“You’re a good boy..”

Monday, 31st May 2021

2:26 PM

I’ve given Foxy supervisor this diary to read: for better or worse.

Yeah, that’s you.

Our primary protagonist for next months post/diary/entry.

Right before leaving this afternoon, I stopped by one of the new blonde chicks rooms since she was still going – told her “It’ll get much, MUCH easier.”

I cannot remember the entire dialog, but basically she’s doing the same things I did the first week or two: checking everything a dozen times then re-checking them again to be sure, stressing out, going to the cupboard for something then – since her mind’s doubtless racing with all the shit she’s gotta do – forgetting why she went there in the first place – back and forth and back and forth.

“All that checking and re-checking wastes a lot of time too, then you panic because you’ve wasted so much time checking and re-checking everything so much.”


“After a few weeks most of it becomes automatic and you’ll no longer feel the need to re-check: you’ll just associate whatever you’re doing with whatever you need from the cupboard and do it without thinking about it”

I asked then if she was on her last room and she tells me she is, but there were two occupied rooms with a DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging on the handles, ‘I should go back and check again to see whether they want room service now or not.’

“No: If they’ve hung DND on their door, they don’t want their room done today – just cross them off your list and forget about ’em.”

‘That’s good! :)’

“Yeah, no need to keep checking.”

Anyway, next thing I know I’m in the hallway outside Amanda’s office, on the fence about giving her the the site’s URL.

I was torn for a whole ten minutes – pacing back and forth in the hallway trying to decide – before figuring why the fuck not: any time I’ve started writing about any social situation I’ve always given the diary to someone – often multiple people – who’re there, in the place every day with me: they know the social dynamic and personalities I’m writing about better than people ‘outside’ ever could.

Maybe she won’t read at all, or read until she gets to the first colourfully worded paragraph, think I’m an arsehole and stop: it’s always a gamble – you’re giving someone an open window into your brain, which can backfire if the person lacks a sense of humour, though I’ve always managed to pick the kind of people in the past who will read and not take it seriously or get offended or pissy.

I don’t think Amanda’s that sensitive or politically correct that anything I write will offend her.

I should’ve told her to wait until tomorrow to start reading, though since I’m starting a brand new post tomorrow for the brand new month, which will allow her to follow it from the start, instead of having 15,000 words to flick through.

I only decided to start writing about the hotel halfway through this month too, so I haven’t set-out to write tight, well worded entries over the last few weeks – next month will be a lot more eloquent.

Sunday, 30th May 2021

5:24 PM

I’m home, but have just been looking through the rainforest posts – thinking again about getting out the little compact camera I have still with all those photos and uploading the missing ones.. but, yeah there’s so many of them..

I could upload just the good ones for each post and I could also edit the text – smooth it out some: those posts were written in 2015, and my level of writing prowess has increased exponentially since then, which means I could very easily make those posts much better – reading them triggers the memories so there’s no problem there, though anything I cannot clearly recall I could just leave as is..

I asked Amanda today about that day she yelled at one of her cleaners.

That was a short time after my arriving and going in to grab my board, seeing one the new chicks there and asking whether she had her name printed on her board or hand-written, then telling Amanda, “Like how it took 6 weeks before you finally added me into the computer.”

‘Mmmmmm’, she opined, ‘I didn’t know if I liked you enough to add you to the computer..’

“Yeah, you LOVE me :)”

She does too – as do most the chicks who comprise my co-workers.

I then left but returned a moment later just in time to see her pulling an ice-cream out it’s packet: being already half-melted the stick just slid right out the ice-cream itself (Aw), I’ve commented before putting a roll of Cadbury chocolate on her desk, “You like it – go nuts.”

I have no idea who left this chocolate for me but yesterday afternoon – after looking everywhere for my blue bucket in the cleaners room before just grabbing another one – I’m cleaning my final room or two when Marina comes up and gives me my bucket, telling me I’d left it on the top floor the other day when I was up there.

‘Your chocolate’s still there!’, she added and I’ve looked in and seen the little roll of Cadbury’s Snack before telling her I had no idea how that got in there, “I didn’t even do any occupied rooms when I was up there: didn’t so much as see a single guest while I was there”

Marina said that was strange, before I informed her “I would not lower myself to Cadbury: I’m a grown adult, if I am gunna eat chocolate it’s gotta be better than kids shit.”

‘Lyndt?’, she’s asked me.

“Yeah.. or Whittaker’s: Whittaker’s is alright”

Anyway this bucket of mine came back to me with mystery chocolate of unknown origin, which I told Amanda also I wouldn’t punish my tastebuds by eating and since she seemed to think Cadbury is edible, I gave it to her.

Yeah, side-tracked again..

So Amanda insisted she didn’t yell at anyone and told me this chick just rocked-up to work a full half hour late then immediately demands to go outside for a smoke: Amanda had told her ‘You’ve only got a few rooms: get them done and you can go have one.’, triggering this chick to instantly lose her shit and throw her clipboard at our little queen.

I don’t know whether that’s really how it went down: sounds like very little provocation for physically hurling something at someone – especially in a workplace – and though I hmm: I think either (a) chick was a local nutcase who was already a violence-inclined psycho who targeted our Amanda, or (b) our Amanda left something out of her retelling of events.

I told her I wish I’d been there for it – that I’m not adverse to a bit of drama to liven-up the day.

I didn’t tell her, but should have that I wouldn’t care at all if she had yelled at this chick since I have zero investment in the bitch who threw the clipboard while I am at least somewhat invested in Amanda, so even if she had screamed at the angry cleaner I wouldn’t be concerned or think anything of it.

I also did tell her what I told Lynette yesterday..

“I wouldn’t care if you did scream at me. I’ve had women screaming at me all my life – I’d just hate your guts until..”

‘.. Until you were over me?’

“Yeah – give you fillthy looks until then.”


“Next morning we’d be all fine and I’d probably leave fruit on your desk again.”

True too – she’s too, too likable to stay angry at and wears her mood on her face.

Except to guests: even *I* am well experienced now at projecting the happy-warm-welcoming vibe to guests.

Gotta wash my shirt and boxers and socks so they can be hung to dry, then wash myself, then get my potatoes and carrots on..

Speaking of which: since I was running low on cheese and couldn’t have the usual mountain of it over my vegetables tonight, I made a white sauce but this time, I swapped the milk out with powdered milk added to the water the potatoes and carrots were boiled-up in – with fresh ground pepper…

Turned out fucking lovely, and all the vitamins I boiled-out cooking the veges have been added back onto them as sauce – sauce with more flavour inherently than standard white sauce has ’cause it’s vegetable stock, basically.

A creamy pepper vegetable sauce.

Saturday, 29th May 2021

3:59 PM

Policy, is that guests who simply leave their towels and shit all over the wet floor- so they don’t have a chance to dry out – get new towels or whatever is on the floor and wet, while guests civilized enough to hang them to dry don’t get anything and have to use their existing towels.

This is patently unfair of course, so any occupied rooms I do with guests who bother to hang their crap to dry I give new towels, hand towels and floor mats in the bathroom plus an additional set stacked on their bed after I’ve made it and in this arrangement, which has taken me some amount of fucking around to finally settle on..

There’s an infinite number of ways a person can arrange those little shampoos and shit, so I’ll probably find a way I like better eventually, though currently that’s how I do it and – like a little signature – each cleaner arranges them however they feel like it, which isn’t an overt thing or whatever – just something I’ve noticed.

Personally – and Lynette for one agrees with me here: anyone (dumb enough to be) paying $300 per night for a room should be getting clean everything, every day but I would think the cleaners who grovel around in Laundry complained at some point about all the extra towels they were having to wash, and the owners (being cheap to the last cent) agreed with this policy because it’s less washing powder, less dryer electricity or whatever but Laundry is full of lazy fucks who are happy to stand there all day in a fluorescent-lit room doing nothing but fold shit – all day long.

People actually *want* to do Laundry *because* it’s so much easier than the real work going on above them and kiss Amanda’s arse to get days down there: this morning going in I actually saw one chick going in the Laundry with cakes she’d brought for Tony – the old guy who seems to be the head of Laundry staff.

Grow a backbone bitch, seriously: she’s so obvious with the arse licking too, it’s so desperate and ugly – simply to try and do as little work as possible.

People who like being in the Laundry tell me when I ask why they’re all stepping on each other to be down there, that it’s ‘Just more chilled out’, which I’m sure it is: no pressure to have anything done by check-in, barely any movement required other than with your arms and just a constant intake of washing that only has to be done whenever it’s done, Laundry is the lazy arseholes’ choice of cleaning duties and it’s for that reason I’ve repeatedly told Amanda I never want to be rostered for Laundry – even threatening to quit if she puts me down there and always referring to it either as ‘fat chick shit’, ‘grandma work’ or ‘the bingo club’.

Not that Laundry staff are all oldies, there’s only two regular oldies down there and I like both of them, but anytime I walk past or go in to drop off some dirty rags on the way out the door after a shift, I see people just standing there folding, and folding, and folding, fuck it would drive me mental – I can’t see any job satisfaction in it, at all: like being a factory worker who only sits there doing the same thing, all day long.

I know I need Laundry to wash and dry and fold my sheets and towels, but what the fuck – I don’t have to respect the kind of people who’ll suck dick all day long to avoid doing any work.

Foxy supervisor was rostered off today and the old duck – Lynette – was our supervision for the day: this happens twice a week when the cuter, foxier regular has her two RDOs.

Lynette’s awesome: I don’t even know how old she is and she’s obviously had throat cancer or something like that because she’s got one those croaky-sounding valves in her throat which means anytime I’m talking to her I’ve gotta take my earphone(s) out completely then lean in close to hear her, but she just loves me, and I don’t mind – I automatically turn off my music now when I see her coming up the hallway towards me and much like the Foxy young regular she’s filling in for, Lynette will come down and get me to go up and change a light bulb in a lamp for her – telling me she needs a man.

The first time she’s got me for this I was confused, like why the fuck has this old woman come down and interrupted me in the middle of doing the much more important and demanding work of cleaning check-ins, to change a goddamn light-bulb?

What the fuck – it’s not even like she can’t reach – these are bedside lamps just fucking screw a new one in!

Then, I realized this was the same kind of thing my grandmother would do: have whichever male is in the house at the time get up on a chair to change roof light bulbs and I never understood really why my she wouldn’t just do it herself, but nobody ever really minded doing it and if you refused you would get the ‘some man you are’ look, so it was always easier to just do it.

Turns out, it’s just an old-fashioned ‘man job’ that some women take more seriously than others – no more or less complicated than that.

Same with Lynette, so if she comes to get me to come and change a light-bulb now I just do it.

Also, given how much faster I am now and how my efficiency is continually increasing (after eight 30 minute check-ins yesterday – one-after-another with no time to even stop for a piss – I literally did not brake a sweat once all day) I can afford to take ten minutes here and there to wander off with Lynette and do the gentlemanly thing now and it gives me a break from continual doing rooms, so I’m perfectly happy to drop what I’m doing and go help with whatever random task she’s got for me to do.

Wait: autosave is fucking doing it’s shit every 10 seconds – it’s actually slowing the editor down to the point of pissing me off I need to go disable it..

Anyway, I had cut myself somehow this morning while doing – can’t remember what – and though I don’t even remember doing it and it wasn’t painful in the slightest, it was a real pain in the arse: every time I’d go to touch a sheet or towel or anything, I’d have to touch my finger on my shirt to get rid of the spot of blood, which kept the cut open and bleeding, and I’ve gone on trying to clean and make beds etcetera for about an hour – at a MUCH slower rate – when I finally went looking for Lynette to ask if we’ve got a first-aid box or something, because I need a bandaid – this little cut is pissing me off and slowing me right down and I’ve already had to re-make one bed because of a TINY spot of blood..

She looked in the office upstairs – they have a first-aid box – but there weren’t any band-aids left, so we’ve both gone down to the front office behind the reception desk and asked the manager, who instantly pulls a bandaid out his top shirt pocket, then tells me to have another one and asks if I did it here.

I told him yeah but it’s only because it’s making beds hard with the constant little spots of blood, that I don’t care about the cut itself it’s fine – it’s just slowing me down; working with one hand.

Lynette and I walk out to go upstairs and we both agree that was weird – how he’s just happened to have band-aids in his shirt pocket like that – but then also agreed he either has a cut himself or is used to kitchen staff asking for band-aids, “Why else would a person have band-aids in their shirt pocket right?”

Back upstairs outside the elevator I’m about to go back to my rooms, when Lynette asks ‘Have you ever been yelled at? In the workplace?

I tell her no, “Don’t think so” and think back to Mohammad getting pissy at me on the phone after I refused to do anything but belittle that cocksucker Kevin when I was filling in for Ray at Katoomba TAFE and how he was almost shouting down the phone at me, “Nah, not really.”

I ask “Why? Have you?”, whereby she shakes her head, then presses the button on her neck (like a push-to-talk walkie-talkie deal) and says, ‘Other people have though. Here.’


She nods at me.

Since we’d just been down to the front office and got these band-aids off the manager I assume she’s talking about him and ask “Him?” as I motion back over my shoulder down the stairs from where we just came.

She shakes her head adamantly, then leans a bit closer, ‘Amanda.’

“Amanda YELLED at someone?”, then instantly thought about that first weekend when a wedding was suddenly requiring another half dozen rooms, seeing Foxy Supervisor getting SO frustrated with how slow I was going she looked like she was *right on the edge* of screaming at me, but held it back – even though you could see she was getting super shitty.

Wasn’t my fault at all either: I’d literally been there one week, had only just started doing rooms on my own and each room was taking around an hour noshit, when Amanda comes up the hall towards me looking flustered and tells me we need another three rooms done – by one o’clock: a full hour before check-in time.

I remember looking at my watch and telling her, “That’s less than an hour! THREE ROOMS, you’re off your head – it’s not possible.”

Unsure whether I’d even finish the remaining two rooms on my board before check-in at that point, here’s this bitch telling me to do three more rooms on top of two I already have left and do em a full hour before check-in: mathematically, that would make every one of them a twelve minute room and they’ve all got separate bathrooms down the end of the hall, so really, 6 minutes for the room and 6 minutes for the bathroom – that’s how long you’d have to completely clean each.

I didn’t know then, but there’s nobody in the cleaning staff who could’ve had those rooms guest-ready in 12 minutes – not even the 10 year veteran chicks who’re stupid-fast – so there’s me sweating like a pig stressing out thinking I’m a failure because I couldn’t do what she wanted.

Anyway, Foxy supervisor and three of us all co-ordinated and the rooms got done by 1:00PM, but Amanda had the nerve to snark at me about other cleaners having to ‘help’ me when she’d already got me wound-up to the point I was millimeters away from telling her “Fuck you and fuck your job!” and if she had said just one more fucking thing..

Just one more remark woman..

But I bit my tongue, she contained her snark, we got all the rooms done in time and everyone relaxed again – you could FEEL the tension in the air dissipate as soon as those rooms were done and though I was still fucked-off at her the rest of the day, the next morning it was like nothing happened at all.

Even gave her fresh fruit, and she was all smiles and sweetness again.

“Yeah” I tell Lynette – still standing by the elevator, “I could see her yelling at someone actually: she’s pretty feisty.”

Lynette nods at me again.

“She hasn’t yelled at me, but I wouldn’t care if she did: she’s so likable and I’ve already seen her bitchy side, but that’s just HER and she’s so tiny.. I might get annoyed while she’s losing her shit at me, but I’d just hate her guts until I’d calmed down, then forget about it.”

Which has already happened and though neither Amanda or myself have even raised our voices at one another, we’ve both got plenty snarky and dark towards each other – it’s bonded us as co-workers, if anything.

I got distracted.

So Lynette’s telling me how Amanda has yelled at some cleaner and aparently this cleaner got shitty enough to throw their board at Amanda and everything: imagine how drama like that would’ve spiced-up an otherwise average day huh πŸ™‚

She was telling me the Heritage sucks because the bitch who manages housekeeping genuinely is a piece of shit, when I’ve told Lynette – clarified – that I never actually wanted to go work at the Heritage and the main reason for applying was to use Amanda as reference and since I’d know they’re looking for staff I also knew they’d call her – which they did – and all that was meant to do was to let Amanda know there’s lots of hotels around who would love a cleaner like me.

That’s where we were, before I got distracted by the overview of the laundry and whatever else.

Bear in mind, I’ve been up and cooked dinner then sat down and typed some more, then up to go get showered and shaved and back here to add a bit more: so while it looks like I’ve been randomly leeping from one topic to another, that’s only because my thought process has continued while I’m away, so each time I sit down I’ll veer on to another aspect of what I’m thinking about – for context.

I continued telling her I’m happy here and I’m happy with the 30-35 hours a week I’ve been getting but that if these new cleaners are going to start eating away at my hours, which was when Lynette shook her head vehemently then leaned in again and told me, ‘Amanda will take care of you, stop worrying.’

The intonation in how she said it dissipated whatever concern I might’ve had: like all she was missing was the wink-wink-nudge-nudge to convey special treatment, which is what I’ve always had and always expected to have, because I am excellent value across the board, because I am no ordinary human-being.

Tomorrow, I’ll tell Amanda – little queen of the hive – that as long as she keeps my hours fat and healthy, I am all hers – seven days a week if she needs me.

I gotta go to bed though, it’s nine thirty.

Friday, 28th May 2021

4:00 PM

Foxy supervisor has fucked me somehow: after walking in the Heritage yesterday all dressed for work, making a point of scribbling-out the whole front page of ‘commercial cleaner experience’ then telling the front desk dood, “We’ll just forget about all that – I’m a cleaner at the Carrington is all that matters” then writing that on the top of the front page of my resume and telling them the house-keeping supervisor is Amanda and she’s on today so just call her for a reference, their manager was ringing me within 15 minutes of my leaving right.

On the phone, he’s asking whether I can do three days a week and they were peachy keen to get me in there for an interview ASAP.

Then they ring Amanda and what do you know: I hear nothing more from them hrm..

How strange right? πŸ™‚

I asked her this afternoon, “What did you tell ’em when they rang? I been just *dying* to know :)”

She instantly goes quiet and looks at her feet – or my shoes more likely, ‘I don’t know, you know..’ and literally trails-off into a mumble.


“You tell them how AWESOME I am?”

Nothing – still looking around the floor like she’s expecting to see something interesting appear there.

Did you tell them I was simply using them to blackmail you into keeping my hours solid? :)”

She looks up and we finally have eye contact again.

‘You’ve GOT solid hours.’

“Have I?”


“Good, okay, because you know if these new people mean I only get two hours a day, that’s not solid hours.”

‘You’ll get the same hours you’re getting now.’


‘I needed more people! I’m still doing rooms myself and we’re not even busy now!.’

“Okay okay.”

Told you we’d make up without missing a beat πŸ™‚

So cute, she is.

I’ll still keep an eye on my hours and rooms, but I had a healthy sized list today that kept me going until 3:00PM even with the other people there – which is how it usually is – and the entire point of yesterdays exercise was to let her know she’s not dealing with some old woman too worn-out or set in her ways to leave for greener grass: I’m a premium worker who likes doing a better job than people around me and it wouldn’t matter if I were in cleaning or in maintenance or in any other role, I’d still want to be better at it than my co-workers – faster, smarter, more efficient.

Not only am I as fit and agile as a cat, there’s the persona driven by the intelligence and ability to apply that intelligence to everything from having hotel-related amusing things to say to guests, to charming co-workers to problem-solving the most efficient way of doing every little thing and there’s plenty of hotels who would love me on their staff.

My potatoes and carrots are ready.

Already today I’ve eaten two egg & mayo sandwiches and a full bottle of custard.

Thursday, 27th May 2021

12:37 PM

Okay so this is the second of the two days off I’ve got, which has been a rarity the last few weeks: even though I’m rostered two days off a week, I usually get called in or asked to come in by the old duck who supervises when Foxy Young Supervisor – or Babe – is on her days off.

This week, I got both days off and I’m not actually all that pleased about it.

Drama is afoot at work, beginning Monday when I’m coming downstairs to finish my last room to discover one, no two, TWO new trainee cleaners there and immediately see what a fucking terrible idea that shit is.

That very hour I’m in the Foxy Supervisors office giving her my completed board and an earful about what a shitty idea it is to have so many new cleaners, “We don’t NEED any more cleaners Amanda: new cleaners means more arseholes sucking our hours like leeches! What, if they both stay-on that’ll mean, well shit it’s not like they’re making new rooms just for them to clean! We already don’t have enough hours!”

“So what’s that – at least four rooms per trainee taken off our timesheets and what do we end up with? Four rooms each per day?”

She informs me that there are four new trainees, but that I’ll still get hours.

“FOUR?? Are you KIDDING??”

‘No, but it’s good; it’s good Jason! – nobody should have to do nine rooms a day’

“That’s not what you’ve been telling me the two months I’ve been here: ‘You’ll be right! I have faith in you Jason! Better get moving then!’ – I’ve had twelve rooms even sixteen a day and in the lasdt few weeks I’ve been gettin’ em all done – what’s the point even coming in if we’re all getting only two shitty hours each?”

True too.

Two months ago I had no idea how to make a bed properly: now, I can make one up from stripping to runner in less than 5 minutes and the other day when we had a wedding going on I did nine complete bathrooms in 50 minutes.

No shitty little en-suites either, but separate, individual bathrooms – nine of the fuckers in under an hour and not one of them needed anything re-done when she checked them afterwards – perfection.

Anyway, she attempts to placate me with bullshit about how I’ll still have enough hours, but ‘enough’ is a very relative word that means shit to me and I already know she’s talking bullshit so I’m having none of it: I walk out without another word, hearing her muffled ‘See you tomorrow!’ through the door as it swings shut.

Next morning I get there to find there really are that many new cleaners and ALL of them are milling around the main cleaners room waiting for whatever regular is training them that day to instruct them on what they need to do at the start of the morning – after a brief good morning to the few regulars in the room I grab my shit, tell the entire room there are TOO MANY PEOPLE here, then leave the room to go do my shitty half dozen rooms – already half my usual list.

All morning I’ve got the shits and say nothing to any the other cleaners, but I still did my work to it’s usual speed and quality standard and was still perfectly charming to the guests in the occupied rooms I did, which was very impressive: the fact I managed to not only compartmentalize my pissiness from the other cleaners, but still be warm and friendly to paying motherfuckers to the point they would’ve thought I was legitimately in a good mood – storm cloud neatly tucked away behind an airtight, sunny facade.

I should’ve added all this the other day when it happened, because I’m going to get sick of typing it all out before I’m done actually typing it all out, but it’s all required for context on today’s drama.

Since the beginning of the week that storm-cloud’s been brewing in the background and today I got dressed in my usual work clothes, went into town at my usual time but took a copy of my resume which I dropped in at the front desk of a competing hotel: telling the desk-bitch they can just ignore all the printed crap about the commercial cleaning I’ve done – all that matters is I work at The Carrington, I’ve been there couple months now and they’ve just decided to take-on a bunch of new trainee cleaners who will leech my hours like parasites.

Right there on the front desk, I’ve scratched out the text in the front page and handwritten “Currently @ Carrington, Housekeeping supervisor: Amanda #### ### ###”, then told him she’s on today so just call her for a reference.

Ten minutes later I text the Foxiest Supervisor I’ve had and told her the manager from this equally posh hotel will probably be calling, so just tell him how awesomely fast I’ve absorbed all the minutia of intricacies involved in efficient room cleaning, and what a natural aptitude I’ve obviously got for cleaning.

I also told her a bunch of other things to tell him when he rings, most of which was just my being a smartarse.

Within minutes I get a text from her, “Are you leaving us?” and it’s been game-on bitches all day since, with back and forth texts between us until her last message about an hour ago where she suddenly transitioned from panicky to annoyed that I’d questioned her opening the floodgates for half the fucking town to start working there.

Oop – there’s another, “Okay all good”, she says.

Manager at this other hotel was on the phone to me just minutes after I’d text Foxy Supervisor, asking how many days I could do and I’ve committed (train announcer crackling too loud in the carriage speakers to hear the call much) to the two days off I get from the Carrington, which aren’t technically days off but days ‘ONCALL’, which the Fox pointed out, which I told her would have to be changed to “N/A” and on set days – moving foward.

Of course I didn’t say ‘moving forward’ – only fucking wankers use phrases like that.

I’m on tomorrow too, so this will add some spice to an otherwise average day πŸ™‚

Throughout the day I’ve also pointed out to her that as well as being smart enough to become almost as proficient – in just a few weeks – as cleaners who’ve been there years, I’m also one of the few who have NO dependents to get in the way: there’s never any bullshit from me about having to leave randomly – in the middle of the day – because my shitfaced brat has had some issue at school; she’ll never have me just fail to show then call later claiming shitfaced brat had to stay home; no school holiday horseshit; and no “Can’t come in this entire week because mini-me has a runny nose” – I’m as solid as a rock because I don’t have kids or even a pet to be neurotic over, so I am not only a fit, capable, exceptional cleaner I’m a premium worker because there’s nothing stops me being there when I’m meant to be.

I stopped just short of telling her she really needs to prioritize the few cleaners like me she has NOW in favor of scattered, numbshit parents who either abandon their work and leave on a moments notice or spend entire weeks ‘N/A’ because of some shit with some kid and there’s a couple who do both – stopped short, though I implied it plenty.

Foxy supervisor herself is too young to have kids of course and spends more time at that hotel than she does anywhere else, so she’d be fully aware the difference between someone who’s got the time to fully commit to the job and the flaky helicopter parents – always dropping everything and running out the door like idiots the moment the school calls to tell em their kid just sneezed.

She’s still the foxiest supervisor I’ve ever had of course so once I’ve sorted her out – made her understand that I haven’t busted my arse six days a week for two months straight just to have a group of total fucking nobodies come along and steal hours away from me – she will be Babe again πŸ™‚

If she does allow those nobodies to take hours or rooms from me on the other hand, there’s no reason for me to place my loyalty with her, the job or the hotel and there’s a lot more hotels in town than there are competent cleaners of rooms for them.

She knows it, I know it, she knows I know it and I know she knows *I* know it so fucked if I’m not going to leverage the fact.

Kinda spins me out though how all that time as a school cleaner I thought I was actually working – what a fucking joke.

Compared to hotel rooms, cleaning schools is the easiest, laziest shit in the world you could possibly do: grandmothers and 80 year old men do it without ever breaking a sweat πŸ™‚

Cute redhead from the laundry was doing, well whatever boring shit the laundry people do a few days ago when she’s asked me “Do you like it? Do you like working here?” and well, I could not be as polarized as yes or no and told her “Yeah, depends on the day.” which it does: sometimes there’s a dozen rooms to do and I’ll just bulldoze through them (though never finish early on those days) and love it; other days I’ll only have five or six rooms and just feel slow that day and the whole day seems to just drag on forever.

What surprises me the most though is how much I’ve grown to like the physical intensity of the work: I figured I’d hate that shit in those first few weeks and would just have to put up with it for a job in town with lots of hours, but then every week I’ve found myself a little bit fitter and a little bit faster, a little bit mm more automatic in those repetitious tasks which leaves my focus a little more free to seek-out and scan for other speed-increasing shortcuts.

Now, I barely remember what I’ve done half the time and will go in to start a bathroom for a matching room, only to find I’ve already done it and have no fucking recollection of doing so; then I’ll go to start the next bathroom and be stunned to discover that one’s also already been done and I KNOW I’ve done them because of how I fold the towels and other items I’ve restocked.

Dinner tonight again, potatoes and carrots with sour cream and cheese, but tonight I’ve gone to the extra whatever of boiling-up some millet I spontaneously bought from that wholesale bulk foods outside Coles..

Honestly, I was getting ready to shit all over it for tasting almost as blurgh as any other hippie bullshit excuse for food, until I lightly fried it with butter plus some onion and garlic – then it still tasted pretty shitty and dry until I ate it with the potatoes and carrots etcetera.. tasted fine as a side thing.

You also know, that unlike shitholes such as pubs – who profit off the backs of alcoholic losers so much that they really don’t need their cheap skanky rooms at all to still make a killing exploiting addiction, hotels are primarily accommodation first: if you got rid of the bar from any big hotel, the hotel would still get by just fine with just it’s rooms and restaurant, and though I’m sure the dish-pigs and kitchenhands down there work omparably as hard as we do, without housekeeping there’s no clean rooms; without clean rooms there’s no guests and of course no hotel could exist without people staying there, so we are legitimately the most important staff in the hotel without any question at all – which means we really need to do something about being the hardest worked and lowest paid.

There needs to be some kind of pay scale system that sees a cleaners wage or hourly rate increase the longer they’ve been there, which of course doesn’t benefit me much but it’d make for a decent reward-based pay for people who have done it for years on end.

I’ll sort that out too, later: that can be a long-term thing – I know for a fact that the three shareholders who own the Carrington are so cheap in their running of the place, everyone is on minimum wage, everyone is casual, cheap instant coffee for even top floor rooms, everywhere you look there’s fixtures and fittings just fucking falling right off the walls and they’re *very* cheap – relying more on the hotels past history to appeal to guests than actually doing anything now that costs them a cent.

I know that sounds like a pretty broad statement, but being there so much you get to see all the holes in the plaster that could be fixed easily but instead it’s just left to flake and crumble; you see mm you see how they SQUEEZE every last drop out of workers, materials, everything when really, the entire hotel looks like it’s falling to ruin everywhere you look and I’m sure they try and fix things as they become an issue – always as cheaply as possible – when what they really need to do is pay actual money to people who are talented and have an aptitude for ceilings, glass-work, cabinet-making etcetera – instead they try and do it themselves and maintainance method of maintaining the hotel is exactly the way Nathan Smith used to build and fix shit: just slap some spakfilla on and bash nails into everything and hope nobody notices how poor the workmanship really is.

They’re all personable – the owners – but they’re also yeah, cheap to the point of everything they do being obviously dodgy.

Basically, the most appealing parts of the hotel are the parts that haven’t been touched since they were built from the late 1800s to the mid 1900s: all the current modifications look – again, very obviously – cheap and nasty by comparison: a million little things like the wall vents – rather than pay professionals to come in and properly remove, clean and replace those antique vents at the top of the walls when painting, maintenance have done it themselves – by just leaving the vents in the wall then slopping paint right over the top of them all, leaving globs of dried paint that’s built-up and clogged the beautiful patterns cut out the metal of these things – there’s a million other little things that’re so instantly noticable anytime you stop and just scan the place with your eyes and these are all things the current maintenance staff have been doing that just kinda cheapens the look of the hotel as a whole.

The more the current maintenance staff continue doing half-arse work of course, the more impossible it gets to ever fix the degradation that’s accumulating all over the place, but that’s not my problem – just a pity

*I* could honestly make a huge difference as an outstanding quality control inspector for work and maintenance at that hotel- insisting they do it properly even if it takes them all day to get one wall done, but that’d mean the owners would not SQUEEZE as much from their hourly workers, so it’s ultimately down to them and their standards.

The Heritage by comparison: when I walked into that foyer area this morning that hotel looks BEAUTIFULLY restored and maintained – no sloppy paint marks, no worn carpet, none of the floorboards even creaked and yeah I could not find a blemish in the craftsmanship anywhere in the front section no matter where I looked.

Wednesday, 26th May 2021

2:44 PM

Right so it’s payday again and in spite of my demanding three separate people to talk me out of buying these shoes, all three replied some variant of “I spend X hundred dollars already this week myself! Buy them it’s worth it!”

So I bought them.. what the fuck: I could be dead tomorrow.

Suede leather upper, goretex interior, vibram rubber sole soft enough to use as a pencil eraser and completely waterproof.

Italian made.

Not only are they Scarpas, they’re top shelf within the brand but I wouldn’t pay the full $449 they’ve been marked at in all the stores around town.

Then I saw them marked down to $360 today and though I tried to tell myself I don’t really need them, I’ve been thinking about getting a pair of these for weeks now and they’re the last “personal upgrade” I wanted – now with the new merino tops, new merino base-layers, new pants, new cologne these were the final bit that needed to be mm, sorted.

Course I’ve had these exact shoes before – back a few years ago I bought them for $260 but judging by the lower influx of people (doubtlessly because of COVID) those kinds of mass clearance prices just don’t seem to be happening anymore, but I fell in love with these boots – the soles of which wore out over a year-straight of constantly walking up, down and all over town.

This time I’m spending most my time on carpet indoors, so the soles should last significantly longer than on footpaths, concrete and paving.

Beautiful boots.

Annoyingly, I went into that pissy waste of space job network hole in the wall to ask whether they’d reimburse them since I had a receipt of course, and of course they are work boots technically since I’ll be wearing them to work: both these doughy bitches smirked and scoffed at the idea these were for work, to which I replied “I’m on my feet all day – from 7:30 AM until 3:00 PM”, whereby this fat fucking hippo of a woman I’d not seen there before asked me whether I do much hiking and though I really wanted to tell her “I’m sure shoes don’t matter when you spend your life swallowing your chair with your fat arse, but some of us actually do stuff for our money.”, I did not, instead repeating what I’d asserted – that I am continually moving and good, comfortable shoes are more important than any other item of clothing.

In the end, they tried to slime my payslips from me which I won’t be sending because I’m done getting phone calls from these parasites – always grubbing for documents proving how much work I’ve done – and I recall being here just a few years ago, at a point where I was increasing my work hours and simply stopped giving any fucks about their bullshit because my earnings each week shat all over the shitty few hundred centrelink was giving me.

I’m at that point again: no reason to give any fucks at all – COVID’s done, everything’s open again and I’ll keep my payslips to myself thank you.

Mostly, they just pissed me off with their attitude: their implication being that I should be content with a pair of $80 Big-W shit because that’s evidently the most they consider I’m worth – if I could find another tier of boots that cost $2,000 and I had the $2K to spend on them, I would buy them in a heartbeat because there’s really no limit on what I’m willing to spend on myself and this fat fucking whale in the table-cloth-dress stuffing her fat head with cakes and take-away all day – a heart-attack waiting to happen and a drain on the healthcare system – might be happy in her $20 Target shit, but she’s obviously suffering some kind of self-esteem issues that I don’t, nor relate to in any way at all.

Anyhow: washing.

Monday, 24th May 2021

5:23 PM

Today was a nice quiet one and though I’d finished all my allocated work by 2:00 PM, I stayed another half hour to help the prettiest co-worker of them all.

Fuck the gas in the stove is still hissing out – I can smell it from the loungeroom.. hang on gotta go light it.

Yeah right, so really there’s not much more to say about it, since it was a simple thing: I was about to leave when I’ve seen one of the older veteran cleaners still working, which struck me as strange since she would’ve had a similarly light list of shit to do and she’s much faster than most of us, so I’ve asked what she was still here for.

She said she was helping the pretty co-worker, so I walked up and dumped my bag on the lounge figuring I’d help the both of them and – after changing bins and some other shit – I’ve asked where her list is and the old duck’s told me she doesn’t know – she didn’t know where she went.

She was on the next floor up, where I’ve asked her if she wants help and she’s said sure and, I helped.

It wasn’t any lascivious impulse that drove me to help her, but the thought of her up there with another forty minutes worth of shit to do alone and knowing what it’s like to be the last to finish up – being alone on some floor in that labyrinth of a building wondering if you’re the only cleaner still here – so helping with her work wasn’t so much the thing – it was not leaving her alone up there wondering if anyone else’s still working.

Then I took her rubbish bag out back for her so she could fuck off without having to do that either.

Nice of me, I know.

Would I have hung back to help a neurotic single mother who’s in a rush to get to her equally neurotic kid?

Nope, I would not have even paused on my way out to offer, which is fine: there’s no shortage of sympathy from the sisterhood for women who’ve already gone to seed but far less sympathy for the single, childless young woman who’s younger and more beautiful than they ever were, certainly ever will be – unseeded women, who haven’t let themselves be used by a thousand dicks before deciding what came out their own uterus will always be more important than anything else, because they’ve changed: from women, into mothers – just like any common flower gone to seed.

With so many beautiful flowers in bloom, why waste time pretending seeded pods are just as good – they have other withered seed pods to lie and tell them bullshit like that.

Anyway foxy supervisor frequently just appears to help me on days that’re full-on when I’m running behind so her kindness-by-example is clearly rubbing-off on me πŸ™‚

That was my only point.

Sunday, 23rd May 2021

5:39 PM

That foxy little supervisor – Babe #1 we’ll call her, because that’s not at all impersonal – wound-up helping me towards the end today; I was running a little late and she just appeared and started doing half the work while we talked shit about whatever – general banter.

General Banter that established several things: she found out I’m a virgo, I discovered she’s a leo and when she’s asked ‘So you believe in starsigns?’, of course I couldn’t answer yes or no and told her that “I don’t *disbelieve* in them” and opined on the moon’s power to suck the ocean out into a swell as it moves around the planet every month and how if our tiny moon can have that much draw, surely all the planets – all held in their orbit with even more powerful gravitational force – can affect, at which point she’s finished for me ‘..affect peoples’ personality’ and I’ve finished more accurately, “Well, affect an developing fetus that’s only a few cells in size and super vulnerable to all kinds of outside influences: I don’t think we’re influenced after we’re born, much, but just after conception yeah maybe?”

None of this is inferring any kind of romantic anything I will add, since I’ll probably tell her about this site because she’s already seen me spit out the kind of unfiltered thoughts that raise eyebrows and also because I would never consider anyone I work with a potential anything: fuck having to go into work once you’ve broken up and work with them – and everyone else who knows – afterwards, and fuck the paranoia and having everyone see you as a complete fucking idiot for allowing yourself to be swept-up in some romantic horseshit with anyone you’ve still gotta see every day afterwards – that’s just all round a stupid move, though it’s certainly good to practice on them.

God so annoying: cleaning my ears last night or the night before I twisted the cotton tip too far in and blocked one – leaving me deaf in one ear until it pops and clears again.

Anyhow, even back in the interview I was negotiating with this foxy supervisor about the tops I would wear, telling her I’d rather not have to wear button-up shirts, because collars drive me mental and enlightened her to the fact that after wearing ultra-fine merino for long enough, cotton itself feels like nasty old hessian sacks against your skin so I’ll just buy some new black base-layer tops yeah?

She agreed to this and I’m amazed to find I don’t have a single hole, rip or tear in either of them even after two months of wearing all week: without a machine, I’ve got to wash them every night and do – it’s just part of my routine now; handwashing merino and hanging them before I start getting dinner organized – yet they’re still completely hole free.

Snap back to this afternoon: Babe is helping me at the end there and we’ve just established our star-signs, which she was the one to ask: she asked my birthday, I told her, then she’s said “Virgo then”, which is better than I could’ve done – I’ve forgotten most months signs and even when I was interested, I never would’ve known the date-range of the different zodiac signs.

Few minutes later she went out into the hall for something and I heard someone (a male voice) talking, and her talking, then heard her say “Jason” so I’ve got out to see what she wanted: soon as I’ve walked into the hall I get a nose full of that tangy armpit smell – the whole hall smelled like it, which led me to turn and ask, “Who was that? They smell really terrible!” and she tells it was the manager today, which led to me back-stepping some – telling her later “You know what it is: because *I* smell *so good* and I’ve been been up here smelling only myself for an hour or more now, anyone who smells mm less good, yeah..”

She giggles at me – fucks sake..

Giggles, then smiles, then tells me ‘It’s fine Jason’

“Yeah, sure okay…”

This is only one of a plethora of these unfiltered thoughts to have found their way out my mouth in just the last two months, each requiring me to say something similar to “What I meant to say was..”, followed by some utter bullshit that’s not at all what I meant to say, because I already said what I meant to say and everyone already knows it which means I’m only drawing attention to the unfiltered thought a second time trying to neutralize it.

Couple minutes later I told her I was starting to get really shitty at everyone else for not showing up for work, “Why else would I have so much to do right? F*ck that Debbie and fuck her and fuck her and I haven’t seen that lazy little bitch for days GRRR /hate!”

‘They’re here though! There’s nine cleaners here – you just haven’t seen them.’



“Oh, okay cool.”


“I found Debbie downstairs, so stopped being pissy at her, then saw someone else and stopped hatin’ on her, then sure two more and well, started to relax..”

‘It’s fine.. there’s three right down the end of the hall there.’

“I thought I was the only one here for the first three hours: like everyone else just decided to stay in bed today and leave us to pick-up all that extra work >:(“

She rolled her eyes at me, said I was crazy and that only one person is missing.

“Oh yeah, that’s whatever – we’re all used to her not showing up.”

Of course I don’t care about anyone not showing up because I miss hanging out talking shit to them all day since there’s usually too much work to be stopping and talking for extended lengths of time to anyone unless they’re over the hall from you or whatever, but for every one cleaner missing we ALL have to absorb the work they would’ve done; two cleaners don’t show up, that’s twice the extra work those of us there have to absorb so naturally, thinking there was only a total of three cleaners there all morning had me pretty shitty the more I thought about it.

But anyway, she lulled me into calming down and informed me everything is under control at which point I stopped winding myself up.

Cut this chunk about the slurpy bitch always making excuses for not showing up: everyone has some kind of bullshit in their private lives to deal with – we all still show up on time every day regardless and none of us give a fuck about this bitches problems.

Show-up and do the work of fuck off, seems the justifiably simple undercurrent of feeling towards her bullshit.

Potatoes again for dinner: though I’m growing tired of boiled potatoes, which I’ll change my mind about as soon as I start eating the mountain of cheese goes with them, I was surprised to find the gorging of chicken last night didn’t give me much energy today at all.

Figured all that protein would supercharge me by morning, but nope – had the opposite effect, so back to common spuds and cheese.

Saturday, 22nd May 2021

7:48 PM

Dinner tonight is back to high calorie, high protein: chicken burgers with garlic aioli mayo and vintage 36 month mainland tasty on brioche buns. oh, and this very nice gourmet butter that’s single-cow origin or some shit and though I only grabbed it because it was $4.50, it’s incomparably better than even Lurpak: it’s almost white for one thing – not the standard yellow we’re all accustomed to – which makes me wonder, if butter is meant to be churned cream (which is white) then why the fuck is most butter yellow?

I’m sure it’s no conspiracy that most butter is yellow, but it’s probably because it’s tinted that colour because it’s been sitting in a factory so long it’s started to turn.

This cream-coloured, non-yellow butter also happens to be the best tasting butter I’ve any living memory of eating.

I’ve also just smeared a bit of maple syrup on the second two chicken fillets while they cook, because why not: it’ll caramelize and should lose most of it’s sweetness anyway and I feel like some kind of contrast is needed for the salty cheese and mayo but also, the brioche is very sweet for bread, so it’ll be fine.

It is fine turns out.

Some lettuce would’ve been good but whatever: I forgot to grab that while I was there.

Dunno why brioche is so good, but I’ve abandoned that Bakers Delight shit in favour of the brioche sold in Woolies – the one made in France with the blue on the packaging.

Friday, 21st May 2021

5:52 PM

I left first today- in spite of having the same amount of work as everyone else – and wish I didn’t have to, but I needed to get the 2:20 train to avoid all the noise from every school in the area filling every carriage of the 3:20 one, which meant I had to rush to finish the last of my work and then fucked off as soon as I had – at 2:00 on the nose.

I could’ve and would’ve liked to have scored another hour or so helping the slow pokes, but didn’t have the option this afternoon.

Why is picking a good audiobook such a chore.

I know I can go with an author I already know, but even they have dud books and it’s only a matter of time until you end up downloading them: so, SO many authors and so many books but without knowing what any of their writing style is like there’s just no way to make an informed choice.

Course the narration is just as important as the author: Stephen King has several titles I’d love to buy, but he narrates those books himself and I – like most reviewers – just can’t stand the cat-screech tone of his nasty nasal voice: he’s a fucking garbage narrator – even of his OWN BOOKS, go figure.

These are audible books of course, so while they’re mine forever once I’ve bought them they’re still $15/each and I’ve already picked a few duds hmm..

And fuck cooking tonight: I’ve still got an egg & mayo sandwich left from today, that’ll do.

That and corn-flakes with maple syrup.

Oh, I have also discovered a much more accurate, controlled and less wasteful way of applying my much loved new cologne: rather than simply spraying it on pulse points – which results in me using more than is needed and 50% of each spray missing my skin competely and wafting to the ground – I’ve started adding some to a tiny glass bottle that used to hold some kinda vape flavouring and applying it to myself with a jumbo cotton tip – just a wipe here and there stops my inadvertently using too much (which is very easy to do especially with a spray bottle) pusI can apply it precisely where it’s meant to go.

Also, being applied as a liquid instead of a spray or mist means it’s more concentrated where I want it – opposed to just being everywhere, but it’s mostly the lack of waste I like about using it this way: if it was $50 shit from the chemist I wouldn’t mind so much but I don’t want the fucking carpet to be wearing more of such a heavily priced cologne than I’m wearing myself.

Thursday, 20th May 2021

8:30 PM

More potatoes tonight, but the carrots have been reheated in a maple-butter glaze with superfine freshly ground pepper over everything, because I love the shit: I’ve been using maple syrup in everything lately – from coffee to corn-flakes – so thinking about a honey & butter syrup for carrots naturally made me think to use maple instead.

Maple syrup shits on honey for most things and most certainly works better here: being fuller flavoured, smoother and not sickly sweet like honey is, maple has a kinda creamy-ish flavour of it’s own already so blends with the butter beautifully.

As for the pepper-corns: I’ve always bought those little grinders in supermarkets with the multi-coloured peppers inside – the disposable ones: then yesterday, I’m in the food co-op anyway when I see they sell pepper there at a much better price than the little $5 throw-away grinders with their fucking shitty 35g of pepper inside.

Course I figured on refilling the disposable, because I did not know it was disposable until I tried to refill the little fucker and found all the shit I tried wouldn’t get it open, so long story short: bought an actual grinder for $10 or whatever and now I’ve got both the refillable grinder plus five times the pepper-corns that’re fresher and better quality – for literally only a few dollars more than said shitty disposable.

Awesome dinner: simple but excellent with but sweet and savoury accounted for in only two elements.

Course I’ve started taking iron tablets to compensate for the lack of meat, because though I’ve thought about grabbing a steak while I’m shopping I *know* I’ll have to eat it that night – while the vegetables can sit there long enough to give me time to eat ’em all.

I’ve also started calling the women in my group at work “Babe”, because why not – none objected in the slightest and my favourite, she said it was nice or sweet or lovely or some shit and seemed gushy enough that her body language and behavior didn’t belie her verbal acceptance.

Actually, upon seeing my calling the spunky younger supervisor-chick that, the favourite had asked me something like ‘Did you just call her Babe?’ when I’ve responded “Yes.” plus immediately reassured her “You’d be Babe too if you were supervising me.”, and that is actually when she got gushy and complimented.

Obviously, only the attractive ones can be addressed like this: I cannot call an ugly or old woman Babe – that’d feel and sound completely insincere.

Nails.. gotta do them, right now before I forget again..

Wednesday, 19th May 2021

2:19 PM

I have just found my new cologne: $440 for 100mL of olfactory heaven containing genuine whale ambergris, it smells so good I can’t even explain with words exactly how much better it is, except to say it’s an entirely new tier of quality; a much more sophisticated scent – it is literally the best fragrance I have ever experienced in my life and the tiniest little half a spray still smells just as strong two hours after putting it on my skin as it did when first applied.

It also smells just as lovely fresh out the nozzle as it does once it’s melded with my skin and settled in for the day: none that cheap, nasty alcohol smell for five minutes after you put the crap on.

Beautiful scent – warm and woodsy, but also sweet without being sickly in the slightest and there’s yeah, there’s a lot more going on but it’s too ambiguous to be able to identify individual notes, though there’s floral, citrus, wood, amber that’re clearly discernible.

It’s like the jump from Supermarket Old Spice to $100 cologne from a good creator: that is the same chasm of quality difference between that $100 cologne, and this one – this one makes $100 cologne smell like fly spray.

But no, I’m not going to name or otherwise identify the cologne: like I’m going to risk anybody else smelling as godly as I fucking do.

Go find your own scent.

Tuesday, 18th May 2021

5:59 PM

Okay so I got about 1 hour of sleep last night, then got up at 6:00 AM to spend the day at work on my day off, so I’m not exactly feeling mentally zippy right now and am about to get my potatoes boiling actually – one the chicks asked what I was having for dinner, to which I replied exactly what I just wrote “Potatoes, boiled, with sour cream and a pile of grated romano cheese over it.”

She sounded legitimately surprised as though she’d forgotten potatoes with cheese existed when she tells me ‘That actually sounds delicious!‘ which it does and I elaborated: telling her how I’ve had to upgrade my diet and start eating vegetables opposed to only talking about doing it though “once you add dollops of sour cream and a mountain of parmesan or romano cheese, it kinda stops being healthy now doesn’t it..”

She’s nodded – blonde pony-tail bouncing as her head bobbed up and down in agreement “Who cares though! it tastes good!” and – for context here – she’s the fittest looking woman I’ve spoken to for a very long time and easily has that scamming slut before Mandy beat hands down, so it’s not like I had some fat chick telling me just gobble-gobble – fuck the calories.

There’s no flabby cleaners there, matter of fact.

Upon asking how I am today and my telling her “Ah, yeah i dunno.”, she not only sympathized when I told her but stopped what she was doing and followed be down to the cleaners cupboard to ask what was wrong “Is it your board?”

“No my board’s, fine, whatever – only 8 today.”

“What then?”

I told her without any suspense or build-up that I got almost no sleep at all last night and that my brain stopped functioning completely about three hours ago now – “I’m operating entirely on auto-pilot”

On we talked and she told me she hates not getting enough sleep – we both agreed it’s fucked.

I’m getting side-tracked out of the ‘quick summary’ of the day I was going to do.

She’s my favourite at the moment: same age as me, attractive and I don’t know she’s just always been the most inclined to stop what she’s doing and talk to me – whatever the topic – which costs us both time, but that’s alright.

I even told her a few days ago while we were both in the same area, “You!”



“What about me?”

“You are, my yardstick.”

“Your what? What do you mean?”

“YOU are the benchmark I use to measure how well I’m doing.”

“Oh noo. Oh that’s not right..”

By now, she’s started walking towards me: slowly closing the twenty-odd feet of empty hallway between us as she’s talking until she was right in front and we’re eye-to-eye as she’s more or less just playing with the hand-towel she’d been about to fold.

“Fine: you suck, I don’t wanna be anything like you – yuck, gross, BLUGH!”

She laughed at that.

“I don’t meant it’s wrong.. it’s very sweet but Honey you can’t just.. it’ll take years of practice to get..”

“Couple months”, I tell the deep blue eyes now looking up into mine and raise my eyebrows like an exclamation mark, “I will be as good as you in months.”

The conversational tone had already softened – dramatically – now we were face to face and though I cannot recall precisely everything said beyond this point, she conveyed that she was very much touched that I’d regard her so highly but that it took her years of working there to get to the point she’s at, in my words “Making it ALL look so easy ALL the time” and that we will see.

Actually, that was the moment that cracked the both of us open to each other and since then we’re mutually warm regardless whether we’re in a hallway, car park or supermarket: it isn’t as though we’re talking for half an hour at a time because we obviously still barely know each other, but we always stop and have something to say to one another.

And though they’re completely different and individualized to each person, that depth of moment has also been had with the old duck who supervises us and the foxy younger one plus a few other cleaners, so whatever the context there’s been that ‘moment’ with most of them, the moment that’s cracked-open the shell and mutually exposed a bit of softness and warmth in each direction.

Anyway, back to this morning.

I barely arrive or get upstairs and into the office to grab my board when that 20-something Samantha comes up behind me and says “I really wanna give you a big hug for coming in today!” which I ignore completely and then she says she’ll go get our boards from the office.

I stifled a yawn and said, “Okay” – not understanding at all why she’s proclaiming such happiness and I still don’t, honestly – I’m there 6 days a week, what the fuck’s so woowoo about my being there today I have no idea but I’m sure the bitch is working some angle that benefits her somehow.

I’m standing there, swaying slightly, noticing how if you stare at the carpet long enough the patterns start moving and waiting for my board – thinking how I just wanna get this shit done so the day is done so I can go home, eat, go to bed and be done – just as I start wondering why she’s taking so long to walk ten fucking feet and grab some clipboards when I hear the office door swing open and see her come out and walk over to give me my board, which explains where the additional half a minute apparently went..

I wrote the smiley later then figured it’s a daily photo and snapped it: I scribble and doodle all over my board every day though and have little smiles and short codes for whatever stage I’m at, that the supervisor’s all understand now.

I’ve gotta eat – I’m extremely tired.

She’s right too: nothing so delicious yet simple, as hot potatoes with good quality butter, salt, cream or sour cream and cheese.. every night it tastes just as good and considering I’m eating breakfast plus sandwiches for ~lunch every day now it’s not even like these are tasting so good only because I haven’t eaten yet and hungry.

It’s just good.

She actually added (while we were running a list of toppings for said potatoes), some onion that I fully inteded to grab on the way through town, but forgot between entering the store and talking to the checkout chicks, so no onion >:(

Sure am glad I didn’t get around to drinking that **Farmhouse Gold Vanilla Custard** until now too.

Monday, 17th May 2021

8:00 AM

I’ll have to start taking photos again to populate the posts.

So after four or five years of “Morning Blonde Chick!”, Blonde Chick and I are no longer on speaking terms – no longer muy simpatico you could say and I’ve started buying coffee elsewhere: there’s a cafe every ten feet in Katoomba so what the fuck – I switch to saying “Morning Coffee Babe” somewhere else *shrug*, whatever.

The cause of this impasse was the difference in perspective between her and me on smelly, homeless arseholes.

There’s this old fart who hangs around Coles in the morning uses the toilets there and pisses all over the seats in both the disabled and parents change toilets and so we’re clear: I don’t actually use the toilets there for anything but doing my hair, so it doesn’t impact me directly but it’s still fucking disgusting and this old fucker smells just putrid – not like even week old stale piss, but month old stale piss, shit, ball grime and whatever other bodily odours old men produce.

I was waiting for coffee a week or so ago when I remarked to Blonde Chick “There should be a law against being in public smelling that fucking bad”, which saw her scrunch her face as her eyebrows darkened and she mumbled to me something about not saying anything of I’ve got nothing nice to say.

I grunted, then took my coffee and went down to the car-park to drink it and have a smoke before returning Blonde Chick with “I don’t fuckin’ *believe* you just gave me an earful! About THAT..”

“Just taking a page from your book aye: being all ‘honest’ and speaking my mind”

I just stood there glaring at her a moment before telling her to make me another coffee, then went to Coles to buy something for breakfast instead of waiting there and when I’d returned to tell her “We can’t ALL be carebears, can we?” and then this tubby brunette who just started at the cafe started on at me, “Mental illness can also affect a persons hygeine yknow”

“OH MY GOD! GIVE me my coffee so I can GO!”

Haven’t been back since.

Not that I’ve ever been a carebear, but I told Kelly at the chemist the other day while there for the psuedoephedrine I rarely take now because this job is too sweaty already – Sudafed only makes me piss sweat when I’m already working that hard: “I can genuinely say Kelly, that I no longer give a shit about another human being anymore.”

Thought I might have for a while there, but not anymore; from arsehole little kids dying agonizing deaths from cancer to the planet full of bitches who die trying to squeeze them out, to disgusting old men ruining my morning by stinking like a septic tank.

Took a while to get to this point, but it’s about time.

I don’t even give a fuck about the useless bitch who gave birth to me and ‘father‘ is nothing but a word to me: when the two people meant to create a childs’ fundamental model of human relationships are that much of a fucking joke, what else would anyone expect the resulting outcome to be?

Exactly what it is.

I do care about custard – deeply.

I don’t mean custard flavoured juice, I mean actual custard: packed with calories that shit is the only breakfast a person needs and mine every morning now – it’s an incomparably better source of energy than coffee.

Yeah that leaned towards a rant, but what the fuck it’s my diary I’ll write what I feel like in the moment, plus I’m not annoyed or wound-up so it’s not really a rant – just an update on my thoughts around people I used to know.

Anyway Kelly said that’s a less than ideal way to be, but I confided that it’s very comfortable: not caring means you don’t become even remotely attached to anyone, which in turn means nobody can troll, bait, wind you up or upset you – nobody can get near enough to.

It isn’t like I don’t get energy from interacting with other people either: I still benefit from the back and forth of charming people I like, but like isn’t caring about and these people – even you Scarlet – are only as valuable to me as the entertainment they contribute to my day.

Blonde Chick though, there was a little more dialog at the start, where I reminded her that *I* was homeless for a year myself and how there’s hot water and sinks in those toilets and it’s not hard to make some effort to wash yourself each day, plus how disgusting it is – pissing all over the toilet seats so no one else can use them, but the bitch wasn’t hearing it.

Maybe she should take the disgusting old creature home with her: he can not have showers, stink her place up, moan constantly like a pervert and piss all over her toilet seat and she’ll be just fine with that right because he’s old and mental?

On the upside, the chicks at the Coles kiosk themselves agreed with me because they’re sick of this arsehole sitting right out front of their supermarket making all their customers sick.

It’s one thing to be, actually no: I don’t understand anyone who’s left politically – there’s no reason to be aligned to one side or the other and it’s one thing to actually do something to sort out a revolting peice of shit like that old man, but simply arguing on his behalf while leaving him to smell like a sewage pit – like all fake arseholes who identify as politically left, neither do a fucking thing that might put themselves out or remove the stench from the filthy old man on the seat – all they fucking do is talk.

Like dying her hair pink: being left and hippie and being seen to be sympathetic to scumbags is just a fashion statement to both those two: at least I actually believe what I say and stand behind it.

Can’t believe I’ve wasted this much page-space on a fat waitress, to be honest.

6:05 PM

Finally – I got not just a sharpie but several: red, blue, purple and a black artline – never again will the contents of a bottle of liquid I’ve mixed be a mystery to me.

I’ve also got two sandwiches – egg & mayo and chicken & mayo – I bought this morning fully expecting to eat throughout the day, then didn’t end up getting around to either of ’em and wound-up staying back to help some chick who was running behind.

Two chicks actually.

Three if you include the bit of help I gave to the chick who was helping the second chick, though that was technically the two of us helping the second chick.

Goodness it’s enough to give a person the warm and fuzzies: even those I haven’t flashed my personality at love me because I’ve gone from completely overwhelmed to kicking the shit outta this job in mere weeks and the ones I have gotten to know better, love me because of that.

Better still, after rapidly melding into the position and figuring how it all comes together so quickly I know for a fact that I’m only going to get better from here – faster, more accurate and more efficient.

Running rings around it, I’ll be: already I never break a sweat now – through six hour days of continually being in motion.

It’s more than simply meshing-in and getting along with a group of co-workers too: many of these chicks I’ve seen around town for years and they’ve seen me around town, but never had any reason to stop and talk to them at all before, because you don’t when you’ve no reason to – so it’s like there’s this pre-existing knowledge between them and me and only now – after five years of living here – that a name and personality can be mutually assigned to the person.

For them and me, the flat vague impression of someone we’ve seen around town all this time has suddenly become fully fleshed-out, three dimensional and, real human being.

I’ve gotta recoil my RDA and get ready before I can come back to finish this shit anyway: I’ve got the old woman supervisor – the one this post is titled after – to confirm she wants me in there on my day off tomorrow, which is good – last Tuesday she’s called at 8:00 AM and I just swiped the red button to shut the phone up because it was my day off.

I told her and the office manager today (while asking whether he thinks I’ll get called in tomorrow), that I don’t mind at all working on my rostered day off, but I’d like to know the night before so I can at least go home and get to bed at a decent time, set my alarm – all that.

“If I’m expecting a day off, I stay up until midnight, turn my alarm off and try to sleep in, so getting woken-up one hour before I’m expected to arrive and start work is just no good at all.”

So they checked and agreed then old supervisor duck asked me if I can come in tomorrow, so I know, which is fine.

I can feel myself getting noticably fitter every week that goes by.

Gotta file my nails too: don’t want ’em getting woman-length.

I just coughed while eating the second of these two sandwiches and got a piece of chewed chicken stuck up the inside of my nose.. I can FEEL it in there.. fuck..

You see: you don’t give a fuck if I choke on a bit of chicken, and I don’t give a fuck who gives a fuck.

I gotta stop swearing so much in my writing: makes me seem less intelligent than I am you know, but I just like the word – it’s so generally expressive it’s quite useful in emphasizing.

Still, I’ll make a point to utilize it more sparingly.

Shower then bed.

Oh wait: I also kinda care, in the loosest sense of the word, for Joanne still – from the Online University modules last year – even though I don’t even talk to her on facebook or whatsapp anymore.

But she’s the very rare example of a chick who’s genuinely lovely – not lovely to kiss peoples arse or because she might score something for being that way but because it’s how she just, is.

Sunday, 16th May 2021

I almost told everyone at one point while we were all in one cross section of hallways, that I have a site and I am itching to write about this place, including them.. phew: glad I caught myself in time.

Imagine every little internal thought I have throughout the day written here and them being able to read them all, yeah the former is as bad an idea as the latter: how fit that woman is, or this woman or whatever and that moment whoever was a foot from my face, examining every line of her iris for the brief moment that eye-lock was in effect..

I’ve gotta actually go and work with these people every day.

And again I forgot the sharpie today – I’ve gotta write that shit in an alarm for the afternoon or something because I yeah.. I cannot believe I’m still forgetting a simple black marker every time I’m shopping.

Boiled potatoes with Spring Onion Cream-cheese dip and a little hill of grated Parmesan cheese, for dinner to night..

The noodles phase is over: for a long time that’s all I was eating for dinner: some combination of noodles with sesame oil and very good soy sauce, but now I need better food I’ve switched back to vegetables and yeah carrots – I always chop a carrot and drop that in the water with the potatoes.

Saturday, 15th May 2021

So said the older of the three women who act as my supervisors, just yesterday in fact.

Maybe a tiny bit patronizing, sure, but she’s pretty old and age is a relative thing: all three of these on-site supervisors love me, which is all that really matters isn’t it and I’m on fine terms with one the owners whom engages me in the usual social pleasantries every morning and afternoon when she’s there as I’m signing in or out so really, the only people I work with who don’t love me are the ones I don’t see often enough to engage at all outside a “Morning” on the way past – two of which are doods anyway, so I don’t give a fuck about them.

And how could they not.

Soon as the ice is broken enough for me to relax with someone, be myself and show a bit of personality, the very few people I want to love me, do.

It’s that odd little streak of curiosity motivated by intelligence to get up right next to someone and either ask or state something so outside the box they had no idea it was coming, yet it’s always playfully inquisitive with my attention always entirely focused on them as I observe their reaction – like a parrot eyeing-off a new toy.

More than that, it’s exclusivity always one-on-one and individual: whoever it is knows I don’t stop and open myself to the majority of people around us because they see me behaving like my disinterested self towards others knowing I’ll take that moment here or there to be warm towards them, but not to the rest – I don’t go ’round being fake as rubber dog shit at everyone so when I am warm, it’s deliberate and genuine.

Gotta get ready for tomorrow.. gotta file my nails again too: grow as fast as my fuckin’ hair always does.

I was just fucking around with another new coil for this slick little stealthy vaporizer I’ve created from the little 22mm RDA and matching battery mod: together they’re very small and the tank’s low powered enough to go almost all day, but I’m thinking – it’s never enough really, though the new combo’s very streamlined and only 15W so it creates very little vapor.

Vapor containing 50mg of nicotine for every milliliter though for sneaky bathroom vaping at work, so I want it like that.

But whatever anyway: as humans adaptation happens so fast that whatever you gain is already dismissed almost immediately after you’ve gained it: six months ago I was only doing the odd shift here or there – the last of which was that super-easy COVID wipe-down of banisters and touchable surfaces at Katoomba High School – then COVID stops being a thing and I’m wanting more work, so I get another job and now, even though it’s right here in town and gives me enough to buy whatever I want, there’s only so much buying you can do before that gets boring.

Like, if somebody put a million dollars in my account and told me there would always be a million dollars in there regardless how much I spent – a never-ending pack of tim-tams deal – I have no doubt at all that within just a few weeks I would be bored with the $500 shirts, bored with spending money, bored with always having $1,000,000 on hand for anything I want.

Wait: I could purchase a house and pay in cash – I guess that’d extend the length of time before I grew bored, but still once I’d moved in, bought sexy furniture, filled it with whatever else I wanted and started feeling at home I would still adapt to all that as it happened and within weeks of getting there I’d be feeling much the same about that house and contents as anything else: because of the speed of adaptation.

Comfort is so much bigger trap than possessions themselves ever are though: we can toss shit in the bin all day and not give any fucks at all, but anything that causes discomfort – most people are scared shitless of that.

Even I don’t like discomfort – hence here we are again.

3,973 Marsupial Mice, I’ve got..

Friday, 14th May 2021

Welcome, Scarlet.

Without any competition: the most beautiful name I’ve heard in my life.

I do not like not having complete control over my styling, and everything about this platform has changed since I used it last but I’ve no time at all to fuck around with it: it’s bedtime.. when do I get another day off..

Tuesday, Wednesday maybe.

Course, even then I won’t spend any additional time paying homage to the beauty of you or your name because that would not make for very good reading and there’s plenty of other things t.. yeah but then I don’t know: writing about work would mean not being able to show the site to anyone at work, or rather being worried co-workers would find their way here via someone else then see something that makes them hate my guts – a cause/effect that’s happened many times before owing to my tendency to parody people and write them out as characters to keep the story moving.


This Apple Pie is fucking excellent – the macadamia nut smoothed it out perfectly.

Thursday, 13th May 2021

I mean, it’s not like I’m any less a narcissistic smart arse and it sure isn’t like there’s any less to comment on.. plus, it’s not as though I’ve the time or inclination to develop my own diary like I’d started doing in /sandbox.


Maybe I could start with a featured image – work my way back into it nice and *easy*.. and fix that ugly Times New Roman title font that’s displaying on my laptop: looks fine on a mobile browser.

My vegetables are boiling..


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