right?
Turns out he said 'impératif' (imperative) and not 'un aperitif' which you know, makes sense in a French course.
I am dum.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
luton i hate you
So the bf and I went to London this past weekend for a friend's 30 birthday celebration. Because tickets on the Euro star leaving Saturday and coming back Sunday are ridiculously expensive I went with easyjet and thought myself lucky when I found roundtrip tickets for 50 euros.
It was only when I arrived at Luton airport when I realized, hey, wait a minute, I've been here before and the last time I was here, I swore to never fly into Luton again.
Why?
Calling Luton Airport a "London" airport is like calling BWI a "D.C." airport. Shit is far. I guess if you have a nice long leisurely stay in London it's not a big deal but when I've gotten up at 5:30am that morning and have to leave the next day it's kind of painful.
But of course things could always be worse which I realized the next day when not only was I dead tired and having to go to this stupid airport but I was also hungover which ill-ed prepared me for (or was the cause?) of the epic journey back t Paris the next day:
1. We get to the bus 10 minutes early so the bf goes into the convenience store to buy something to eat. Bus arrives right when he goes into the store. I am screaming and waving like a mad woman trying to get his attention because I can't run across the busy street because I have all the bags. In the end I have no choice and run across the busy street with all the bags. Meanwhile bf is trying to choose between muffins or apple tart.
2. We fall asleep on the bus and almost miss the stop.
3. We sit around waiting for our gate to appear on the screen only to find out 20 minutes before our gate closes that we don't find out our gate number until AFTER going through security.
4. We stand in the long security line and I notice a sign that says "Give yourself 40 minutes to get to the gate" (we have 15 minutes left) when I hear someone yell "Has anyone lost a passport?" and realized, it's me who has lost her passport.
5. Bf forgets water in his bag and is delayed at security
6. We finally get through and I quickly check our gate which was gate 2 and we run like madmen down the labyrinth of gates that for some reason go from the highest number to the lowest.
7. I am outrun by bf whose legs are twice as long as mine. While catching my breath I check again the gate number and realize our gate is actually 17 (which we ran past 5 minutes ago) and not 2. I go running down the labyrinth screaming bf's name like a madwoman the second time that day to no avail and have to go to gate 2 to retrieve him least I leave him behind (I seriously considered it).
But alas we made it on to the flight and back in Paris. I was in bed by 9:30 that night.
Never. Again.
It was only when I arrived at Luton airport when I realized, hey, wait a minute, I've been here before and the last time I was here, I swore to never fly into Luton again.
Why?
Calling Luton Airport a "London" airport is like calling BWI a "D.C." airport. Shit is far. I guess if you have a nice long leisurely stay in London it's not a big deal but when I've gotten up at 5:30am that morning and have to leave the next day it's kind of painful.
But of course things could always be worse which I realized the next day when not only was I dead tired and having to go to this stupid airport but I was also hungover which ill-ed prepared me for (or was the cause?) of the epic journey back t Paris the next day:
1. We get to the bus 10 minutes early so the bf goes into the convenience store to buy something to eat. Bus arrives right when he goes into the store. I am screaming and waving like a mad woman trying to get his attention because I can't run across the busy street because I have all the bags. In the end I have no choice and run across the busy street with all the bags. Meanwhile bf is trying to choose between muffins or apple tart.
2. We fall asleep on the bus and almost miss the stop.
3. We sit around waiting for our gate to appear on the screen only to find out 20 minutes before our gate closes that we don't find out our gate number until AFTER going through security.
4. We stand in the long security line and I notice a sign that says "Give yourself 40 minutes to get to the gate" (we have 15 minutes left) when I hear someone yell "Has anyone lost a passport?" and realized, it's me who has lost her passport.
5. Bf forgets water in his bag and is delayed at security
6. We finally get through and I quickly check our gate which was gate 2 and we run like madmen down the labyrinth of gates that for some reason go from the highest number to the lowest.
7. I am outrun by bf whose legs are twice as long as mine. While catching my breath I check again the gate number and realize our gate is actually 17 (which we ran past 5 minutes ago) and not 2. I go running down the labyrinth screaming bf's name like a madwoman the second time that day to no avail and have to go to gate 2 to retrieve him least I leave him behind (I seriously considered it).
But alas we made it on to the flight and back in Paris. I was in bed by 9:30 that night.
Never. Again.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
concierge
So I have a concierge in my new apartment which sounds really fancy but that's just because the word is French. Although I'm not sure about her exact duties, I believe she is in charge of the overall general welfare of the place. I sometimes am awakened by the sound of her sweeping early in the morning and she often greets me as I pass by her apartment on the ground floor when returning from work.
She lives there with her husband. They are portugueses and from my estimate probably in their 80's. I imagine that they have lived here long before I arrived, a permenent fixture to the place.
My interaction with her was limited to the occasional "Bonjour" or "Bonsoir" as I came and left the building until recently .
I was writing my address on a self-addressed envelope when I realized, I didn't know my apartment number. Since I still recieve mail for the British girl, I checked the mail she recieved to find the apartment number only to realize the reason I didn't know it was because there simply wasn't one.
Until this point mail had been magically appearing underneath the apartment welcome matt from time to time and I never questioned how it got there. Was it being left there by the mailman? The concierge? And if so, how did they know what mail went to which apartment?
After a bit of sleuthing I realized that the location of my apartment is based on, well, it's location. What is stated in the apartment chart in the front hallway is the person's last name, their floor and the position of their apartment relative to the elevator. For example I would be 3eme (3rd floor) Face (across from the elevator). My neighbor is apartment 3eme, 2e Porte Gauche (2nd door left). Unfortunately the name next to my apartment location was not mine which meant any mail with my name on it to the apartment complex would probably be returned.
So this is how I came to talk to the concierge, armed with my apartment contract and the British's girl's old mail as stage props in case I had to monkey gesture my way to comprehension.
I knocked on the door of the apartment and was told to come in. The apartment was small which probably didn't matter much to the couple since they each stood under 5 feet tall. They were both there and staring at me inquisitively. I immediately began what I had rehearsed on the way down. The concierge looks at her husband and said in her thick Portugese accent "J'ai rien compris". I understood this clearly. It means "I don't understand a thing".
Prepared for this I shoved my apartment contract and old mail under their thick glasses. After a bit of time and some consorting with each other the way old married couples do when they are pushed off balance by things like the asian girl speaking French with her thick american accent in their living room.
Finally they agreed that they understand what I needed, gave me a pen so that I could write down my name, and told me that the apartment chart will be changed. Satisfied I thank them and left for work.
When I arrived home that evening I checked the apartment chart and wait for it, no change.
Normally I would insist but they are just too adorable. I'll give them another couple of days.
She lives there with her husband. They are portugueses and from my estimate probably in their 80's. I imagine that they have lived here long before I arrived, a permenent fixture to the place.
My interaction with her was limited to the occasional "Bonjour" or "Bonsoir" as I came and left the building until recently .
I was writing my address on a self-addressed envelope when I realized, I didn't know my apartment number. Since I still recieve mail for the British girl, I checked the mail she recieved to find the apartment number only to realize the reason I didn't know it was because there simply wasn't one.
Until this point mail had been magically appearing underneath the apartment welcome matt from time to time and I never questioned how it got there. Was it being left there by the mailman? The concierge? And if so, how did they know what mail went to which apartment?
After a bit of sleuthing I realized that the location of my apartment is based on, well, it's location. What is stated in the apartment chart in the front hallway is the person's last name, their floor and the position of their apartment relative to the elevator. For example I would be 3eme (3rd floor) Face (across from the elevator). My neighbor is apartment 3eme, 2e Porte Gauche (2nd door left). Unfortunately the name next to my apartment location was not mine which meant any mail with my name on it to the apartment complex would probably be returned.
So this is how I came to talk to the concierge, armed with my apartment contract and the British's girl's old mail as stage props in case I had to monkey gesture my way to comprehension.
I knocked on the door of the apartment and was told to come in. The apartment was small which probably didn't matter much to the couple since they each stood under 5 feet tall. They were both there and staring at me inquisitively. I immediately began what I had rehearsed on the way down. The concierge looks at her husband and said in her thick Portugese accent "J'ai rien compris". I understood this clearly. It means "I don't understand a thing".
Prepared for this I shoved my apartment contract and old mail under their thick glasses. After a bit of time and some consorting with each other the way old married couples do when they are pushed off balance by things like the asian girl speaking French with her thick american accent in their living room.
Finally they agreed that they understand what I needed, gave me a pen so that I could write down my name, and told me that the apartment chart will be changed. Satisfied I thank them and left for work.
When I arrived home that evening I checked the apartment chart and wait for it, no change.
Normally I would insist but they are just too adorable. I'll give them another couple of days.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
the last six months
So I did something very strange the other day and that was to move out of an apartment I was moving into. To understand how this happened we have to go back 6 months.
March - Crazy roommate asks for the apartment key back two days shy of my agreed upon departure date. Having no other alternative I frantically call bf to pick me up. Normally this should be easy enough except for bf lives 30 minutes outside of Rouen. Oh and bf is on duty as a volunteer fireman and can't be further than 5 minutes away from the firehouse (i.e. not Paris). Bf frantically calls other fireman to arrange for someone to cover for him and thankfully succeeds.
I pack up all my things within 2 hours. Crazy roommate watches me pack and then does her laundry.
Despite what happened I sleep like a baby because I am away from crazy roommate. Unforunately the next day I still have to go to work so I have to get up at 6am to be at work at 9:30. Then I get back to Rouen at 9pm, eat dinner, go to bed so I can wake up again at 6am the next morning. I do this for about 2 weeks.
Oh and I pay about 200 euros in train tickets a week for the pleasure.
Until one day I make a mistake and forget to put my work shoes in my bag so I am walking around the office in brown yellow striped pumas and a pencil skirt. A british colleague inquires. The whole story comes pouring out.
"So how much are you looking to spend on rent for an apartment?" she asks.
I tell her.
That's funny she replies, because I am looking to leave my apartment in Paris.
I see the apartment during lunch that very same day and it's so perfect it makes me want to cry.
April - So I learn that in France, it's not enough to that there will be an empty apartment and you have enough money to rent the empty apartment. No. In France you need:
- Have a long term work contract
- Make 3x the amount of rent
- Have a guarantor
- a 'dossier' with all sorts of papers that proves that you have the above + any other information that would assure then that you are not going to be the type of person that lives in an apartment and doesn't pay the rent.
What? You say? If I person doesn't pay the rent, they simply get kicked out of the apartment, right? Not in France. In France, once you sign a contract and have moved into an aparment it is very difficult to make you leave even if you don't pay the rent. And if it's during the winter, it's nearly impossible.
So owners are b*tches about who they let in. And because a good apartment in Paris is so hard to find, at any given time an owner has his/her pick of something like 30 dossiers so they can afford to be picky. And even if they didn't they would rather the aparment remain empty than let someone in who is at high risk of not paying the rent.
In my casae I didn't have my work contract yet because it's a tricky thing in France when you want to switch your visa status from student to working. Basically if you go to the company they will ask that you have a work visa before they can give you a work contract.
No problem. Except when you go to the prefecture, they ask that you have your work contract before they give you a work visa.
Right.
The way around this is for the company to write a 'letter of intention' which states that they plan to hire you once you have a work visa. You take this to the prefecture instead of a work contract and usually it's enough.
So because I didn't have my work contract yet I tried to submit my dossier to the agency (the owner of the aparment uses an agency instead of having direct contact) with the letter of intention.
Doesn't work. The agency tells me I need my work contract.
During this time the British girl is leaving the company and also Paris at the beginning of May. Fortunately she takes pity on me and holds on to her lease till the end of June so I have time to get my work papers. She also allows me to live there (I paid her the rent of course).
I asked around the expat community about how long it would take for me to get a work visa. One guy told me that since I was American it probably would be quick and he didn't want to get my hopes up by sounding too optamistic, but he thought that it would probably only take... 8 months.
May - I wait.
June - I wait. And panic. British girl extends her lease till end of August.
July- I get my work visa and rejoice. Re-submit my dossier and it is accepted.
But that's not the end because my dossier is accepted by the agency which only means they agree to send it to the owner for acceptance who at this point didn't even know of my existance and how hard I was working for him/her to take my money.
So the agency sends my dossier to the owner who has the power to reject the dossier altogether without explaination or second try. That's if, of course, he/she even saw the dossier at all because at this point we are in 'holiday season' in France where people take holiday for 4 weeks at a time.
So I wait some more. Fortunately I was accepted. I'll admit I squealed when I heard the news.
August - Despite the owner accepting to take my money, they apartment still wasn't mine yet because I still had to sign the contract (it took 2 weeks to prepare because of people's holiday schedules). Then an inspection of the apartment needed to be scheduled and both the old and new tenant have to be there.
This wouldn't be a big problem except British girl had gotten a new job with an asian company and was in China for the first 3 weeks of August. We finally got an inspection date of August 26th.
So that brings me to why I had to move out of the apartment I was moving into. In France there are two types of apartment rentals. Furnished and non-furnished and depending on the existance or absence of furniture, very different rules apply (Don't ask me why because I have no idea and frankly don't want to know). The apartment is of the non furnished varity so was suppose to be completely empty for the inspection.
Except the British girl didn't want to move the furniture and left it all to me. But the agency wanted the furniture to be moved out anyways. Nevermind that moving a queen sized bed, washer, refrigerator, couch, etc. out of an apartment only to move it back in the very same day is abso-positivily insane.
In the end we came to an agreement with the inspection guy that we would move all the furniture to the center of the rooms to he could inspect the walls and such.
However I still had to move out all personal belongings because, you know, I wasn't suppose to be there although I'd been living there for a past 5 months.
In the movies, when someone talks about moving to Paris in the next sceen they are sipping un cafe in their apartment overlooking the Eiffel Tower. But of course real life isn't like that. In my case it took 5 months and no Eiffel Tower.
This is, however, the view from the street:
Not too shabby.
March - Crazy roommate asks for the apartment key back two days shy of my agreed upon departure date. Having no other alternative I frantically call bf to pick me up. Normally this should be easy enough except for bf lives 30 minutes outside of Rouen. Oh and bf is on duty as a volunteer fireman and can't be further than 5 minutes away from the firehouse (i.e. not Paris). Bf frantically calls other fireman to arrange for someone to cover for him and thankfully succeeds.
I pack up all my things within 2 hours. Crazy roommate watches me pack and then does her laundry.
Despite what happened I sleep like a baby because I am away from crazy roommate. Unforunately the next day I still have to go to work so I have to get up at 6am to be at work at 9:30. Then I get back to Rouen at 9pm, eat dinner, go to bed so I can wake up again at 6am the next morning. I do this for about 2 weeks.
Oh and I pay about 200 euros in train tickets a week for the pleasure.
Until one day I make a mistake and forget to put my work shoes in my bag so I am walking around the office in brown yellow striped pumas and a pencil skirt. A british colleague inquires. The whole story comes pouring out.
"So how much are you looking to spend on rent for an apartment?" she asks.
I tell her.
That's funny she replies, because I am looking to leave my apartment in Paris.
I see the apartment during lunch that very same day and it's so perfect it makes me want to cry.
April - So I learn that in France, it's not enough to that there will be an empty apartment and you have enough money to rent the empty apartment. No. In France you need:
- Have a long term work contract
- Make 3x the amount of rent
- Have a guarantor
- a 'dossier' with all sorts of papers that proves that you have the above + any other information that would assure then that you are not going to be the type of person that lives in an apartment and doesn't pay the rent.
What? You say? If I person doesn't pay the rent, they simply get kicked out of the apartment, right? Not in France. In France, once you sign a contract and have moved into an aparment it is very difficult to make you leave even if you don't pay the rent. And if it's during the winter, it's nearly impossible.
So owners are b*tches about who they let in. And because a good apartment in Paris is so hard to find, at any given time an owner has his/her pick of something like 30 dossiers so they can afford to be picky. And even if they didn't they would rather the aparment remain empty than let someone in who is at high risk of not paying the rent.
In my casae I didn't have my work contract yet because it's a tricky thing in France when you want to switch your visa status from student to working. Basically if you go to the company they will ask that you have a work visa before they can give you a work contract.
No problem. Except when you go to the prefecture, they ask that you have your work contract before they give you a work visa.
Right.
The way around this is for the company to write a 'letter of intention' which states that they plan to hire you once you have a work visa. You take this to the prefecture instead of a work contract and usually it's enough.
So because I didn't have my work contract yet I tried to submit my dossier to the agency (the owner of the aparment uses an agency instead of having direct contact) with the letter of intention.
Doesn't work. The agency tells me I need my work contract.
During this time the British girl is leaving the company and also Paris at the beginning of May. Fortunately she takes pity on me and holds on to her lease till the end of June so I have time to get my work papers. She also allows me to live there (I paid her the rent of course).
I asked around the expat community about how long it would take for me to get a work visa. One guy told me that since I was American it probably would be quick and he didn't want to get my hopes up by sounding too optamistic, but he thought that it would probably only take... 8 months.
May - I wait.
June - I wait. And panic. British girl extends her lease till end of August.
July- I get my work visa and rejoice. Re-submit my dossier and it is accepted.
But that's not the end because my dossier is accepted by the agency which only means they agree to send it to the owner for acceptance who at this point didn't even know of my existance and how hard I was working for him/her to take my money.
So the agency sends my dossier to the owner who has the power to reject the dossier altogether without explaination or second try. That's if, of course, he/she even saw the dossier at all because at this point we are in 'holiday season' in France where people take holiday for 4 weeks at a time.
So I wait some more. Fortunately I was accepted. I'll admit I squealed when I heard the news.
August - Despite the owner accepting to take my money, they apartment still wasn't mine yet because I still had to sign the contract (it took 2 weeks to prepare because of people's holiday schedules). Then an inspection of the apartment needed to be scheduled and both the old and new tenant have to be there.
This wouldn't be a big problem except British girl had gotten a new job with an asian company and was in China for the first 3 weeks of August. We finally got an inspection date of August 26th.
So that brings me to why I had to move out of the apartment I was moving into. In France there are two types of apartment rentals. Furnished and non-furnished and depending on the existance or absence of furniture, very different rules apply (Don't ask me why because I have no idea and frankly don't want to know). The apartment is of the non furnished varity so was suppose to be completely empty for the inspection.
Except the British girl didn't want to move the furniture and left it all to me. But the agency wanted the furniture to be moved out anyways. Nevermind that moving a queen sized bed, washer, refrigerator, couch, etc. out of an apartment only to move it back in the very same day is abso-positivily insane.
In the end we came to an agreement with the inspection guy that we would move all the furniture to the center of the rooms to he could inspect the walls and such.
However I still had to move out all personal belongings because, you know, I wasn't suppose to be there although I'd been living there for a past 5 months.
In the movies, when someone talks about moving to Paris in the next sceen they are sipping un cafe in their apartment overlooking the Eiffel Tower. But of course real life isn't like that. In my case it took 5 months and no Eiffel Tower.
This is, however, the view from the street:
Not too shabby.
Friday, February 26, 2010
the past two weeks
Monday - Negotiate with my director about the terms of a permenent position with CSC. Haggle my way to an ok offer.
Tuesday - Tell my roomate I probably will take a position with CSC she tells me she "needs the apartment in March" so I need to leave. Gives me 2 weeks to find another place. I convince her to give me 3 weeks by telling her actually she had agreed to let me stay until the end of my internship (the 8th of March).
Wednesday - Everyone tells me I need a work contract to get an apartment in Paris.
Thursday through Sunday - Consider [read: agonize over] CSC offer. Go back and forth a million times. Finally decide to accept.
Monday - Meet with director ready to accept offer only to hear that offer has decreased substantially along with the sound of all my plans going down the drain. Shock, confusion, and anger ensue.
Tuesday - Get in timeless argument with roommate over not returning something I borrowed. Only problem is that the "thing I borrowed" is an electricity bill she gave me to pay 4 months ago and hadn't made mention of since so I had to find it and told her that I possibly left it at work. Roomate still demands I give it to her right away with arguments such as "you have to return things [a bill] you borrow" and "there's no reason to take it [a bill] out of the apartment" that from what I could tell, was delivered sincerely and without sarcasm or humor.
I start sleeping with my door locked.
Wednesday - Pride prevents me from taking CSC offer and I try to get back to something close to the original offer by threatening to not accept the offer and hence withdrawing from my current project. Doesn't work and end up having to follow through by going with my director to my current project manager and telling him I won't be staying.
Realized that although I leave the meeting with my pride in tact I now am one week away from being without job or home. i.e. a homeless person. i.e. a bum.
Thursday - Go into work with French pastery breakfast thingys hoping to surpress any ill will felt by client about my sudden last minute departure from project. Arrive to find manager has scheduled a meeting with me for "manager review". Brace myself for a bitching out.
Manager dicusses posibility of hiring me directly to work for the company.
I know it's just February but I think I've had my fill of emotional roller coaster quota for the year.
Tuesday - Tell my roomate I probably will take a position with CSC she tells me she "needs the apartment in March" so I need to leave. Gives me 2 weeks to find another place. I convince her to give me 3 weeks by telling her actually she had agreed to let me stay until the end of my internship (the 8th of March).
Wednesday - Everyone tells me I need a work contract to get an apartment in Paris.
Thursday through Sunday - Consider [read: agonize over] CSC offer. Go back and forth a million times. Finally decide to accept.
Monday - Meet with director ready to accept offer only to hear that offer has decreased substantially along with the sound of all my plans going down the drain. Shock, confusion, and anger ensue.
Tuesday - Get in timeless argument with roommate over not returning something I borrowed. Only problem is that the "thing I borrowed" is an electricity bill she gave me to pay 4 months ago and hadn't made mention of since so I had to find it and told her that I possibly left it at work. Roomate still demands I give it to her right away with arguments such as "you have to return things [a bill] you borrow" and "there's no reason to take it [a bill] out of the apartment" that from what I could tell, was delivered sincerely and without sarcasm or humor.
I start sleeping with my door locked.
Wednesday - Pride prevents me from taking CSC offer and I try to get back to something close to the original offer by threatening to not accept the offer and hence withdrawing from my current project. Doesn't work and end up having to follow through by going with my director to my current project manager and telling him I won't be staying.
Realized that although I leave the meeting with my pride in tact I now am one week away from being without job or home. i.e. a homeless person. i.e. a bum.
Thursday - Go into work with French pastery breakfast thingys hoping to surpress any ill will felt by client about my sudden last minute departure from project. Arrive to find manager has scheduled a meeting with me for "manager review". Brace myself for a bitching out.
Manager dicusses posibility of hiring me directly to work for the company.
I know it's just February but I think I've had my fill of emotional roller coaster quota for the year.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)