JadedLotus

Some of you have been wondering what, why, where now?
Yes, it seems to happen each year.
What, i never said i was perfect.

  (Far from it.  Hah!)
In case anyone is interested, i ve been instead.

My colleague, R., has been on holiday this week.  We ve had a temp in her place.

  For my sanity, i have a very low level of expectation where temps are concerned, because most of the temps i ve ever met are absolute shite.  Before anyone gets mad at my harsh criticism of temps, i would like to state that i was a temp once.  1998, London.

  After two weeks, i was offered a permanent position.  It was a combination of being in the right place at the right time, and working my arse off.  I rolled up my sleeves, got my hands dirty, turned up early, missed lunch a few times, left late, didn t shirk my temporary responsibilities.

  Even now when i book temps i wonder why they aren t all like that.  Perhaps i m just a freak of temping nature.  Whatever.

  I know that i can be quite intense and that i only see things in black-and-white, i.e. if you are going to do a job you may as well do it properly, otherwise why bother turning up?

  That said, not everyone s notion of doing something properly matches my notion.  I suppose that would be my problem.  I try to moderate my tough attitude, and that means i lower my expectations.

Back, to the temp we ve had for R. this week.  Last week, when the temp agency called to confirm her placement, i was informed that the temp would be late on Monday because her boyfriend had booked them a trip to Melbourne for the weekend, and she was only arriving in Sydney at about 10:00, so she wouldn t be at her desk until 11:00 or after.

  Not ideal, i said, but fine.  On Monday, a call from the temp agent.  She thinks she may have come down with tonsillitis.

  She s going to the doctor, she may be contagious.   My initial thought was that she had a big weekend, and she just wanted a day off.  But i said nothing.

  The temp agent, in the meantime, lined up a replacement temp.  Not ideal either because she would be coming in sans handover.  But i said nothing.

  Waited for the diagnosis.  Mid-afternoon, the word came back from the temp agency: she doesn t have tonsillitis, just a bad sore throat, she ll be in tomorrow.  Hurrah (she, not me).

 
Tuesday passed without incident.  The temp was, admittedly, croaky.  But besides that she was fine.

Then yesterday, at 8:37, my  phone rang -just as i was wondering where she was- it was her.  I ve stabbed myself in the hand with a kitchen knife.  I need to go to the hospital.

  I ll be in as soon as they ve patched me up.   I must say, that was a new one.  Who in their right mind would self-harm to get an hour to themselves?

  Come, come, i understand temping isn t for everyone, maybe she wasn t enjoying her time with us, but she d only been there one day.  And she only had to last until Friday.  Was that too much?

  But i said nothing.  Wished her well and See you soon .
She arrived mid-morning.

  Hand bandaged, left one.  Seems she had been trying to remove the stone from an avocado that morning and she d missed and stabbed herself instead.  I know i m not a cook or anything, but isn t that dangerous?

  Pointing the tip of a sharp blade into oneself that way?  I always make like i m cutting the avo seed, i don t know if there s a prescribed, recommended, way of destoning an avocado, but to my mind my method doesn t involve as much force.  I mean, i always wield the knife in a feeble manner specifically for that action.

  Call me a wimp, i can take it.
In fairness, she worked.  She didn t once complain about the pain.

  She even typed, in a half-handed sort of way.  The temp had to go out for a scan on the hand later that day.  Diagnosis was a severed tendon.

 
I know she will need to get the tendon sorted, but if she schedules her surgery for Friday i don t know if i will be able to contain myself.  The next time i book a temp, i will be sending a pre-assignment contract to the candidate with a clause that she should refrain from potentially harmful activities during the period of her tenure with us.  I know that s quite a lot to ask, i mean, it includes seemingly benign activities like crossing the road, going for a jog, vaccumming one s living room.

  I ll make it easy for her.  I ll convert one of the spare offices into a bedroom - the temp can stay there for the period of her assignment with us.  Surely that s fair.

The Hub and i attended a wedding out in Burwood, in Sydney s inner west, yesterday.  Being the inner city urchin that i am, heading out to Burwood was a new experience.  The last time i d ventured beyond the inner city limits was last when i went to Hurstville for on a work-related shopping trip.

  The drive to Burwood took us past Annandale, Haberfield, and Ashfield along the Parramatta Road.  It seemed like a great distance to me -me with my no more than half-an-hour from A to B! rule- but then again, loads of people make the journey from Monday to Friday from the outer reaches of Sydney to the City for work, and it was really no different from the journey i used to make from East Dulwich to Central London just over two years ago (for several years).

  Post-London, i seem to have developed an aversion to the notion of commuting is all; i am content to dwell in the inner city for now. 
The groom was a chef at one of the three bar/restaurants under the Hub s charge.  I d met him once in passing; i d never met the bride.

  It s sort of a strange feeling attending a wedding in which one is a mere observer, i mean, where one has neither day-to-day nor emotional connection with the parties involved.  I wasn t keen on attending, i must admit, and suggested more than once that perhaps the Hub should attend the event solo.  The wedding service, scheduled for 2pm, was held at an Anglican church, just past the train tracks.

  The bride was about 30 minutes late but the groom seemed unperturbed.  In the high-20s temperature, guests fanned themselves using the wedding program booklets.  But once the bride and her wedding party (four groomsmen, four bridesmaids, and one flower girl) had arrived, the service commenced at a jaunty pace.

   
During the service, i found myself trying to remember the last Anglican wedding i d attended.  I reckon it would ve been at least five years ago, somewhere in England s beautiful and historic York.  I tried to recall if the service then had been the same as this one - did they get the wedding vows out of the way right at the start, like they did this one?

  I couldn t remember.  See, it s different when one knows the marrying parties, one doesn t notice the order of service, one focuses on the people more.  Here i found myself contemplating the differences between Anglican and Roman Catholic services - the latter being far more scripted, ritualistic and formal; how the priest seems more distant in a Roman Catholic church; how much more ceremonious the RC package is.

  God (hah!), i was relieved i hadn t gotten married in a church.  None of it means anything to me anymore, and hasn t done for almost two decades.

The Hub and i got married almost ten years ago beside the beach in Jamaica.  There was just the two of us, and the Best Man (who also doubled as a photographer).  As i tripped -barefoot- across the lawn towards the flower-covered gazebo, and the Hub in his jangly multicoloured shirt, three little old Jamaican gentlemen followed closely behind, strumming and singing a Bob Marley tune.

  I remember thinking at the time, Why are they following me?  Don t they know i m about to get wed?   Unbeknownst to me, the Hub had arranged for them to accompany me the day prior.

  The Hub grinned, as did the Reverend and the Best Man. 
Our wedding service was short and sweet and unreligious, despite the presence of the Reverend.  I sometimes wonder if i would ve done the same now as i had then; in truth, i think perhaps not.

  Oh, i don t regret having gotten married by the beach in a stringy-strapped short white dress, without a veil much less shoes, but i do wish my friends had been there.  True, we had two receptions afterwards, one in York with the Hub s folks, and one in Perth with my family, and it was all wonderful.  (Admittedly, i didn t eat a single thing at the York reception -my priorities were different then- and there was a fight at the end which saw the Hub s brother and his friend crashing into a window.

) Even now, the Bestie bemoans the fact that he was never present when we got married, and i do feel sorry for that. 
That aside, yesterday finally ended at about 11pm, when we got home after the dinner reception.  The good thing about not really knowing the newlyweds is the you get to leave early without feeling guilty.

  As soon as the speeches were over and the bride and groom had had the first dance, we were out of there.