Why I hate the beach, …and my job, and your haircut.

October 30, 2008 at 12:27 am

I keep on counting down the days until I’m done with this terrible job.

I was supposed to be finished on the 25th of this month, but then my boss asked me to stay ’til the 31st - just to finish up the month.

Then he asked me to work on the 1st of the next month too - just to finish up that last week…,

then he asked me to work until the 8th, presumably so he won’t have to teach some of the miserable bastard children I get stuck with - while he waits for someone to move here from England.

My best guess is, he hasn’t informed this person that:

• his company keeps losing money/ business,
• he has no idea how to operate it,
• he expects them to pay to fix up his piece of $h@t car,
• they’ll be asked to work a lot of their days off,
• they’ll be: prodded, poked, punched, kicked, climbed on, or ignored (if they’re having a good day), or
• that this whole city reeks of pig-ass.

He had initially told me I could stay in this house until my December flight home (I’d paid for a long time ago), but now he’s decided not to have my replacement move into the same filthy cockroach palace he had me living in for the 1st of the 4 months that I’ve been here (and have been wanting to quit).

I was looking forward to a little down time after finishing, but I knew he would probably change things around on me:

Last week he told me not to go to one of the schools I usually go to, but to go to a different one instead.  No big deal, simple change;  He also left a note on my desk to help me remember.

When the day came I went to the different school, and who was there red faced and shouting that I was in the wrong spot.

I’m not taking any more crap from him!

Especially not when there’s a note on my desk in his handwriting, telling me to go there at that time.

I bet my replacement is going to love coming to Japan for the 1st time and having all these unnecessary suprises sprung on him.

A couple of weeks ago my boss sent me to work at another new place.  There was a new “student” at the new place who stomped on my feet about 10 times while he shook my hand for the 1st time.  The kids decided they wanted to start the class with a book.  That same lunatic child got up, ran over and stomped on my foot every time I turned the page.  Some other kid saw this and thought it was the thing to do, so they pushed, hit, and strangled each other - trying to fight over who could be the 1st to molest me - every time I turned the page.  I pushed them back - One started crying.

I tried to get them to sing a song/ play a game, but they just grabbed things from all over the room to throw all over the room.  I made them pick the stuff up, and whichever one I wasn’t standing over tried punching me in the butt from behind.  I twisted an arm or 2, but these kids don’t understand the “action = reaction” phenomenon.

Man…,

I hate my job.

While I was playing a game with cards on the floor with a kid who was comparatively calm, the newest kid with the kicking problem came over and kicked the card all over the room.  I got up and made him put it all back.  As soon as I had squat back down he tried to kick me in the head.  I pinched his leg so it would hurt, so he got angry and redoubled his efforts.  I missed the 2nd, but pushed his foot up the 3rd time, which made him fall over.

He pretended to cry, and he was an awful actor (worse than either of the new Darth Vaders even), but ignoring him moan off and on while he watched me from the corner of his eye, just made him angrier and angrier.

My boss got a call that night from some upset mother who I am comforted - has to live with that child, where I just have to have some sort of plan for an instance where they take a break from trying to sodomize each other with building blocks (and thankfully not for much longer!).  My boss was red faced and upset again, so I tried to explain what actually went on, but he didn’t want any explanation.  He didn’t try to blame that on me, and I assume from the look he gave me that he had been working there before he pushed it on me.

I hate this job.

I went in one morning to find out that he had decided to throw a big Halloween party for all the kids that go to the school on my day off.  Please make a plan for a 30/ 40 minute activity for everyone, he told me with almost 2 weeks notice.  I told him that my fiance had bought a plane ticket to come and visit me over that weekend, and that we had been planning to take a trip in this area for 2 months.

I didn’t bother to remind him that I prefer to have off on the days that I have off, or that he is supposed to check with us if he’d like us to do work on our days off, and provide us with another day off when we do work on our days off:  It is something he knows full well.

His latest plan was to have me work until 7 pm on the 8th of November, and told me to be ready to move out early on the morning on the 9th, maybe a few hours before the next person shows up.

I had told the people in the town 2 down that I could start at their school on the 25th, then told them he pushed it back to the 31st, then the 1st, …I didn’t bother telling them that he wanted me until late on the 8th - seeing how he’s changed his mind so so so much so far.

They decided that they’d like me to start on the 3rd and haven’t changed their minds about it yet.

It put a look of shock on my present boss’ face when I told him that he’d have to spend that one week in my shoes, …but of course he doesn’t have to put up with all his own bull$h@t.

In the meantime, I mostly just want to prevent myself and any innocent children any bodily harm,

and to have the car not break down again before then,

but you can’t always have what you want.

Every time I stop for gas they tell me that one of my tail lights is busted.  I tell them that it’s my boss’ car + that he would never approve of having any part of it fixed for anything more than free.  I told them I’d just need to drive it for 2 more weeks.  Then the next week I told them I’d only need to drive it for 2 more weeks.  A week after that I told them that I’d only need to drive it for 2 more weeks;  Hopefully it’s for real this time.

A busted tail light doesn’t worry me nearly as much as the squeals and the various warning lights that turn on with increasing frequency.

Today there was a terrible burning smell which I really would have liked to have come from something other than the car, but …it followed me all the way home and stank there too.  I opened the hood and found the new generator belt shredded up on top of the engine.  The mechanic has told me that: the car is old, so the engine is rusty, so the belt will keep breaking all too frequently.  He repaired it much quicker the 2nd time.  It really ought to last at least 3 weeks before breaking again…  it ought.

I had endeavored to ride my bike as much as I could, but it turns out that I just can’t bear having to breath in that awful pig stink when I have to breath harder.

I used to carry a bandana to keep my poor bald head from burning in the sun, but it rains so much, and smells so bad here, it’s become a makeshift airfilter.

The town 2 down where I was offered a job at another small school smelled worlds better when I went down to see it.

Trading in my Christmas air ticket home would cost more than half the price we had already paid for it + it’s actually cheaper for me to buy a cheap car and try out living there - than to head home an extra month early.

They asked me nicely to stop by their Halloween party - so they could introduce me to all their students.  I told my boss I would have to leave work 2 hours early that day, and in his typical fashion, he canceled my last 2 classes on the wrong day.  It was the 1st time he’s ever made a mistake in my favor.

He called me early in the morning a few days ago to tell me that the school I was supposed to go to at 10am that morning wanted me to meet them - somewhere totally different.  He tried to explain where it was they wanted me to go, but it soon became clear that:

• he didn’t really know,
• and was, again, growing increasingly frustrated trying to explain it.

He drew a map and dropped it off at my house.

The map…

would make you laugh if you saw it and compared it to what really exists.  For one thing: It only had 2 roads - neither of them where the building was. It was drawn so that it was between the bridge and the lake on the left.  If it had been drawn to scale, the building would have been 9 killometers long, not tucked behind 2 other buildings off the road, which was, in turn, a totally different road from either of the unrelated roads he had drawn. The bridge and the lake are 15 killometers apart in the real world.  I drove slowly most of that way looking for anything larger than a house. I drove back, then back around again.  I stopped at a convenience store + asked, and the mystery was solved.

I maybe should have bought something.

I was only 15 minutes late, but what they had asked me to go and attend was just a stage rehearsal of some dances they were going to put on for their parents.  This left me sitting on a mat on the floor “watching” the rehearsal, under a pile of kids, none of whom had any intention of watching anything, when they could climb all over me, fight each other, and pick my pockets.

I felt something like a lucky golden buddah statue that everyone wants to rub for good luck…

I had an otherwise good day today:

I slept in for the first time in a too long time and painted one picture at “the rock beach”.

I call it that because it has a small peninsula with 2 tall rock towers sitting next to each other - if it has a real name I don’t know it.

————

The last time I was there I painted a really good picture.  A family with a few small children parked nearby to look for shells, but the 2 youngest kids just stood and watched me for 20 minutes.  They declared that they were amazed at my painting.  I, in turn, was impressed that they were able to stand there that long without attacking anyone, but didn’t want to get into a long discussion over it.  There are often times when people stop to tell me that I’m doing a good job, and I often find reason to disagree because of this or that, what have you…

This time it was a good painting from beginning to end, and I was pleased all until:

• I finished it,
• I turned around to pack up my bag,
• It got blown over into the sand while my back was turned.

• It was an otherwise windless day…

AAAARRRGH!

I’ve had things blow into paintings (most often leaves or cherry blossoms).  I’ve had paintings blow free from the easel - so I have to chase or climb after them. I’ve had the easel tip over onto me/ ruin my clothes.  I’ve had my palate blow into gravel or onto my leg/ shirt , but I had never before had a painting get blown over into sand.

Luckily it was a very large grain sand which dented layers of paint, but didn’t get buried in it.

I fixed it up so that the colors are all as they should be, but there are still a number of small craters in the paint.

Anyway, there were no horrible paint accidents today, and I was glad.

——-

I only mention this here and now to contrast it with what happened yesterday:

Yesterday:  Oh Lord!

I was tired, and had to work that Sunday morning at some sport’s day thing.  It was even earlier than when I have to work on my regular working days, but it was at least over pretty quick.

I gave myself as little time in the morning as I could - to facilitate sleeping…  I made sure to bring all my painting supplies with me, so I could go out directly after.  Usually when I’m painting _ I don’t need to eat very much, but the little bit of running around I had to do in the morning must have made my insulin work far better than it otherwise ever does + I had to finish up my breakfast/ lunch/ half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, gone very early on in the day.

I was on a beach (the 1st one I was ever able to find here),

from 10:30 am until just before 6pm with only a half dozen very stale crumbled up crackers and one “atomic fireball” still in the bottom of my bag from my last trip to America, …over a year ago.  The little package of crackers must have gotten busted open at some point during that year - I was hungry, shaky, and I sometimes got vertigo when I moved, but they were still really hard to swallow.

I wasn’t sure if I would be living in this area for more than the 2 weeks I knew I had a home, and I wanted to make the most of the sunshine near the coast/ paint all day.

I did a painting of the waves, then one of a sand bar up close, then that same sand bar and brackish pool from futher away, then the pool from another angle, then I thought I’d paint a smaller picture of the beach running back in the distance towards some mountains but wasn’t able to get very far with it.

A sudden gust of wind blew my easel over and ticked me off, but I jammed it down deeper into the sand,  cleaned it up as best I could and got back to work.

Just a few brush strokes later, the board on the easel, which I had the canvas clipped to - blew over into my hands - it turned me and my clothes blue, but made me more irate.  I patiently screwed the piece holding the board in place tighter.

A few minutes after that, another gust of wind blew the canvas loose of the board and the clip, back onto me - making me bluer and more frustrated, but I didn’t want to waste the last little bits of daylight, which are usually the prettiest to paint.

But before I could even get the canvas re clipped to the backing board, the wind picked up again, blew it loose of my hands and pushed it face down along the beach in the sand.

AAAARRRGH!  AAAARRRGHHHRRRAAAGH GAAAAA!!  - but how.

I was tired, hungry, and not just a little angry at that point, so I took advantage of the nearest washed up piece of garbage on the beach;  I thought I would kick a half deflated volleyball halfway out to sea!

But instead, I found it really funny that when I tried to kick the ball,  my big toe bust through the top of my shoe - leaving a hole that filled in with sand as I walked dejectedly back towards my boss’ dysfunctional car.

It was past twilight and the only other people in sight drove away when I got to my car.  I tried to wipe the worst of the paint off of me and packed up the car.

The car, I had parked on the one lane of packed ground leading to the edge of the beach.  I backed up slowly to be sure that my front tires stayed on the hard packed ground at the edge of the sand, but I failed.

What a horrible day.

When I put the car into drive it did not move.

I quickly reminded myself that there was absolutely no one anywhere around.

I tried to rock the car out of the sand by switching between drive and reverse gear as quickly as I could, but no rocking in either direction occurred.

I got out to appraise the situation:

The pain in the but fairy could not have planned it better (if it existed): My tires were dug about a quarter of the way down into loose sand.

I pushed, and dug in the sand.  Sand stuck in the paint stuck to my arms from all the problems with my last painting.  The car didn’t move any and sank deeper into the sand.

I tried again.

I tried steering left and right to get a hold of something firm.

The car just sank deeper and it looked like the chassis + the engine would soon get planted in the sand, leaving the front wheels hanging over the holes they had dug.

I reminded myself that:

• there was absolutely no one anywhere around,
• I didn’t know the name of the place or even the town where I was - to call for help,
• I had only had breakfast and had had no lunch and would have no dinner,
• it would be totally dark in a few more minutes,
• and there was a big hole in my shoe.

I dug in the sand some more + found a few small rocks and two tiny thin strips of wood which I set on top of the sand under each wheel.

I tried going forward + it lurched just a little.

So I went backwards as quickly as I could + it moved just a little more. + I repeated that process, but really made very little progress in either direction until I undid my seat belt and threw my whole body forwards when it was in drive, and shook my weight backwards when it was in reverse + I managed to get it to teeter over the edge of the hole and gain forward momentum enough to get back onto the packed dirt road just before pitch dark set in.

It turns out to be lucky I gave up painting before then.

I stopped at a supermarket on the way home + must have looked odd with paint and sand and dust all over me,

…and my toe sticking out of my shoe.

They say you shouldn’t go shopping when you’re hungry, but if you’re hungry and tired, sunburnt and dirty, and the store is about to close, you just have to keep yourself out of the vodka aisle.