This is the end...
of a crazy week, and probably the start of a crazy weekend.
Life throws you ups and downs, and some of my friends catergorise these under the headings of Things that Grind my Gears, and Things That Lube My Gears. The gear grinding concept was lifted from an episode of The Family Guy.
Anyways, here's incidents from my week in terms of Gears Ground and Gears Lubed:
Tuesday I received a call asking me if I wanted to come in for an interview at a coffee shop on Charing Cross Road on Friday.
Gears Lubed.
Yesterday a washing machine was delivered (gears lubed), but the blokes that delivered it discovered that there was a leaking valve behind the machine (gears ground). My landlady tried to get on to a plumber, but for whatever reason I didn't get his call (gears ground even more).
Come evening, one of my flatmates was beginning to have kittens, because when the washing machine had been pulled out of it's nice it had released a puddle of fetid water that stank out the kitchen (gears shearing great splinters of steel).
Skip forward to today: my landlady is calling around for another plumber to come around, but he might not be able to make it in the morning. This is a problem for me, because I have the library interview at half one, and the cafe interview at four (not wanting to miss the cafe interview because I was stuck in East End to West End traffic, I had asked for it to have an hour as margin for error).
About quarter to one I head to the train station across the street from my block to take the train to the library where I was to be interviewed. When I get there a chap explains that because of industrial action, the trains going east from that station are erratic to say the least. The next one will be 1320. That doesn't leave enough time to get to the next station then get to the library.
Gears spraying sparks and threatening to shatter under the force of grindage.
I head down to the tube station and take the central line to Stratford, hoping that the action is just one this particular trainline, not all trainlines running in East London. God smiles on me, because the train I need to take from Stratford is running (if I had wanted to go to Highbury and Islington, that would have been a different matter...
I get to the interview, with five minutes to spare.
Gears... turning okay.
The interview goes okay, but I have no idea if I got the job. I get the feeling that I connected and communicated well enough with one of the managers, but the other one might not be sold on me.
Gears happy enough with the result.
I head into the West End and kick around until the interview. The cafe interviewer is really nice, and he tells me to come in for a trial next Tuesday.
Gears pretty damn lubed.
I call home. The plumber hasn't been. I hurry home, getting caught in rush hour tube-age. I get there to discover that the minor leak has turned into one that fills a bucket every half an hour. My flatmate (who works night shifts) is bleary eyed and about to pass out. Still no sign of the plumber.
Gears grinding to a shredded metallic stump.
Plumber arrives, fits new valve. Connects washing machine.
Gears Lubed.
But before he goes, he mentions that there was a lot of water on the floor, and perhaps I should check with anyone who lives downstairs that none of it is coming through their ceiling. I figure that since the leak had been going all afternoon, if any had I would have heard about it by now.
Half an hour later there's a knock on the door and a rather surprised, slightly distraught Irish woman tells me that there is water leaking into her bathroom.
Gears go beyond my capability to describe the damage.
I calm her down, tell her that there was a leak but it has been taken care of, and give her my number to call if there is any more leaking this time tomorrow.
It entirely slips my mind that this time tomorrow I'll probably be at a punk-rock show in Holland.
I take a look behind the washer, try to make sure that nothing is leaking. Then I turn on the washing machine again and go down to them below to ask them to tell me if any leakage is occurring at their end.
So far so good.
Anyways, tomorrow I fly to Holland, Monday I fly back and Tuesday I have the Cafe trial.
Hopefully there will be no more insane gear-grinders for me in my near future.
Kapital K was right. In my life it never rains but it pours.
Over and out and apologies for the long post.
-J
Life throws you ups and downs, and some of my friends catergorise these under the headings of Things that Grind my Gears, and Things That Lube My Gears. The gear grinding concept was lifted from an episode of The Family Guy.
Anyways, here's incidents from my week in terms of Gears Ground and Gears Lubed:
Tuesday I received a call asking me if I wanted to come in for an interview at a coffee shop on Charing Cross Road on Friday.
Gears Lubed.
Yesterday a washing machine was delivered (gears lubed), but the blokes that delivered it discovered that there was a leaking valve behind the machine (gears ground). My landlady tried to get on to a plumber, but for whatever reason I didn't get his call (gears ground even more).
Come evening, one of my flatmates was beginning to have kittens, because when the washing machine had been pulled out of it's nice it had released a puddle of fetid water that stank out the kitchen (gears shearing great splinters of steel).
Skip forward to today: my landlady is calling around for another plumber to come around, but he might not be able to make it in the morning. This is a problem for me, because I have the library interview at half one, and the cafe interview at four (not wanting to miss the cafe interview because I was stuck in East End to West End traffic, I had asked for it to have an hour as margin for error).
About quarter to one I head to the train station across the street from my block to take the train to the library where I was to be interviewed. When I get there a chap explains that because of industrial action, the trains going east from that station are erratic to say the least. The next one will be 1320. That doesn't leave enough time to get to the next station then get to the library.
Gears spraying sparks and threatening to shatter under the force of grindage.
I head down to the tube station and take the central line to Stratford, hoping that the action is just one this particular trainline, not all trainlines running in East London. God smiles on me, because the train I need to take from Stratford is running (if I had wanted to go to Highbury and Islington, that would have been a different matter...
I get to the interview, with five minutes to spare.
Gears... turning okay.
The interview goes okay, but I have no idea if I got the job. I get the feeling that I connected and communicated well enough with one of the managers, but the other one might not be sold on me.
Gears happy enough with the result.
I head into the West End and kick around until the interview. The cafe interviewer is really nice, and he tells me to come in for a trial next Tuesday.
Gears pretty damn lubed.
I call home. The plumber hasn't been. I hurry home, getting caught in rush hour tube-age. I get there to discover that the minor leak has turned into one that fills a bucket every half an hour. My flatmate (who works night shifts) is bleary eyed and about to pass out. Still no sign of the plumber.
Gears grinding to a shredded metallic stump.
Plumber arrives, fits new valve. Connects washing machine.
Gears Lubed.
But before he goes, he mentions that there was a lot of water on the floor, and perhaps I should check with anyone who lives downstairs that none of it is coming through their ceiling. I figure that since the leak had been going all afternoon, if any had I would have heard about it by now.
Half an hour later there's a knock on the door and a rather surprised, slightly distraught Irish woman tells me that there is water leaking into her bathroom.
Gears go beyond my capability to describe the damage.
I calm her down, tell her that there was a leak but it has been taken care of, and give her my number to call if there is any more leaking this time tomorrow.
It entirely slips my mind that this time tomorrow I'll probably be at a punk-rock show in Holland.
I take a look behind the washer, try to make sure that nothing is leaking. Then I turn on the washing machine again and go down to them below to ask them to tell me if any leakage is occurring at their end.
So far so good.
Anyways, tomorrow I fly to Holland, Monday I fly back and Tuesday I have the Cafe trial.
Hopefully there will be no more insane gear-grinders for me in my near future.
Kapital K was right. In my life it never rains but it pours.
Over and out and apologies for the long post.
-J
posted by the.exile at 9:46 pm
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