really rude writing five{0}
it’s getting closer to my annual season leave so i’m frantically getting into the season spirit, bar humbug is as far as i’ve got so far. but, dear reader, things are heating up in the fantasy that is my attempt at writing a novel, this section as i hope you’d understand follows on from the last section. i.e. continued on from really rude writing four – here
cont … So we enter into the battle of inspections, which is the application of legislation to the practical world in which we live, and we as EHO’s find all sorts of standards of training, ranging from absolutely nil to less than required, not often do we find complete and satisfactory. I do my slow in English speech to the new chef, dropping español words (I think) like ¡hola buenas días (hello, good afternoon), asta luego (see you later), cerveza (beer), she seems suitably interested to make me continue although, as per normal, I probably go on to far and bore the shit out of her, or maybe she just doesn’t understand me at all and smiles sweetly. She did say she si (yes) to cerveza though, I must remember that, is it appropriate to sleep with chefs I’m chastising? Of course I’m kidding myself that a 20 something bronzed and well toned female backpacker would like to have a drink and a game of horizontal canoodling with a greying gentleman of a growing portly proportion, but, if you don’t ask you don’t get, right. While fantasising about this moral dilemma, I don’t actually have many of those, dilemmas of the moral kind I mean, I trap Cherry in the cool room, showed her my pertinent and ever pressing issues, most revealing, and then write out the receipt we give to food operators regarding the works and complete change of attitude required. Once I’d finished all that serious public safety stuff, concluded my flirting with Cherry and wondered what the words for “let’s just do it” are in Spanish, it’s off to the shitting ibis, BMW or not.
For obvious reasons my two windows were closed as I cruise ever so gently into the car park, it’s another Council award winner, bitumen, white lines and a couple of garden beds on the boundary, wow can’t we do better than that?, I find that a car, very similar to the red light runner, is parked in way that it’s claiming two bays? The man driving this car, if my own self described or as Pink Floyd so beautifully put; amazing powers of observation – is right, it looks like the heroin affected fashion victim who drove the car last night, seems to be watching me with binoculars. As he is facing me I can make out that the large folder he’s holding seems to have my name embossed on the front cover. Wow! This is weird; I’m too young for this is your life!. Once I’ve come to a stop I get out of the car with my trusty digital camera. I always have this on my belt, I feel like a regulatory version of batman sometimes, with my utility belt at the ready, this stupidity does make it easier to take photos and I do take loads of photos of all sorts of strange things, some even work related.
This action of getting out of the car, while looking at Mr “my social drug habit seems to have overtaken my life guy” seems to have frightened him. He stumbles to place the binoculars into the case and tries to close the folder. This unusual act of absurd neatness and juggling combined with the impact of nature seems to have put him off balance, because just at this precise Kodak moment one of the ibis, who had given up on tagging the interior of luxury motor vehicles, took great delight in dropping the entire contents of its stomach on his right shoulder. The folder, binoculars and case fall to the ground and while trying to remain in control he slips and falls off the small wall he was sitting on, straight into the freshly fertilised garden bed behind the car park boundary.
See!! Council does do some work around the place, although it must have been smoko time as 27 Council workers were sitting on another wall sunning their knees while obviously not struggling with their feminine side, were bleating and laughing like a row of crows in unison, in an R rated and sexist tone. They were making just as much noise as the ibis shitting tour group, who seemed to think the targeted aim applied by their mate was an award winner”. No cards with scores, just screams of excited ibis and the Council workers crow like foul language and laughter. I couldn’t resist laughing myself at this poor attempt at limb gymnastics and went to take some photos of the ibis and their sporting toilet behaviour. A shame I missed a photo of the guy’s surf t- shirt though, with its new ibis graffiti art plastered all over it. Billabong surf wear would have been proud and claimed it as one of their designs and then had it made in China.
The mobile goes off and I look to see who is interrupting this tremendous social interaction. The ring tone is one of my own creations, a stolen riff section from a Queens of the Stone Age song, whose name I can never remember. Dave Grohl on drums and the clip has a vengeful reindeer driving a car. no one knows.
“Good Afternoon this is Alex!”….. I said in my casual yet professional manner.
“Alex, I’ve decided that you can attend the new EPA legislation training course we talked about”
Dam! It’s Warren, the latest in the long line of supervisors running the geographical region I work in. Warren is about 2 minutes off retiring and seems to be hanging on by his finger nails. He has a colourful and tenuous connection to his work colleagues and the wider community. Warren hails from places unknown with a mixturous family background that would make a professionally trained eye witness struggle to identify features such as origin, age, height and in some light – sex. Let me say though he is a very helpful, extremely friendly and generous guy, but today’s world is not his world. His 2 minutes are not ticking over quick enough, set the alarm.
“Great” I reply with the necessary enthusiasm. “When is it exactly?”
“It’s in 5 months – April 6th, at the Mostly Bumpy Greek Resort” says Warren, getting the name wrong yet again. It’s actually called the Misty Bumble Creek Resort. His heavy accent combined with his complete unawareness of what goes on around him makes clear communication very difficult and very funny at times.
“Ok, I will check it in my diary – thanks Warren”….. I’m thinking can this really be the reason for the call, that’s a bloody long time away? It’s December now.
“Oh Alex” … Yep here we go I realise… “There’s a problem that has come to my attention”
“Yeah, what is it Warren?”
“A disgruntled member of the public has made a number of very serious threats against a Council EHO, we don’t know which one yet, but when senior management became aware of this issue, …well, …hum, …you know,…they, ah, kind of thought it must be you! Does super sun grass mean anything to you?”
Again I’m thinking what could that phrase really mean?, I run through a few alternatives in my mind….dope heads, the next big music festival planned for Lincoln Point, or a rural cow food manufacturer. No Idea!!
More of a worry was that an obviously deranged and overly excited member of the public makes threats against a Council EHO and management immediately think of me, that’s either very thoughtful or more likely it’s a reflection of how they feel about me, my performance, work ethics or that missing moral compass they suspect I use to navigate my way through life. Who am I kidding, fuck it must be me!! Who though, this will take some serious thinking time to sort out!
“Well no Warren” I replied…. grass is not high on my list of things to imbibe.” I’ll be back in the office soon, just as soon as I finish here”, I was hoping he’d just say thanks and hang up.
“OK, see you then”…… says Warren with a confused tone in his voice; it’s as if he wonders which office we are talking about, or even like me wonders what grass or super means. It’s remarkable that he makes it to work in the morning, home at night and returns to the same building the following day.
As I drive into the office car park I notice that the Police have taken my car space and their bright red and orange Holden Commodore dominates the scene. I wonder if they are here to discuss the threat, or are they up to something else. I fit in between two other (ticket worthy) illegally parked vehicles, light a fag and enjoy it on the way inside talking with the other cigarette desperadoes. Interesting, isn’t it that my fellow addicts are social, friendly and somewhat able to converse with others, even if they talk shit! I throw my butt in the ashtray and then take a moment to be a gentleman on the way inside.
