Sometimes karma is a cheeky bitch (love her)
I’m feeling pretty smug today. Pretty, pretty smug. I feel extra smug cause I got my eyebrows micro-bladed and they look amaze. Other than that, something really intriguing happened at work today. Super intriguing. I found out an interesting bit of information (imagine I’m whispering it when I say information).
To start off, it must be an act of pure divine order that I found out this interesting bit of information this week of all weeks. In case you don’t know (for shame if you don’t) this week marks the 20-year anniversary of Hit Me Baby One More Time by Britney Spears, which happened to fall on the same week of International Pasta day.
What are the odds? In-fucking-credible.
I was six when Hit Me Baby One More Time became a hit. That song changed my actual reality – I mean didn’t it change all of our realities? I remember I was sitting on my living room floor colouring in My Little Pony colouring book while Amal and her friends (who were ten at the time which meant they were practically full-grown women to me) were watching TV. They screamed when the music video everyone was talking about came on and got up to dance.
I pushed passed them and watched the screen . . . there she was, in her school uniform – Britney. I don’t know what it was about that song and that stupid music video but I was hooked.
The pink fluffy things in her hair, dancing in the hallway, sitting in that blue convertible, dancing in the gym with those guys playing basketball… it was all in her head. It was about being bored at school and day dreaming, it was about escape and fantasy . . . aren’t we all just a bunch of sixteen-year-old school girls bored out of our fucking minds with the reality of our lives and daydreaming about the best version of ourselves? OMG that song is deep on so many levels.
Don’t get me wrong. Looking back that music video now, it’s so inappropriate for young girls, but OMG we loved it. I wanted to have my hair like her, to dance like her, to have the same clothes from the music video just like her. I have no idea what is so enigmatic about Britney.
Why Do We Love Britney?
She can’t really sing (unless you consider having great control over vocal frying, singing).
She is a good dancer but she isn’t the best (OMG remember the live performance of Gimme More Live at the MTV VMA’s in 2007 – fucking SCANDALOUS).
She isn’t a great actress (BUT I WON’T HEAR A WORD AGAINST CROSSWORDS).
She isn’t the most articulate person (throwback to her interview with Diane Sawyer in 2003 when she cried – I just wanted to hug her).
She hasn’t had the most stable personal life (Flash back to 2007 when she shaved her head and starting beating up a car with that umbrella)
Yet despite all of that there was something there, something we all wanted more of –Britney is a fucking survivor. I, we all, wanted to be friends with Britney and BE Britney.
Amal recorded the music video on tape and for the next hour we would rewind it, sing along and learn the dance routine. Then Bibi walked in from the kitchen and found us shimmying our non-existent tities and singing about our loneliness. Bibi fucking lost it.
‘What is this? Why are you dancing like belly dancers?! Why is she dancing like this. Stop this now – you are not whores!’
Watching Bibi attempting to stop the tape with the remote control (I should say that she’s technologically challenged) but accidently rewinding it over and over again to Britney shimmying was the funniest and scariest thing that ever happened in our childhood.
I’d say the best thing about my job is that no one can see what’s on my computer screen.
Back to the interesting bit of information that I discovered today. I was at the office not expecting much to happen. I was celebrating the 20-year anniversary of Hit Me Baby One More Time and International Pasta Day (of course I celebrated) by eating a large bowl of pasta linguine in white sauce with parsley and mushrooms, for lunch while watching the music video (along with every song Britney has done since then).
My phone kept beeping. Lara and Dania were trying to organise our upcoming weekend of partying but I was too busy watching Britney to check it. I had just completed my morning routine and checked my emails and since there was nothing urgent (well, anything that I thought was urgent) to do, I decided to have my lunch early. I was really enjoying myself actually and I think I deserved it since I had such a shitty birthday a few days ago.
Thankfully, in the trainee open plan office there are only five of us and my workstation is in the corner so you have to walk around me to be behind me to see what’s on my screen. I’d say the best thing about my job is that no one can see what’s on my computer screen. If they could, I don’t know how I would ever be able to complete my morning routine.
My Morning Routine:
As soon as I get into the office every morning, I make myself a tea (green tea with mint and honey) sit at my desk, open my Outlook, let my emails accumulate and then open up my internet browser and check some very important news websites so I’m updated with what’s happening around the world.
Important news websites I live by:
Wendy Williams Hot Topics on YouTube
The View Hot Topics on YouTube
Loose Women on YouTube
Chrissy Teigen’s Twitter feed (love you bitch)
While I catch up on what I’ve missed from the world of pop culture (and some surface discussions on American politics, which really is like watching a reality show) I take my rings off and moisturise my hands. I have this amazing coconut hand moisturize that’s always in my desk next to my biscuits that I use.
Once I’m all news’d up with the days current events and I’ve almost finished my tea and notice that everyone is working away and I have nothing else I can distract myself with, I start going through emails. I can’t really start my day until I’ve done my morning routine. It’s a must for me to be any form of functional.
The trainee office was empty. Everyone was at meetings except for me. Maybe I was supposed to be at a meeting but I forgot about it? Who cares. While going through a super boring document for one of the senior associates and listening to You Drive Me Crazy, Barbara Rainbow bug walked in and sat at her desk. She let out a frustrated HMPH! sound and clicked her mouse.
Barbara Rainbow bug didn’t look happy. Actually, she never looks happy.
Barbara aka Rainbow Bug
I don’t know WTF she does in the office. I think she’s in charge of stationary, shared lunch on Thursdays, the mailroom stuff, making sure the tearoom is fully stocked and ordering the cleaners around. Just a bunch of shit no one notices but is imperative in the running of an office.
Despite her non-job she has a computer that’s the most advanced computer in existence that she never knows how to use. She’s always calling the IT department to tell them the ‘The computer is broken again’ when she just accidentally double clicked something.
Girl has got an attitude. She stomps around the office looking really important and busy, like she’s on a mission from Jesus himself. Then she’ll sit at her desk and mumble under her breath about how incompetent everyone is. I respect her for it.
Barbara Rainbow Bug is super short (I’d say about 4’11) and petite and wrinkly and super fucking tanned in an orange way. He hair is short, curly and dyed bleach blond. She looks like a sphynx cat (those cats with no fur). She wears a lot of gold (a ring on each finger and three bracelets on each arm).
She reeks of this perfume called Panache. It’s a perfume that every old lady in the world owns. I think it’s the Flower Bomb (by Viktor and Rolf) for seventy plus women. It was always sold out in mum’s pharmacy and I would see herds of old women spraying it on themselves and sniffing when I used to help mum out in the weekends. It smells like old curtains mixed with dying flowers and mustard.
At the start of the week she likes to tell us how she spent her weekend. It’s the same bloody weekend repeating itself since the beginning of time. She and husband (Allan who’s in the air conditioning business) spend it at the pool tanning with their best friends Keith (Allan’s partner) and Sue (her best friend).
I met Allan once when he came to a work function. I’d say he’s about 6’4. He has a huge belly. I have no idea how they have sex. It’s all I could think about when he was telling me about his air conditioning business. Gross.
She’s a builder’s daughter. I know this because she feels the need to tell us this non-fact all the time. Whenever she sees something being built around the city, she goes into a full-on rant about why it’s a terrible idea ‘it’s not going to work, I know, I’m a builder’s daughter.’
OMG. Her desk is super clean and empty it smells like glass cleaner. She has nothing on it except for two photos. One of Princess Diana and one of Jackie Kennedy.
If it hasn’t been glaringly obvious, Barbara Rainbow Bug is an absolute bitch to everyone. She doesn’t do it on purpose. She’s just one of those bitter old ladies. She either is always in a really sour mood or just appears to be in a sour mood because of the most intense resting bitch face I’ve ever come across.
When she talks, her voice, is loud, high pitched, croaky and winey all the same time. Amazing right? I’m kind of scared of her but also think that Allan needs to stop fiddling with air conditioners and fiddle with her a little bit more. Gross.
I have never (to date) seen her wear the same things twice – not even a top. That’s not to say that she’s an amazing dresser. Imagine if Patricia Field (the lady who styled all the Sex and the City women) had a baby with all the Teletubbies. Basically, full suits, skirts, jeans and jacket of every imaginable colour in their most extreme hue. Cannery yellow, lime green, electric blue, blood orange – she even matches her shoes and earrings.
She has a thing for huge glasses. I’ve counted a dozen pairs so far, all different styles and colours, but all too big for her face. They are those type of glasses that turn to sunglasses when it gets sunny. Since we are on the twenty-second floor, it’s always bright so you never really see her eyes. The glasses are always connected to long gold chain that rattles when she walks.
In case you haven’t figured it out yet, because the last two reasons the name Barbara Rainbow Bug sort of just rolled out of my sub conscious.
Barbara Rainbow Bug looked more annoyed than usual today and after a minute of silence she slammed her mouse against the table.
‘Everything OK Barbara?’ I asked.
She didn’t say anything else. There was two minutes of silence while she stared at her computer screen.
I wasn’t expecting a thank you from her but I did get one. Not a traditional thank you anyway. It was a Barbara Rainbow Bug thank you.
‘Anything I can help with?’ I asked, to be nice cause I’m annoying like that.
‘The copier is broke,’ she said, ‘doubt you’re qualified to fix it.’
Ignore the insult and still be nice.
‘What’s wrong with it? It was working fine yesterday.’
Another minute of silence. A full minute of her just staring at the computer screen before she talked.
‘It’s my brother’s birthday. I made him a lovely collage,’ she said slamming her hand on a piece of paper on her desk.
I got up to have a look at it. I don’t know what constitutes as a ‘lovely collage’ but this was just an a4 sized piece of green paper with four black and white photos of two little kids. The photos looked like they were from the Victorian era with the two kids dressed up in weird clothes and looking angry in a weird studio settings. In the middle of the photos on the paper were the words:
‘Happy Birthday Andrew, your loving sister Barbara’.
‘That’s us when we were little.’
‘How cute,’ I lied and added ‘awww’ so she wouldn’t suspect I was lying.
‘I spent all evening yesterday making that for him and I was going to scan it into the copier and email it to him today, on his birthday. He lives in Scotland with his terrible wife. But the copier is broken, can’t do it now can I?’
‘Why don’t you take a photo of it on your phone and send it to him on WhatsApp?’
‘What are you talking about? How do I do that?’
Barbara Rainbow Bug pulled out her phone. It was the most preserved looking flip phone from 2005 that I’ve ever seen. I almost fainted.
‘I don’t think it would work on that phone . . . let’s go have a look at the copier I’m sure we can fix it.’
Barbara Rainbow Bug was hesitant at first but got up and followed me to the photocopy room. I don’t think many people tolerate her shit. Everyone in the office has said that she’s pretty ungrateful and it’s better to ignore her. I can’t really ignore people when they haven’t done anything to me especially when they are dressed, like she is today, in a bright green suit that has crocheted flowers all over it. Also, I felt sorry for her. It’s her brother’s birthday and she worked hard on that ugly ass collage for him where they look like zombie children.
So, the copier wasn’t broken. It’s just an ancient, giant piece of shit with a small screen that isn’t a touch screen. It took me about ten minutes to figure out how to scan something and email it. Of course, the scanning process was taking like forever. Well, fifteen minutes, but in the super cramped photocopy room with Barbara Rainbow Bug fifteen minutes feel like for-fucking-ever.
I wasn’t expecting a thank you from her but I did get one. Not a traditional thank you anyway. It was a Barbara Rainbow Bug thank you.
‘Aren’t you tech savvy? They should definitely keep you when the place goes under.’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t have said anything, not really my secret to tell really . . . but I heard them in the meeting room last week, the partners talking about closing the Dubai office if the Grogary case doesn’t go well. Or at least downsize the office to half the staff. I’m not worried about my job though, they’ll always need me around.’
The Grogary case is this shit fest of a case that got thrown at us when the Grogary family fired their old lawyers and came to us. They are some huge family that are wanting to sell all these oil rigs and shares of their construction company that they own but there are all these complications with how it’s been handled. I also heard that the whole family (half of which are made up of lawyers) are all fighting and getting in the way of the work getting done by deadline. It’s a big case with a lot of money and bonuses at stake.
‘What do you mean if it doesn’t go well? We’ve already taken the case on,’ I said.
‘We are on a three-month probation with that family. High flyers they are. They’ll drop us like a wet fish if they don’t like what’s happening. Then we’ll be in real trouble. Law firm is in a fair bit of debt. Shouldn’t have told you that. But you won’t tell anyone will you? Poor David though. He’s lovely. Doesn’t deserve it.’
David is D4. The asshole who made me cry. The asshole who wants to fire me. I ignored her lovely comment because, it pretty obvious that Barbara is a pretty shitty judge of people as she is with perfume scents, clothes and how long you should spend out in the sun.
‘David?’ I asked super casually like I didn’t know who he was.
‘It’s his case. He convinced the firm to take it on and promised that he’ll get results. But from what I heard it’s not going well. He’s lovely boy. I met his fiancée at the Christmas do last year, really stunning girl. She’s a Grogary, that’s how he got the case. Penelope Grogary – stunning girl.’
‘Oh OK . . . I think the scanning’s done. It will be in your email now. So you can email it to your brother.’
‘That’s great. Now, you won’t tell anyone what I told you, will you?’
‘I won’t,’ I said already imagining myself telling Lara, Dania and Ahmed when I see them next.
‘They are keeping a close eye on everyone to see who they can fire if things don’t turn out well. If I were you, I’d work really hard and volunteer to work on the Gregory case. They can’t fire you if you help them with that surely.’
Isn’t that an interesting bit of information? Insider knowledge is so…good.
D4’s ass is on the line with the firm and his fiancée’s family. (He’s engaged? Gross.)
The firm might close down.
The Grogary case is not fully ours and there is a chance I could save my job.
That’s the question of the moment . . . do I really want to save my job or not?