December 15, 2006
Cześć Rogerko!
It's that time of year again, not that I care. It's all same to me. Fucking PEB. That's what you used to call it: Permanent Eastern Blues, remember? You had a point, as is your trademark. Most days I feel it has all been downmountain since I left Britain. All reservoirs of fun and money = dry. I have less than I had when I was 18. And Bielsko-Biała, although still ranking far below Midlands in 'hellish shithole' stakes, is gaining ground at alarming rate.
I work now, by the way. Kurwa, Rogerko, who saw this catastrophe coming? It can be defined as small import-export in the outskirts. This is kindness. Pathetic knowledge of English Language by me aquired there was meant to be an advantage, although I only ever use it to speak to management. My supervisor, sanctimonious cockney prick called Wayne Morley, he is someone who is always saying things. Things like: don't get me started on this, don't get me started on that. He says these things, I suspect, because he knows nobody can get him finished. He just talks on and on and on, that man. Personally, I leave him well alone. But adopting for now Wayne Morley's speech pattern I will say this: don't get me started on this job. Because you will never get me finished.
The whole process was like holiday panto in Coventry - the bad kind. Application forms. Fucking cross to bear, these application forms, these dreaded aplicacja. I have filled at least two dozen of these in my life, and I still have trouble making hairs or tails of them. But I can get around things now, switching to 'clever mode'. I get things done even when I don't know what's going on. That's what being an adult is all about. It was not always so.
Once, you may remember this, applying to clean disgusting toilets in Snow Hill Station (part-time) I was asked what was my favourite colour, and to state reasons as to my preference. That was only my second application form and I still had no experience of their przypadkowa chaotic nature so I just assumed the question was somehow related to what I could expect to find in said toilets. Yellow, I thought of writing. Green? Vomit-colour, maybe would impress. Show them I enjoy all filth. But what to write as to why? What do these faceless askers want to read? I panicked and never sent it - it was just before you got me Christmas pot-washing gig in West Brom. Someone else cleans those Snow Hill toilets today, someone with maybe clearer ideas concerning the mysteries of colour.
Things improve, obviously. I had help. Friends - such as you, Rogerko - taught me all about the bullshit and the bigging up of oneself and one's achievements. But even now, when I am so much more battle-hardened, I once in a while come across something that baffles. Like this. Fucking import-export little no-brainer purchase ledger gig and they ask me this: «Provide a specific example of an occasion when you have demonstrated good written communication skills». Why? Why? Will I be asked to write a life-affirming speech for holiday outing? I'm meant to be an accountant and they ask about my writing? What a fetid pile of gowno. I happen to excel at effective written communication, albeit in my own language (I apologize like fuck for any mistakes, while we're at it). Should I have told them about my 1996 poem? The one that condemned Valentina to love me tender on New Year's Eve, in a way well beyond her expectations? That was bloody effective, Rogerko, I tell you. Still I remain unsure as to what meaning would be attributed by smooth hooligan Wayne Morley to my honest example. Honesty hardly ever reaps dividenda. These people behind the forms: they do not want your honesty, or your wit. They want you to prove to them that you know how to bullshit your way through an application form, presumably because this proves that you have done it a lot. And this you only accomplish by doing it a lot. I know because I have. After my 5 years in Britain I am now expert. Well, maybe not expert, as I probably couldn't write book on matter or give seminar (I have attended seminar though - I must tell you about it one day, you will spray pants with mirth). But I am now seldom baffled by trivial questions such as "what qualities do you believe set you apart from other people who might apply for this same position?". I can answer this in thirty seconds flat, even if I have no idea about what sets me apart from anyone. I can be shit at most jobs but my forms are little klejnoty, little precious stones. They are gems of self-erasure. They could have been written by almost anyone who would also be shit at most jobs. I learn, you see. You get ahead by repeating what has been done before, and not fucking up too much. That is what being an adult is all about.
Must go Rogerko, lunch break is over.
Take all things easy.
Do widzenia,
Remigiusz
It's that time of year again, not that I care. It's all same to me. Fucking PEB. That's what you used to call it: Permanent Eastern Blues, remember? You had a point, as is your trademark. Most days I feel it has all been downmountain since I left Britain. All reservoirs of fun and money = dry. I have less than I had when I was 18. And Bielsko-Biała, although still ranking far below Midlands in 'hellish shithole' stakes, is gaining ground at alarming rate.
I work now, by the way. Kurwa, Rogerko, who saw this catastrophe coming? It can be defined as small import-export in the outskirts. This is kindness. Pathetic knowledge of English Language by me aquired there was meant to be an advantage, although I only ever use it to speak to management. My supervisor, sanctimonious cockney prick called Wayne Morley, he is someone who is always saying things. Things like: don't get me started on this, don't get me started on that. He says these things, I suspect, because he knows nobody can get him finished. He just talks on and on and on, that man. Personally, I leave him well alone. But adopting for now Wayne Morley's speech pattern I will say this: don't get me started on this job. Because you will never get me finished.
The whole process was like holiday panto in Coventry - the bad kind. Application forms. Fucking cross to bear, these application forms, these dreaded aplicacja. I have filled at least two dozen of these in my life, and I still have trouble making hairs or tails of them. But I can get around things now, switching to 'clever mode'. I get things done even when I don't know what's going on. That's what being an adult is all about. It was not always so.
Once, you may remember this, applying to clean disgusting toilets in Snow Hill Station (part-time) I was asked what was my favourite colour, and to state reasons as to my preference. That was only my second application form and I still had no experience of their przypadkowa chaotic nature so I just assumed the question was somehow related to what I could expect to find in said toilets. Yellow, I thought of writing. Green? Vomit-colour, maybe would impress. Show them I enjoy all filth. But what to write as to why? What do these faceless askers want to read? I panicked and never sent it - it was just before you got me Christmas pot-washing gig in West Brom. Someone else cleans those Snow Hill toilets today, someone with maybe clearer ideas concerning the mysteries of colour.
Things improve, obviously. I had help. Friends - such as you, Rogerko - taught me all about the bullshit and the bigging up of oneself and one's achievements. But even now, when I am so much more battle-hardened, I once in a while come across something that baffles. Like this. Fucking import-export little no-brainer purchase ledger gig and they ask me this: «Provide a specific example of an occasion when you have demonstrated good written communication skills». Why? Why? Will I be asked to write a life-affirming speech for holiday outing? I'm meant to be an accountant and they ask about my writing? What a fetid pile of gowno. I happen to excel at effective written communication, albeit in my own language (I apologize like fuck for any mistakes, while we're at it). Should I have told them about my 1996 poem? The one that condemned Valentina to love me tender on New Year's Eve, in a way well beyond her expectations? That was bloody effective, Rogerko, I tell you. Still I remain unsure as to what meaning would be attributed by smooth hooligan Wayne Morley to my honest example. Honesty hardly ever reaps dividenda. These people behind the forms: they do not want your honesty, or your wit. They want you to prove to them that you know how to bullshit your way through an application form, presumably because this proves that you have done it a lot. And this you only accomplish by doing it a lot. I know because I have. After my 5 years in Britain I am now expert. Well, maybe not expert, as I probably couldn't write book on matter or give seminar (I have attended seminar though - I must tell you about it one day, you will spray pants with mirth). But I am now seldom baffled by trivial questions such as "what qualities do you believe set you apart from other people who might apply for this same position?". I can answer this in thirty seconds flat, even if I have no idea about what sets me apart from anyone. I can be shit at most jobs but my forms are little klejnoty, little precious stones. They are gems of self-erasure. They could have been written by almost anyone who would also be shit at most jobs. I learn, you see. You get ahead by repeating what has been done before, and not fucking up too much. That is what being an adult is all about.
Must go Rogerko, lunch break is over.
Take all things easy.
Do widzenia,
Remigiusz
posted by "Rogério Casanova" at 15.12.06
0 comments
