Any friends of [livejournal.com profile] skandrae in the Sydney area are hereby entreated to seek this boy-child out and lay the smack down. Not that I think I actually have any friends in Sydney, except Patrick, whom I have already entreated.

cut for swears )

*seethe*
Still no word from El Yutzo. Sean (who has a key) is going to stop at his apartment tomorrow morning, before going to work to call Yutzo's parents' place in Sydney. He packed an awful lot of stuff for someone who was only going home for two weeks. I remember thinking about that the night of the school sleepover, when he had to spend all sorts of time re-packing his bags.

What a yutz. I'm not sure what outcome would make me happier: that he just skeeved off to Australia, leaving us without a replacement English teacher (as I said, I think monkeys dressed in people-clothing would do a better job than he did), or that he's actually on his way back, but suffered some sort of terrible misfortune.

I blame some of this on Manson. You might remember him as the other teacher who started when Ryan did, but who never came back after our vacation in March, because his father got sick. Also, I think he really hated the job and was never actually suited to it, being a trained architect and all. It's quite possible that Ryan is simply following the trail laid by Manson all those months ago.

It's funny, because I was starting to feel bad about being such a bitch toward Ryan. I thought I was at least being civil, but Sean and Vida disabused me of that. No pity now, though. None whatsoever.

In weather-related news, apparently there's a typhoon coming. I can hardly wait.
OMG, that useless pissant didn't show up for work yesterday or today. Sean can't get through to his mobile or his MSN. Did he even come back from Australia? Or did he just decide to stay there because no one wants him here?

Shazbat.

[EDIT - 10:30] Sean says he saw him online yesterday at 1:30 and asked him if he was done work already. Sean thinks Ryan messed up the dates (accidentally on purpose, I say) and is still in Australia. I have never wanted to kick someone in the crotch quite as hard as I want to kick this guy.

I want the boss to let Sean fire the asshole. Honestly, fire him and find someone else. I'm sure Hamura Zoo has a couple of monkeys we could dress up in people clothes.
There just aren't enough bad words in the English language (or any of the other languages I have a passing familiarity with) to explain the level of loathing and rage I have toward Ryan the Yutz at this moment. All of the insults that immediately spring to mind are rejected because they either insult my own genitals or insult homosexual practices, and that's just not keen.

Really, I need to invent a new language, just to have words nasty and degrading and vile enough to describe how angry I am.

Profanity Abounding Beneath This Cut )

I'm also harbouring a little resentment toward Encho for letting Ryan go home, instead of making him tough it out through his shift today. Sean is pissed - he feels like he can't do his job anymore, if, everytime he tries to discipline someone, Encho just turns around and countermands his authority.

I'm going to apply for a new job this afternoon, I think.
I'd like to say that I haven't updated this weekend because I was off doing cool things, but the truth is that I did nothing and, since I do that most of the time anyway, I just didn't feel like writing about it. It was rainy, I was apathetic, and I wish it was Friday night again so that I didn't have to start a six-day week tomorrow morning. June is going to suck - I'll be working three out of the four Saturdays, which means I will only have one two-day weekend. Look forward to crankiness.

The only fun thing this weekend was thinking about the reaming Ryan is going to get from Sean on Monday. That boy is in trouble...

There's being a yutz, and then there's Ryan )

I've been writing for over an hour now. I have to go to bed, since I'm on Ryan's bus shift tomorrow morning.
I really want to send snarky text messages to Vida and Sean, but fear I would be setting a bad precedent.

P says that Ryan isn't a bad guy, he just comes on a bit strong and sometimes forgets to think about what he's saying.

I think that in itself is a sign that maybe he's not a great guy; that the thinking of a thing and the saying of it are very closely connected.

But then I think about all the things that I think and don't say, and wonder if I'm just as bad.

But, then again, saying something that creepily sounded like a prelude to date-rape is on a whole different level of bad than thinking "I'd like to rip your tongue out and nail it to the floor" in the middle of a meeting.

Right?
Locking this on the remote, teeny-weeny, eency-weency chance that my new co-worker, whom I will call Ryan (which is not, actually, his name), might happen upon my journal and get the impression that I don't like him. Because, really, I haven't spent enough time with him to dislike him. I kind of dislike his mother, who has been here for two weeks and has not stopped talking during that whole period...but that's another story.

No, the reason I am currently in a mood so bizarre that I ran home from school without waiting for him so we could walk together is that there was a bit of a *bathroom incident* today, and I'm torn between being embarrassed for me and mortified for him.

Some of you may recall this entry, where I mention the gross habit all the adult males (with the exception of Sean and Pat) have of using the childrens' urinals instead of stepping into a stall and using the squat-toilets. I try not to go to the bathroom at all at work, but sometimes a girl has to do what she has to do, y'know?

At any rate, I'm tending to nature's call in the furthest stall from the door, when I hear footsteps (male footsteps), and then the chink of something metal against porcelain. At this point, I'm dying, because I hate going to the bathroom with another woman in the room, let alone a man who is using the childrens' urinals. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have waited until he was gone, but my "Get Out of Here" sensors had gone off, so I tore out of the bathroom, carefully *not-looking* in Ryan's direction.

I had to wash my hands, though, lest he think that I was germy, so I wasn't scot-free. I tried to compromise between cleanliness and getting-the-heck-outta-dodge-liness, and was almost safely around the corner when he called my name.

Guys, when a woman is running away from you after a *bathroom incident*, don't call her back to have a conversation about the bathroom. It's just...not right.

He wanted to know why there weren't separate adult bathrooms, or male/female bathrooms, because he felt really exposed using the urinals. I said that I was pretty sure that Sean and Pat used the stalls, and he was all "Oh, you mean the one with all the buttons and stuff?" (which is the Western-style toilet that the boss had installed after his mother broke her hip) and I said, "Um, no, the squat ones" (and saying "squat toilets", or any variation thereof, to a new acquaintance is very very low on my list of things I want to do).


Then he said, "I couldn't really figure that out", and I'm dying even more as I start to try to explain how one uses a squat-toilet, and it turns out that he meant the toilet with the buttons and the bidet features and whatnot.

Anyway, at the rate I am going, I am getting so traumatized in the bathrooms at work that when I finally get a guy, I won't be able to look at his penis without running away.


[EDIT 7:57] OMG, and Sean sent this message over MSN - and i even told him that Pat and I use the stalls rather than let girls and ladies be exposed to non-family genitals

Now I'm even more grossed out and traumatized.

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