The Boss and I are currently interviewing for new sales people which couldn’t more of a lus. Going through piles of CVs is as entertaining as playing hide and seek in a room with one box.
I don’t know why people can’t be more creative with their CV’s.
Skills
Results driven: Will laugh at all your jokes.
Shows initiative: Will tell you look pretty all day long.
Problem solving: Will share my lunch with you.
Excellent communication skills: Refuse to use any boring corporate phrases such as ‘going forward’ or ‘thinking outside the box’.
Time Management: Very keen to knock off on a Friday by 2 if not already at a boozy lunch.
The Boss is quite keen on a teenage gymnast that sent her CV through and I’m quite keen on a twenty five year old boy who has a voice that can only be matched to the face of an angel and a six pack. Calling a compromise we settled on a woman who seemed to know her selling stuff.
One boring interview later we sat down to reminisce about an interview which had a similar effect to rohypnol.
Me: So?
Boss: Not a chance. She didn’t blink once.
Me: I didn’t know blinking was a criteria.
Boss: I can’t trust someone who sits for an hour and doesn’t blink.
Me: She was a little scary I guess.
Boss: She would make vampires drink their own blood.
And so the fun continues…
In Other News: I will only be back on Monday. Tomorrow which is the 28th of May (FYI) which incidentally is the same day in 1992 when America held their 65th National Spelling Bee. Definitely counts as a holiday for Baglett. And on Friday it will be LaToya Jackson’s birthday which naturally deserves some celebrating. So I will be off to an undisclosed destination for a couple of days to do some serious historical and birthday drinking. Can’t tell you where my chosen place is since there are people who read Baglett who I want to surprise, so all will be revealed on Monday.
In More News: I think my maid is striking.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
ROBOTS, BLIND GUY AND BEAUTS
You cannot hit robots in Jo’burg without the following happening:
- Your windscreen has dirty water thrown at it and then you get harassed for money for the service of having the water smeared all over it.
- A flyer for Prof. Wakho gets slotted through the gap in your window. Prof Wakho promises, with his powers, to win ‘that troubling court case, no matter what stage', ‘trace the whereabouts of people who have hurt you’, get rid of ‘lots of stomach fat’ and ‘bring back a lover, even if lost for a long time’.
- The opportunity to buy suitcases, passport holders, DVDs and suit bags.
All of the above has the ability to exhaust you and pretty much guarantee a sense of humour failure. Unless you are in the mood for a DVD in which case, it’s a huge bonus. But this morning when a blind man was being dragged from car to car by another man, my heart broke. He came to my window and when I said I didn’t have anything, he didn’t call me a racist which is the normal response; he merely smiled and started limping away. I’m not sure what saint overcame my body but I found myself handing over my coat to the emaciated blind guy and his tin.
Driving away giving myself a pat on my goose pimpled bare shoulder, I said goodbye to my coat and then it dawned on me that I had left my spa voucher in the pocket.
There is now a blind man walking around Jo’burg in a woman’s cream coat, on his way to a spa, for his scheduled mani and pedi.
In other news: My maid in Cape Town. I miss her. Alicia Keyes was the bomb. Her main aim in life was to find me a boyfriend so she was constantly putting together outfits for me, feeding me myprodol for extreme hangovers and giving me a full critique on the boys I brought home. I never had to lift a finger because she said my time was better spent husband hunting and I didn’t argue.
I now have Beauty and while I love her, she’s not my Alicia. I HATE asking her to do stuff so when I leave notes for her, they’re usually stapled to a bag, or clothes or something that I think she might like. But apparently breaking point for Beauts was me leaving a note asking for my linen to be changed weekly. Beauts is ‘very upset’ and would like to have a meeting. Call me crazy but I thought the weekly change of linen is a normal occurrence.
Anyone, anyone?
- Your windscreen has dirty water thrown at it and then you get harassed for money for the service of having the water smeared all over it.
- A flyer for Prof. Wakho gets slotted through the gap in your window. Prof Wakho promises, with his powers, to win ‘that troubling court case, no matter what stage', ‘trace the whereabouts of people who have hurt you’, get rid of ‘lots of stomach fat’ and ‘bring back a lover, even if lost for a long time’.
- The opportunity to buy suitcases, passport holders, DVDs and suit bags.
All of the above has the ability to exhaust you and pretty much guarantee a sense of humour failure. Unless you are in the mood for a DVD in which case, it’s a huge bonus. But this morning when a blind man was being dragged from car to car by another man, my heart broke. He came to my window and when I said I didn’t have anything, he didn’t call me a racist which is the normal response; he merely smiled and started limping away. I’m not sure what saint overcame my body but I found myself handing over my coat to the emaciated blind guy and his tin.
Driving away giving myself a pat on my goose pimpled bare shoulder, I said goodbye to my coat and then it dawned on me that I had left my spa voucher in the pocket.
There is now a blind man walking around Jo’burg in a woman’s cream coat, on his way to a spa, for his scheduled mani and pedi.
In other news: My maid in Cape Town. I miss her. Alicia Keyes was the bomb. Her main aim in life was to find me a boyfriend so she was constantly putting together outfits for me, feeding me myprodol for extreme hangovers and giving me a full critique on the boys I brought home. I never had to lift a finger because she said my time was better spent husband hunting and I didn’t argue.
I now have Beauty and while I love her, she’s not my Alicia. I HATE asking her to do stuff so when I leave notes for her, they’re usually stapled to a bag, or clothes or something that I think she might like. But apparently breaking point for Beauts was me leaving a note asking for my linen to be changed weekly. Beauts is ‘very upset’ and would like to have a meeting. Call me crazy but I thought the weekly change of linen is a normal occurrence.
Anyone, anyone?
Friday, May 22, 2009
THROWING MONEY AWAY
Today started with an ‘Oh crap’.
After drawing money at an ATM I nonchalantly slipped the receipt in my wallet and the cash into the receipt bin.
Awesome.
And of course NO ONE in the greater Johannesburg area had keys for this box of money I had now created. After flirting with a security guard for a good twenty minutes thinking I might coax him into opening the box for me, it turned out to be twenty wasted minutes since he was not a security guard and in fact just a passing customer. Maybe he was dressing for the job he wanted, I can’t be sure, but he sure as sh*t looked like an ATM security guard to me.
Eventually tracking down the customers mentor and idol, the real security guard, waking him up and explaining that I was stupid enough to file my money in the bin, he went in search of the infamous keys. After shouting into his walkie talkie which did nothing but hiss and squawk at him for ten minutes it was confirmed that no one on the planet knew where the keys were and I would have to contact head office.
No buddy, because in the time that it will take me to go and contact head office, the keys will magically appear and my piggy bank AKA receipt bin will be emptied.
I came up with the brilliant plan of unscrewing the lid off with my nail file and went to show him how I expected to carry out my very clever plan. One screw out and I realised I was on camera and waved at it with my nail file. Two seconds later (proving people, that they do actually keep an eye on those magical cash machines, just a head up) the walkie talkie came to life and a thing on the other started shouting alien language at the security guard. They exchanged squawks and bleeps and a lot of hissing and would you believe, the keys appeared.
Moral of the story?
There are always keys.
Or don’t confuse your wallet with receipt bin. Whatever.
After drawing money at an ATM I nonchalantly slipped the receipt in my wallet and the cash into the receipt bin.
Awesome.
And of course NO ONE in the greater Johannesburg area had keys for this box of money I had now created. After flirting with a security guard for a good twenty minutes thinking I might coax him into opening the box for me, it turned out to be twenty wasted minutes since he was not a security guard and in fact just a passing customer. Maybe he was dressing for the job he wanted, I can’t be sure, but he sure as sh*t looked like an ATM security guard to me.
Eventually tracking down the customers mentor and idol, the real security guard, waking him up and explaining that I was stupid enough to file my money in the bin, he went in search of the infamous keys. After shouting into his walkie talkie which did nothing but hiss and squawk at him for ten minutes it was confirmed that no one on the planet knew where the keys were and I would have to contact head office.
No buddy, because in the time that it will take me to go and contact head office, the keys will magically appear and my piggy bank AKA receipt bin will be emptied.
I came up with the brilliant plan of unscrewing the lid off with my nail file and went to show him how I expected to carry out my very clever plan. One screw out and I realised I was on camera and waved at it with my nail file. Two seconds later (proving people, that they do actually keep an eye on those magical cash machines, just a head up) the walkie talkie came to life and a thing on the other started shouting alien language at the security guard. They exchanged squawks and bleeps and a lot of hissing and would you believe, the keys appeared.
Moral of the story?
There are always keys.
Or don’t confuse your wallet with receipt bin. Whatever.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
DOCTOR POKE A LOT
Sorry for the silent treatment, I’ve been having lots of fun spending my time at Morningside Medical Clinic. Nothing serious, promise, just a lot of violation going down. I have made a couple of clinical friends though. My Golf cart driver for one. Golf carts are the new wheelchairs. Every morning I park my car and a golf cart zooms up to me.
Driver: Molo Baglett!
Me: Morning!
Driver: Where to today? Plastic surgery, dental or maternity?
Me: None of those. Let’s try brain surgery.
Driver: Seriaas?
Me: No. Take me to Doctor Poke a Lot.
I’m not a person made for the medical field, show me a needle and I’ll show you violent crying.
Bitter Nurse: Baglett stop moving.
Me: Stop threatening me with needles then.
BN: I need to find a vein Baglett.
Me: There’s one in your arm, use that.
A painful four years later.
Me: Are you finished?
BN: Um.
Me: What’s ‘Um’?!
BN: Your vein seems to have stopped.
Me: I’M DEAD?!
BN: No, um, there seems to be no blood coming out. Let me just…
Me: F*ck! Stop that.
BN: I’m going to have to go in your other arm.
Hide arm.
BN: Baglett, give me your arm.
Me: I don’t know where it is. It was here a second ago. Oh well. Another time then.
BN: Baglett, the sooner we do this, the sooner we can get it over and done with.
Me: I won’t tell if you don’t.
Grabs arm and stabs me.
Me: Nice bedside needle manner you’ve got there.
The only consolation is that she gave me a Winnie the Pooh plaster to cover the craters in my arm and a biscuit. Which I shared with my Golf Cart driver. Chocolate chip cookies are the new tips, tell your friends.
Driver: Molo Baglett!
Me: Morning!
Driver: Where to today? Plastic surgery, dental or maternity?
Me: None of those. Let’s try brain surgery.
Driver: Seriaas?
Me: No. Take me to Doctor Poke a Lot.
I’m not a person made for the medical field, show me a needle and I’ll show you violent crying.
Bitter Nurse: Baglett stop moving.
Me: Stop threatening me with needles then.
BN: I need to find a vein Baglett.
Me: There’s one in your arm, use that.
A painful four years later.
Me: Are you finished?
BN: Um.
Me: What’s ‘Um’?!
BN: Your vein seems to have stopped.
Me: I’M DEAD?!
BN: No, um, there seems to be no blood coming out. Let me just…
Me: F*ck! Stop that.
BN: I’m going to have to go in your other arm.
Hide arm.
BN: Baglett, give me your arm.
Me: I don’t know where it is. It was here a second ago. Oh well. Another time then.
BN: Baglett, the sooner we do this, the sooner we can get it over and done with.
Me: I won’t tell if you don’t.
Grabs arm and stabs me.
Me: Nice bedside needle manner you’ve got there.
The only consolation is that she gave me a Winnie the Pooh plaster to cover the craters in my arm and a biscuit. Which I shared with my Golf Cart driver. Chocolate chip cookies are the new tips, tell your friends.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
PHOTO OF BAGLETT
There seems to have been a lot of speculation as to who I am and what I look like. I would like to put everyone’s mind at rest and finally post a photo of myself.
I'm the one tying my shoelace.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
NOT A GOOD START
Crises I’m tired. I set my alarm for 4am to do some work and hardly slept because I have a tendency to set it for pm instead of am and wake up at lunchtime. I have black rings under my eyes which are a direct result from my eyeballs sinking lower and lower into the sockets and bruising. So I was not really in the mood for the highway whoring this morning.
Just as I was holding my eyelids up a convertible BMW pulled up next to me packed with five guys.
‘Hey!’ with a hoot.
‘Jy is pragtig ne?’
Now what the hell do you say to that? ‘No, youuu are. No, no YOU.’
They proceeded to follow alongside me grinning and high fiving each other.
WTF?
The one with hair gushing out his toit shirt shouted ‘Meet you at the next robots!’
Oh yes please can I.
What the hell do guys like this expect to happen?
‘Oh my God yay! I’ve been waiting for guys like you to approach me! Please can I give you my number and we can all go out?!’
To avoid them, I pulled over at a petrol station. As I got out my car a bakkie pulled up next to me with what I assumed was a man, with no teeth and a cap perched on the top of his head. He slowed down next to me, leaned on his open window and said ‘Howzit.' while picking his gums with a toothpick.
Seriously?
I smiled politely and carried on walking. When I came out, he was still waiting for me.
‘Hi’.
Oh the witty repartee of it all.
I sighed and got in the car.
While I admire the courage of some guys and I know it can’t be easy to approach girls but really, what did this guy expect me to say? ‘I knew when I saw your cap, you and I were meant to be together’ or ‘I wish I was that toothpick.'
It was all too much for a Thursday morning.
Just as I was holding my eyelids up a convertible BMW pulled up next to me packed with five guys.
‘Hey!’ with a hoot.
‘Jy is pragtig ne?’
Now what the hell do you say to that? ‘No, youuu are. No, no YOU.’
They proceeded to follow alongside me grinning and high fiving each other.
WTF?
The one with hair gushing out his toit shirt shouted ‘Meet you at the next robots!’
Oh yes please can I.
What the hell do guys like this expect to happen?
‘Oh my God yay! I’ve been waiting for guys like you to approach me! Please can I give you my number and we can all go out?!’
To avoid them, I pulled over at a petrol station. As I got out my car a bakkie pulled up next to me with what I assumed was a man, with no teeth and a cap perched on the top of his head. He slowed down next to me, leaned on his open window and said ‘Howzit.' while picking his gums with a toothpick.
Seriously?
I smiled politely and carried on walking. When I came out, he was still waiting for me.
‘Hi’.
Oh the witty repartee of it all.
I sighed and got in the car.
While I admire the courage of some guys and I know it can’t be easy to approach girls but really, what did this guy expect me to say? ‘I knew when I saw your cap, you and I were meant to be together’ or ‘I wish I was that toothpick.'
It was all too much for a Thursday morning.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
OW
I went for a run yesterday dressed like a mummy. Both knees strapped (I can’t risk strapping the wrong one again) with an ankle brace on my right ankle.Twenty minutes into the race my ankle caved and I went over it followed by a
F*************ck’ and collapsed to the ground in tears. And back to the physio I went this morning.
Muscle torturer: Baglett, I told you not to run.
Me: Pffft, what do you know?
MT: Quite a lot actually.
Me: Well I got a second opinion and he said it was fine for me to run.
MT: And who was this second opinion from?
Me: My ankle.
MT: And I bet you haven’t been doing your strengthening exercises.
Me: I have. These heels for example work wonders.
MT: They’re six inches of ankle hell Baglett. Are you friggin mad?
Me: Don’t shout at me, I’ll get another second opinion.
MT: From your knee?
Me: Noooooo, from the other ankle.
MT: Baglett, you’re now in ankle and knee rehab.
Me: Rehab’s for quitters.
MT: Baglett if you don’t look after yourself, you’re going to suffer from arthritis.
Me: Siss.
MT: Ok I just need to do this…
Me: F*ck! Touch me again and I’ll report you.
MT: (Now sighing and clearly no longer enjoying me) Go home, take those ridiculous heels off…
ME: You’re ridiculous.
Mt: ...and do your exercises.
Me: Fine. But don’t think I’m wearing this brace on the dancefloor.
MT: There will be no dancefloor...
ME: What?!
MT: Out.
Physio’s are so grumpy these days.
F*************ck’ and collapsed to the ground in tears. And back to the physio I went this morning.
Muscle torturer: Baglett, I told you not to run.
Me: Pffft, what do you know?
MT: Quite a lot actually.
Me: Well I got a second opinion and he said it was fine for me to run.
MT: And who was this second opinion from?
Me: My ankle.
MT: And I bet you haven’t been doing your strengthening exercises.
Me: I have. These heels for example work wonders.
MT: They’re six inches of ankle hell Baglett. Are you friggin mad?
Me: Don’t shout at me, I’ll get another second opinion.
MT: From your knee?
Me: Noooooo, from the other ankle.
MT: Baglett, you’re now in ankle and knee rehab.
Me: Rehab’s for quitters.
MT: Baglett if you don’t look after yourself, you’re going to suffer from arthritis.
Me: Siss.
MT: Ok I just need to do this…
Me: F*ck! Touch me again and I’ll report you.
MT: (Now sighing and clearly no longer enjoying me) Go home, take those ridiculous heels off…
ME: You’re ridiculous.
Mt: ...and do your exercises.
Me: Fine. But don’t think I’m wearing this brace on the dancefloor.
MT: There will be no dancefloor...
ME: What?!
MT: Out.
Physio’s are so grumpy these days.
Monday, May 11, 2009
IT WASN'T KIRSTENBOSCH
Bless the Wine Merchant’s cotton socks. He’s been suffering from Bleeding Ear Syndrome since he met me while I compare every bit of Jo’burg to the wonders of Cape Town, specifically Kirstenbosch concerts on Sundays. Stories of packed picnic baskets with Woolies finest, flowing wine and the obligatory roll down the hill after the concert is finished. Why? Because we were hammered and it was fun. So yesterday, as a supplies! We drove in the direction of the Jo’burg Zoo and on closer inspection, there were crowds of people with picnic baskets and banners advertising a concert. I couldn’t have been more excited. When I saw the picnic basket he bought with all my favourite calorie-packed goodies, I was beside myself. And as a zebra- patterned buggy drove us through the zoo to our destination, I was about to marry the funny accented man. And then we started unpacking.
Me: What is this?
Wine Merchant: It’s a blanket.
Me: It’s a funny coloured quilt.
WM: I couldn’t find a blanket.
Me: But you managed to find a baby’s blanky?
WM: Shutup Baglett. Just eat.
Me: Where are the knives?
WM: Shit.
Me: This is a tin.
WM: Well spotted.
Me: But there’s no tin opener.
WM: I thought we could use the knife.
An hour later after sourcing a knife and a tin opener, we started eating. At about the same time the sun came out in all its 40 degree glory.
Me: Sweet child of mine, it's hot.
WM: Well you’re dressed like you’re in the Cold War.
Me: You told me to.
WM: This is true.
After 40 minutes of trying to eat tzatziki with a straw and hiding under the baby’s blanket for shelter from the hotter than hell sun, we were now at each other’s throats. Mainly because I was being ungrateful bitch but also because had he told me we were going for a picnic, I would have packed a picnic. Not a Red Cross food parcel sent to a POW camp.
When the singer started singing ‘We are the world, we are the children’ and the thousands of picnickers got up, held each others hands up in the air and swayed back and forth while singing, we packed up and hightailed it out of there. I cheered up somewhat while walking through the zoo I was able to make my favourite animal references.
‘How’s it hanging?’ to the monkeys; ‘Aren’t you a foxy lady?’ to the bat eared foxes and ‘They’re polar opposites’ to the polar bears fighting in the corner and my personal favourite ‘I don’t give a hoot’ when The WM pointed out the owls.
Awwww fun times.
Me: What is this?
Wine Merchant: It’s a blanket.
Me: It’s a funny coloured quilt.
WM: I couldn’t find a blanket.
Me: But you managed to find a baby’s blanky?
WM: Shutup Baglett. Just eat.
Me: Where are the knives?
WM: Shit.
Me: This is a tin.
WM: Well spotted.
Me: But there’s no tin opener.
WM: I thought we could use the knife.
An hour later after sourcing a knife and a tin opener, we started eating. At about the same time the sun came out in all its 40 degree glory.
Me: Sweet child of mine, it's hot.
WM: Well you’re dressed like you’re in the Cold War.
Me: You told me to.
WM: This is true.
After 40 minutes of trying to eat tzatziki with a straw and hiding under the baby’s blanket for shelter from the hotter than hell sun, we were now at each other’s throats. Mainly because I was being ungrateful bitch but also because had he told me we were going for a picnic, I would have packed a picnic. Not a Red Cross food parcel sent to a POW camp.
When the singer started singing ‘We are the world, we are the children’ and the thousands of picnickers got up, held each others hands up in the air and swayed back and forth while singing, we packed up and hightailed it out of there. I cheered up somewhat while walking through the zoo I was able to make my favourite animal references.
‘How’s it hanging?’ to the monkeys; ‘Aren’t you a foxy lady?’ to the bat eared foxes and ‘They’re polar opposites’ to the polar bears fighting in the corner and my personal favourite ‘I don’t give a hoot’ when The WM pointed out the owls.
Awwww fun times.
Friday, May 8, 2009
SADVICE
The Housemate’s sister has temporarily moved in with us after her boyfriend decided after a gazillion years he wasn’t so much into the whole relationship thing anymore. Not ideal really since they lived together, shared a dog and had collected a vast amount of jointly-owned furniture. Since I went through a similar break up, she has asked my opinions on certain matters over a vat full of wine.
Heartbreak Kid: How long did it take you to get over The Ex?
Me: Um, three years, four?
HK: But it’s only been two.
Me: Yup. Still not over him.
HK: Did you ever see him after you broke up?
Me: Are you counting the times when I parked outside his house and watched him while crying?
HK: No.
Me: Then no, I didn’t see him.
HK: Talk to him?
Me: Only when I phoned him and then put down the phone when he answered. Come to think of it, that may have been why he changed his number. But I guess you can’t really call that talking can you?
HK: No, you really can’t.
HK: But it’s better now right?
You could see the sheer desperation in the child’s eyes that she may turn out to be a car wreck like myself and was desperately looking for some sort of affirmation that it was going to be ok.
Me: Of course! I had dinner at his house just the other day!
HK: And you were fine?
Me: Absolutely. I hid all the photos of him and his new girlfriend and may have told him I still love him, but apart from that, it was great!
The Housemate has warned her against talking to me about anything of a relationship nature. I think it’s best.
Heartbreak Kid: How long did it take you to get over The Ex?
Me: Um, three years, four?
HK: But it’s only been two.
Me: Yup. Still not over him.
HK: Did you ever see him after you broke up?
Me: Are you counting the times when I parked outside his house and watched him while crying?
HK: No.
Me: Then no, I didn’t see him.
HK: Talk to him?
Me: Only when I phoned him and then put down the phone when he answered. Come to think of it, that may have been why he changed his number. But I guess you can’t really call that talking can you?
HK: No, you really can’t.
HK: But it’s better now right?
You could see the sheer desperation in the child’s eyes that she may turn out to be a car wreck like myself and was desperately looking for some sort of affirmation that it was going to be ok.
Me: Of course! I had dinner at his house just the other day!
HK: And you were fine?
Me: Absolutely. I hid all the photos of him and his new girlfriend and may have told him I still love him, but apart from that, it was great!
The Housemate has warned her against talking to me about anything of a relationship nature. I think it’s best.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
PUBLIC FREAKING
Today did not start off well. I went to a school in Bedfordview (I’ll save you the story of me hitting Galloolies interchange, which they’ve moved again BTW FYI) and was interviewing a disabled matriculant who is pretty much the male version of Natalie Du Toit. This boy is friggin amazing and makes you really think twice about calling the pimple on your chin ‘life threatening’.
And while I had the utmost respect for this guy and was completely inspired by his story, and had been interviewing him for over an hour about his lack of arms and how he copes on a day to day basis and in his spare time swims and wins a treasure chest of gold medals, I had a small out-of-body experience as I watched this person who looked like me, talked like me (Jungle Book anyone?) and had great highlights, say goodbye to this Boy Wonder and then… put her hand out to shake his.
WTF was I thinking?
The universe was clearly watching and thought I must be punished immediately. Arriving at my scheduled meeting, the receptionist explained that the teacher I was meeting with was currently in assembly. No problem I answered as I took a seat and started hot teacher spotting. No, no she answered, I will take you there. ‘There’ turned out to be the school hall. Just as I was watching the assembly of over 500 children where the girls were getting shat on for wearing serviettes as skirts, I heard…
Headmistress: …wear what you want on the weekends but not on my time. And now we have a surprise guest! Please all stand and welcome Baglett.
Me: Who?
This was followed by 500 pairs of clapping hands while I was escorted onto a stage the size of a Navy Seal Stealth ship and whispered to ‘Would you mind just giving the students a brief run down of what it is you do’.
F*ck.
Me: Hi you guys
Headmistress: Um, please address them as pupils.
Listen man-dressed-as-woman, you did not give me the heads up here and I’m confronted with 500 teenage angst-ridden, very judgmental kids all staring at me and I have f*ck all clue what to say to them. Had you given me the memo on how to address school assembly, I would have never committed the apparent assembly sin that I just did. Or be here in the first place but that’s beside the point.
Me: Sorry, hi PUPILS. So I wasn’t planning to be standing in front of you today, or tomorrow or anytime really so it goes without saying that I have no idea what to tell you. (Followed by nervous giggle) How about you ask me questions and I’ll answer them, if I can. Or want to.
Really long awkward pause where everyone looked at each other and a general feeling of discomfort, mainly stemming from me, rippled throughout the vast assembly.
What felt like 30 dog years went by until a girl’s hand shot up and the whole school turned to see and hear what this brave young PUPIL had to say.
Girl: Um hi Miss Baglett, um, so, like, um, where did you get your shoes?
And I loved that girl right then more than I loved my shoes. This was followed by a run down on exactly where I got my items of clothing, where I like to shop and the insane price of foundation.
While I’m sure our little chat was not what the school had in mind, I like to think I educated a small percentage of our youth this morning on the importance of a good foundation and that if pretty, no shoe is too small and if you really want an item of clothing, your dad will get it for you.
And while I had the utmost respect for this guy and was completely inspired by his story, and had been interviewing him for over an hour about his lack of arms and how he copes on a day to day basis and in his spare time swims and wins a treasure chest of gold medals, I had a small out-of-body experience as I watched this person who looked like me, talked like me (Jungle Book anyone?) and had great highlights, say goodbye to this Boy Wonder and then… put her hand out to shake his.
WTF was I thinking?
The universe was clearly watching and thought I must be punished immediately. Arriving at my scheduled meeting, the receptionist explained that the teacher I was meeting with was currently in assembly. No problem I answered as I took a seat and started hot teacher spotting. No, no she answered, I will take you there. ‘There’ turned out to be the school hall. Just as I was watching the assembly of over 500 children where the girls were getting shat on for wearing serviettes as skirts, I heard…
Headmistress: …wear what you want on the weekends but not on my time. And now we have a surprise guest! Please all stand and welcome Baglett.
Me: Who?
This was followed by 500 pairs of clapping hands while I was escorted onto a stage the size of a Navy Seal Stealth ship and whispered to ‘Would you mind just giving the students a brief run down of what it is you do’.
F*ck.
Me: Hi you guys
Headmistress: Um, please address them as pupils.
Listen man-dressed-as-woman, you did not give me the heads up here and I’m confronted with 500 teenage angst-ridden, very judgmental kids all staring at me and I have f*ck all clue what to say to them. Had you given me the memo on how to address school assembly, I would have never committed the apparent assembly sin that I just did. Or be here in the first place but that’s beside the point.
Me: Sorry, hi PUPILS. So I wasn’t planning to be standing in front of you today, or tomorrow or anytime really so it goes without saying that I have no idea what to tell you. (Followed by nervous giggle) How about you ask me questions and I’ll answer them, if I can. Or want to.
Really long awkward pause where everyone looked at each other and a general feeling of discomfort, mainly stemming from me, rippled throughout the vast assembly.
What felt like 30 dog years went by until a girl’s hand shot up and the whole school turned to see and hear what this brave young PUPIL had to say.
Girl: Um hi Miss Baglett, um, so, like, um, where did you get your shoes?
And I loved that girl right then more than I loved my shoes. This was followed by a run down on exactly where I got my items of clothing, where I like to shop and the insane price of foundation.
While I’m sure our little chat was not what the school had in mind, I like to think I educated a small percentage of our youth this morning on the importance of a good foundation and that if pretty, no shoe is too small and if you really want an item of clothing, your dad will get it for you.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
DINNER WITH THE CERTIFIABLE
I always feel sorry for new kids on the block. Especially if you’re joining a dinner party of ten Cape Town people. Our reputation for being cliquey is world renowned but speak our language (wine) and we’re your NBFs.
That doesn’t mean to say get hammered before you meet us. If I’m the newbie, getting sh*tfaced before I meet ten people in a very smart restaurant is pretty much a no-no. Getting hammered with ten new people in a very smart restaurant is a friggin must. But on Saturday night this little newbie got it all wrong.
Drunk woman: HI! NICE TO MEET YOU!
Me to Housemate: Why is she shouting?
DW: SO I SAID TO HIM AND HE SAID TO ME AND THEN I SAID TO HIM. F*CK I DROPPED AN OLIVE.
In an attempt to change what I could see was going to be a discussion on olive dropping, I asked her what she did for a living.
DW: OH MY GAAAAWWWD DO YOU THINK THEY WOULD NOTICE IF WE STOLE A BOTTLE OF WINE FROM THE CELLAR?
Me to Housemate: Is that a job?
One swift kick from The Wine Merchant on my right answered my question as a no. As I looked around to see if any of the eight other dinner people were noticing the drunken carnage that was newbie at the head of the table, all eyes were focused on her as she discovered a secret cupboard in the room. It was in fact a passage to the kitchen but drunk newbie thought she was in her own secret garden and was clearly delighted judging from the drunken shrieks that were emanating from behind the wall. The Wine Merchant closed the door behind her which I thought was a bit harsh and when she started bashing the door down, we pulled the cabinet open before she shattered everything in it. She was followed by a really pissed off looking chef who asked us if we could control our friend.
Me: She’s part of a social outreach programme.
Another swift kick came from my right but to be honest if this chick was unaware that her top five buttons were undone and was now staring at the ceiling saying ‘It’s so hiiiiigh’ I doubt she would notice my little chirp.
DW: BUUUUUUUUUUUUUGLETT CAN I HAVE SOME MORE WINE PLEEEEEEEASE.
Me: It’s Baglett. And you poured most of it on your plate. Maybe try decanting.
Me to table: Any chance of shoving her back in the cupboard?
No swift kick from anywhere since all eyes were now on Drunk Woman who now didn’t look so drunk, more mentally challenged. She was now laughing, shouting and pouring her plate into her glass.
While everyone left the dinner horrified, I secretly can’t wait to have dinner with her again. She makes me look so good.
That doesn’t mean to say get hammered before you meet us. If I’m the newbie, getting sh*tfaced before I meet ten people in a very smart restaurant is pretty much a no-no. Getting hammered with ten new people in a very smart restaurant is a friggin must. But on Saturday night this little newbie got it all wrong.
Drunk woman: HI! NICE TO MEET YOU!
Me to Housemate: Why is she shouting?
DW: SO I SAID TO HIM AND HE SAID TO ME AND THEN I SAID TO HIM. F*CK I DROPPED AN OLIVE.
In an attempt to change what I could see was going to be a discussion on olive dropping, I asked her what she did for a living.
DW: OH MY GAAAAWWWD DO YOU THINK THEY WOULD NOTICE IF WE STOLE A BOTTLE OF WINE FROM THE CELLAR?
Me to Housemate: Is that a job?
One swift kick from The Wine Merchant on my right answered my question as a no. As I looked around to see if any of the eight other dinner people were noticing the drunken carnage that was newbie at the head of the table, all eyes were focused on her as she discovered a secret cupboard in the room. It was in fact a passage to the kitchen but drunk newbie thought she was in her own secret garden and was clearly delighted judging from the drunken shrieks that were emanating from behind the wall. The Wine Merchant closed the door behind her which I thought was a bit harsh and when she started bashing the door down, we pulled the cabinet open before she shattered everything in it. She was followed by a really pissed off looking chef who asked us if we could control our friend.
Me: She’s part of a social outreach programme.
Another swift kick came from my right but to be honest if this chick was unaware that her top five buttons were undone and was now staring at the ceiling saying ‘It’s so hiiiiigh’ I doubt she would notice my little chirp.
DW: BUUUUUUUUUUUUUGLETT CAN I HAVE SOME MORE WINE PLEEEEEEEASE.
Me: It’s Baglett. And you poured most of it on your plate. Maybe try decanting.
Me to table: Any chance of shoving her back in the cupboard?
No swift kick from anywhere since all eyes were now on Drunk Woman who now didn’t look so drunk, more mentally challenged. She was now laughing, shouting and pouring her plate into her glass.
While everyone left the dinner horrified, I secretly can’t wait to have dinner with her again. She makes me look so good.
Monday, May 4, 2009
DAD DAMAGE CONTROL
From: Mom
To: Baglett [baglett@gmail.com]
Sent: Mon, 8:53 AM
Baglett, next time Dad calls you anywhere near my birthday, please return his call. That way I might get more than a Woollies pot plant marked down from R49.99 to R29.99.
XXX
Me: You’re in troooooooouble.
Dad: Ya. I kinda got that when I found my present in the dustbin.
Me: What the hell were you thinking getting mom A – a pot plant and B – one on sale and C – leaving the price on.
Dad: I also gave her a card!
Me: That was a Mothers Day card Dad.
Dad: It had a heart on it.
Me: You’re getting her something else right?
Dad: She said she didn’t want anything else.
Me: You’ve been married 400 years and you believe her when she says that?
Dad: Maybe. She’s a complex woman.
Me: Hi Mom. What were you really hoping to get for your birthday?
Mom: Darling, if you’re talking about your father, I don’t want anything.
Me: Dad I’m sending you a list of potential gift ideas for mom.
Dad: Nothing heavy that could be thrown in my direction.
Me: No Dad. We’re talking pampering stuff here to make her forget that her husband is useless.
Dad: Thanks Bag.
To: Baglett [baglett@gmail.com]
Sent: Mon, 8:53 AM
Baglett, next time Dad calls you anywhere near my birthday, please return his call. That way I might get more than a Woollies pot plant marked down from R49.99 to R29.99.
XXX
Me: You’re in troooooooouble.
Dad: Ya. I kinda got that when I found my present in the dustbin.
Me: What the hell were you thinking getting mom A – a pot plant and B – one on sale and C – leaving the price on.
Dad: I also gave her a card!
Me: That was a Mothers Day card Dad.
Dad: It had a heart on it.
Me: You’re getting her something else right?
Dad: She said she didn’t want anything else.
Me: You’ve been married 400 years and you believe her when she says that?
Dad: Maybe. She’s a complex woman.
Me: Hi Mom. What were you really hoping to get for your birthday?
Mom: Darling, if you’re talking about your father, I don’t want anything.
Me: Dad I’m sending you a list of potential gift ideas for mom.
Dad: Nothing heavy that could be thrown in my direction.
Me: No Dad. We’re talking pampering stuff here to make her forget that her husband is useless.
Dad: Thanks Bag.
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