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Sep. 21st, 2006 09:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eiffel_71
Yesterday was Lisa Lovebucket's birthday, but the last e-mail address I had for her was a year old and I'd been getting no replies on it. In the office library before the shift began, frenetic Google searches didn't turn up any more recent contact information for her. She's also vanished from the October Gallery, as has her friend Ishmael. I did find an advert for a performance event she and Ishmael staged together last year, then I located Ishmael's current place of work - with a phone number. Rang them, but he wasn't in yet (it was just after 9 am).
I went to give Christine #1 my pound for this month's sweet rota, only to be told it had been stopped. She said there were only three other people still interested in having a sweet rota. So once the current packet of chocolate digestives was finished, from then on there would be no more nibbles on the Wednesday/Thursday shift in A/D Section. :(((
Murphy's Law in action : my very first call of the shift was to a bloke who'd developed a serious attitude problem towards our survey. While he never actually refused to do it, he went into a serious strop when I explained we couldn't cut corners and do the whole thing in a couple of minutes. From his rants it sounded to me like time was his main gripe, so I decided to interview just him and arrange a time to call his wife and daughter and let them do their own. My interview with him actually went smoothly, but when I asked when we could call to speak to the other family members he went off on one again. He reckoned that was out of order and said he'd rather do their questions himself. Before long, looking back I realised I should have tried to do their questions with him there and then, but at the time I was unsettled by getting a nasty one first thing, I was attaching too much importance to his saying at the start that time was the problem, and I was probably thinking that if I did start the questions for his wife with him, halfway through he'd lose his rag and hang up. So, despite his imprecations, I stuck to the plan of calling the wife and daughter separately; he did admit that they might be around in the evenings so I booked them in for tomorrow night. Almost as soon as I'd finished the call, I became convinced I'd made a mistake.
Going on coffee break I passed B/C Section and looked enviously at their white chocolate, cheese straws and houmous dip. What the hell is wrong with my A/D colleagues??
I went out into the open-air area to drink my coffee and tried Ishmael's workplace, but the phone signal out there was poor and my stupid phone kept switching itself off after Ishmael's phone had rung about five times. Back indoors I got through, but to an answerphone, so I left a message. Meanwhile I'd had a text from Sarah #2 to say she was working till 4 pm so I'd have to get the bus :(
My last interview overran by 10 minutes, condemning me to an almost hour-long wait for the next bus. I spent the time back in the office library trying once again to find Lisa. Not much luck. The company she'd worked for when we were friends in London doesn't seem to exist any more, and its phone number leads to the personal voicemail of someone called Alex. I finally got through to Ishmael, but he didn't have a more recent e-mail address for her - indeed, it seems they're no longer in regular contact although "she phones me occasionally". I waded through my e-mail accounts, found another couple of e-mail addresses Lisa had used, and sent my 'Happy Birthday' e-mail to all three, asking her to reply if she received one of them. Almost immediately, one of the e-mails bounced.
A guy at the bus stop recognised me - he was an old rugby-playing colleague of my father, and works at my office but in a different department. He bent my ear about various local issues all the way to Fareham bus station, but got on a different bus to mine there.
Just about had time to eat before my mother and I had to get ready for a mayoral trip, to Aldershot for the Cody Farnborough Amateur Operatic Society's production of Oh What A Lovely War! in aid of the Mayor of Rushmoor's charities. Thank goodness, Coke was among the drinks offered in our little reception room. Alex, the former lady footballer who'd accompanied David from New Forest to the Cowes reception, was there again so we caught up and she told me about a business she was setting up offering football training breaks in the Philippines.
I quite liked the show, very effective and poignant and mostly very well performed although the odd line was difficult to make out. My favourites were the old soldiers' songs like 'When This Lousy War Is Over'. In our section, though, the evening was overshadowed by David fainting and having to be carried out. The St John Ambulance were there pretty quick and by the time we went out for the interval, David was conscious and talking to the paramedics. Back in the reception room, Maria and I were both looking around for food (we'd been promised 'light refreshments') and found only one basket of crisps, to which we both helped ourselves. Fortunately, it wasn't long before waitresses began roving the room offering vol-au-vents, tomatoes and (yum) little circles of Feta cheese with herbs on.
On the drive back my mother said she hadn't enjoyed the show - World War I wasn't her kind of thing - and it had been too hot in the theatre for her and some of the others. Indeed, it had emerged that David fainting had been brought on by the heat. John tuned the radio to Capital Gold's frequency, but we only got reception when we approached Winchester. As we neared home, one of my favourites, Joe Jackson's Is She Really Going Out With Him? came on. I sang along all the way through. The song ended just moments before we reached our street.
I went to give Christine #1 my pound for this month's sweet rota, only to be told it had been stopped. She said there were only three other people still interested in having a sweet rota. So once the current packet of chocolate digestives was finished, from then on there would be no more nibbles on the Wednesday/Thursday shift in A/D Section. :(((
Murphy's Law in action : my very first call of the shift was to a bloke who'd developed a serious attitude problem towards our survey. While he never actually refused to do it, he went into a serious strop when I explained we couldn't cut corners and do the whole thing in a couple of minutes. From his rants it sounded to me like time was his main gripe, so I decided to interview just him and arrange a time to call his wife and daughter and let them do their own. My interview with him actually went smoothly, but when I asked when we could call to speak to the other family members he went off on one again. He reckoned that was out of order and said he'd rather do their questions himself. Before long, looking back I realised I should have tried to do their questions with him there and then, but at the time I was unsettled by getting a nasty one first thing, I was attaching too much importance to his saying at the start that time was the problem, and I was probably thinking that if I did start the questions for his wife with him, halfway through he'd lose his rag and hang up. So, despite his imprecations, I stuck to the plan of calling the wife and daughter separately; he did admit that they might be around in the evenings so I booked them in for tomorrow night. Almost as soon as I'd finished the call, I became convinced I'd made a mistake.
Going on coffee break I passed B/C Section and looked enviously at their white chocolate, cheese straws and houmous dip. What the hell is wrong with my A/D colleagues??
I went out into the open-air area to drink my coffee and tried Ishmael's workplace, but the phone signal out there was poor and my stupid phone kept switching itself off after Ishmael's phone had rung about five times. Back indoors I got through, but to an answerphone, so I left a message. Meanwhile I'd had a text from Sarah #2 to say she was working till 4 pm so I'd have to get the bus :(
My last interview overran by 10 minutes, condemning me to an almost hour-long wait for the next bus. I spent the time back in the office library trying once again to find Lisa. Not much luck. The company she'd worked for when we were friends in London doesn't seem to exist any more, and its phone number leads to the personal voicemail of someone called Alex. I finally got through to Ishmael, but he didn't have a more recent e-mail address for her - indeed, it seems they're no longer in regular contact although "she phones me occasionally". I waded through my e-mail accounts, found another couple of e-mail addresses Lisa had used, and sent my 'Happy Birthday' e-mail to all three, asking her to reply if she received one of them. Almost immediately, one of the e-mails bounced.
A guy at the bus stop recognised me - he was an old rugby-playing colleague of my father, and works at my office but in a different department. He bent my ear about various local issues all the way to Fareham bus station, but got on a different bus to mine there.
Just about had time to eat before my mother and I had to get ready for a mayoral trip, to Aldershot for the Cody Farnborough Amateur Operatic Society's production of Oh What A Lovely War! in aid of the Mayor of Rushmoor's charities. Thank goodness, Coke was among the drinks offered in our little reception room. Alex, the former lady footballer who'd accompanied David from New Forest to the Cowes reception, was there again so we caught up and she told me about a business she was setting up offering football training breaks in the Philippines.
I quite liked the show, very effective and poignant and mostly very well performed although the odd line was difficult to make out. My favourites were the old soldiers' songs like 'When This Lousy War Is Over'. In our section, though, the evening was overshadowed by David fainting and having to be carried out. The St John Ambulance were there pretty quick and by the time we went out for the interval, David was conscious and talking to the paramedics. Back in the reception room, Maria and I were both looking around for food (we'd been promised 'light refreshments') and found only one basket of crisps, to which we both helped ourselves. Fortunately, it wasn't long before waitresses began roving the room offering vol-au-vents, tomatoes and (yum) little circles of Feta cheese with herbs on.
On the drive back my mother said she hadn't enjoyed the show - World War I wasn't her kind of thing - and it had been too hot in the theatre for her and some of the others. Indeed, it had emerged that David fainting had been brought on by the heat. John tuned the radio to Capital Gold's frequency, but we only got reception when we approached Winchester. As we neared home, one of my favourites, Joe Jackson's Is She Really Going Out With Him? came on. I sang along all the way through. The song ended just moments before we reached our street.
