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Bother, Drat and Damn!
9:56 AM, Sunday, 3 December, 2006
The soap opera that comes with being a world-class pink ukulele player continues: I have had a Bad Spot Of Time.
I would normally say bad week, but it has lasted more than a week. Start being sympathetic now.
First of All: When I moved out of my old house at the end of September, my landlord decided that he would refuse to give my bond back. I had been nice (aka stupid) enough to pay the whole of my bond and not bother the other flatmates with it. So now I am short 3618 kinas, which might not be much for some but I AM A VOLUNTEER. He (also known as Evil Devil-Spawn ex-Landlord from the Depths of Hell, EDSELFTDOH) decided that since I had signed a lease for 12 months (incidentally I forgot to sign it, he's lying, I still have the unsigned copies) I was not entitled to have my bond back. In fact, EDSELFTDOH decided that I could either:
a) pay him the six months' rent still owing on the lease and then retreive my bond OR
b) forfeit my bond.
Little did he know that I know the Cutest Little Engan Lawyer On The Planet (CLELOTP, aka Kym) who is going to lawyer his arse.
Second of All: As a lovely pink-ukulele-playing lady volunteer in Port Moresby (capital of the ninth-most-dangerous-country-in-the-world) I am provided with a vehicle with which to get myself from one place to another. Said vehicle had been subject to 'dubious' servicing before my posession of it, from which the brakes never came back quite right... I took it in for a service a week and a half ago, and they took it apart, and said:
"We can't actually legally put this car back together. The brake pads and brake discs are worn through, and the struts are about to fall apart which is why they are clunking so much, and the whole system is about to fall out of the car. If we put it back together we'll be liable for the brakes failing, which they WILL."
So off goes the submission to funding body to get the repairs authorised... Friday passes... Weekend passes... Carolyn has no transport... Monday passes... Tuesday comes and Carolyn chucks a fit and gets repairs authorised. Because it was left so long Carolyn has to wait until the end of the week... Still no car... Should be ready on Monday...
Third of All: Yesterday I was at a hotel in Port Moresby eating chips, and my mobile phone was on the table. Then I went home and my phone wasn't in my bag. Kristen and I had a minor panic and called the hotel, who said it hadn't been found. We sent a text message to my phone, and it was replied with a blank message. We realised that the person who has my phone didn't realise it's one of the snazzy slidey ones so we sent him a message telling him/her to slide it... and they stopped responding to our messages. We sent him/her thousands of messages saying, "bring the phone to the hotel where they are holding a reward at the front desk for you" but they are not responding. The network was down and we couldn't call it... We still can't call it... Others who called it got no answer...
See, the only way that anyone can contact me is on my mobile phone because I don't have a landline coz nobody in Port Moresby has a landline coz the phone company is so crap and useless and coz they cost so much so now nobody can call me in case the world blows up and they want to let me know, or in case I have won a million dollars, or in case they want me to play David Bowie covers on my pink ukulele at their birthday party...
Fourth of All: There's other stuff but this is just geting too complainey so I won't go into that. Most dramatic things have been mentioned.
I miss my little phone and I feel that I am castrated like a little castrated lamb that has had its bum chopped off as well as its testicles. And now the rest of it is about to be chopped up and put on a giant spit and slowly turned over charcoal then put into bread with salad-type-ingredients and garlic sauce and eaten by drunk people. Except that I still have my bum. And I never had testicles.
Please can I have some sympathy? I'm sad and pouting. Lots. Sad. Me. Pouting.
Note to all residents of Port Moresby and the world who have my mobile number: Call it. Several people already have begun tormenting the current possessor of my phone, who hasn't the nouse to turn it off in order to stop being harrassed. So call it, torment them. Text them. Bug them. Make their life hell. Coz they suck crap (not because they're into that kind of thing, which is ok by me as long as they don't want me to join in - it's because they stink and are stupid robbing bastards).
Filed under Crapola
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Comments
Oh my poor little pink-ukulele-playing sister! What else could possibly go wrong?!!!! That totally sucks ass. I hope you're doing some pink-ukulele-kung-fu on people over there.
Posted by: Katia | December 3, 2006 6:01 PM