I recently experienced a pain worse than death: a week long work training course.
Before I begin, why yes, I did bloody get a job. I’m v.v employable, which is what I’ve been trying to tell people all along. I just look a bit shit on paper (and a lot of the time in person but that’s another story.) Unfortunately, I cannot disclose on this blog with whom said job is with, as I may be sent to jail. And honestly, I just don’t think I’d survive women’s prison. Not because of the other inmates but because I’m not sure that they let you bring in tweezers and my eyebrows just wouldn’t know when to quit. Frida Kahlo, eat ya heart out.
Initially, I was looking forward to my week of biz-ness woman training. Not so much the business part but the extravagant amount of per diems I was allocated for food every day. Let me put this simply- if it’s free, I’ll bloody eat it. There would be no biscuit or eggs benedict breakfast left unturned. I was supposed to be filling my mind with knowledge and know-how but the only things filling up were my love handles, Sonny and Cher. Yes, I have named them. It’s the first step towards acceptance, right?
|Not. another. pictureeeeeeeeee|
Image via World Cup
During training, we had five days within which we had to complete a pretty thick-looking textbook that looked as though it could probably inflict quite a nasty wound if used as a weapon. Turns out, I would have someone on the course that I would regularly fantasize about walloping with the Textbook of Doom. You know who I’m talking about…..The Unnecessary Question Asker.
Every group has one. That one annoying person who always seems to be able to pick the very moment when everyone else is ready to move on to ask one more (usually) very stupid question. And suddenly, discussions are launched, hours are lost, cities are built, wars are started, children are conceived, birthed and through the circle of life before you can move on again. When I was at uni, this person usually took shape in the form of a Mature Age Student. The Mature Age Student would always have something extra to add, some argumentative point to make or some pearls of wisdom that absolutely needed to be bestowed upon the rest of the group. When I was 18, I hated the Mature Age Student. I was mad at them for stopping me from getting out early and running to the campus bar to hold a cold beer against the throbbing hangover I’d nursed throughout the entire lecture. Meanwhile, the Mature Age Student probably went on to have some sort of lucrative career and didn’t have to flee the country to go teach English in South Korea as a fall back, but whatevs, I had college memories to make.
The Unnecessary Question Asker in this particular group was a doozy. This obviously wasn’t their first ride at the rodeo and I quickly realised that if this didn’t get shut down soon, we were going to be here for an extra five days. And look, staying in a serviced apartment is great but there only so much squinting you can do at the Brisbane city skyline before you have to give up and admit that you are not living out a Sex and the City-like lifestyle and the most Carrie Bradshaw thing about your life is your old lady hands.
But nothing could put this person off. I tried my evilest of evil eyes, which have been well known to stop small Korean children in their tracks and cause them to burst into sudden tears. A squeaky toy was engaged; a sad looking frog that puffed up when squeezed and then proceeded to let out a sound similar to a whale dying. I tried vigorously pumping on this toy whenever we got off track but the Unnecessary Question Asker just talked right through it. I began plotting on how to slip a night time Cold and Flu tablet into their morning tea scone, just to get myself a little peace and quiet.
|Would you like to keep that hand? Then put it down.|
Image via Her Campus
Look, I want to tell you that I won. But I didn’t. You can’t beat the Unnecessary Question Asker. They are like that annoying friend on Facebook who keeps sending you Candy Crush requests- no matter how much you deny them, they just keep thriving and posting status updates about what level they are up to. Instead, I sat there, fantasized about what I would do if I won the lottery (only very minimal plastic surgery) and ate around 15 mints a day to quell my grinding teeth. My mood was gloomy but my breath was bloody great!
After sitting through many hours which I’ll never get back (and no, I’m not talking about the time I went and saw that disaster, The Great Gatsby) I made it to the last day and managed to receive my Very Important paper certificate, which I made sure to store in pride of place in a plastic folder right next to my Dollarmite Saver Award from Grade Five.
In summary, if I am forced to attend any more of these courses, then I may have to seriously reconsider my thoughts on stripping.
Also on eating, if I wanna look good in a thong.