Only four total d***heads? Is that all? Really?

There are four people in my office, which comprises about 120 very different individuals, whom I really cannot abide. At least two of them make my flesh crawl just by being in the room. All four are men.

Why do I hate them so much (I think the feeling is mutual, by the way)? Well, here we go, let’s air all my prejudices and dislikes:-

1)    A raging Queen obvious to all to see, but not out and proud and in total public denial. Throws full blown tantrums over ridiculously minor stuff and is totally change averse.

2)    A dinosaur stuck in the 60’s who calls women ‘chicks’ and ‘babes’, wears hush puppies and corduroy jackets and has hair which is creeping over his collar leaving a slightly greasy neckline. Rarely does any work, and whatever you try to talk to him about, says it’s the first he’s heard of it. The first flesh crawler!

3)    A fat arrogant slob who, despite being just a junior planner and having vastly less experience and knowledge, thinks he is better than and more qualified than me and is staggeringly rude at every opportunity. This one is the second flesh crawler.

4)    An up-his-arse urban designer who has managed to get away with doing very little for several years and thinks he’s God’s gift, and so makes a full time occupation out of being a total knob!

Most people I can tolerate in fairly close proximity and most of the time probably can ignore fairly effectively. These four, I bristle just at the sight of and they can annoy me by simply walking into a room.

I know it’s irrational, and I know it’s unreasonable to feel like this, but it’s just the way it is. Perhaps it stems from the fact that I am charged with bringing about organisational change and don’t have any time to suffer fools (as those of you that know me well will be aware of) and in my early days these four were the main protagonists and blockages to modernisation, so we crossed swords fairly regularly. I don’t know; I can’t explain it and no matter how hard I try, cannot shake off the feelings. They’re with me to stay.

In contrast, there are a few people that I like a lot and who, despite varying degrees of incompetence and annoyingness, it is impossible to be cross with for long if at all. There’s simply no sense to it at all!

I acknowledge of course, that there is very little I can do to change these people and probably nothing, so I have to find coping strategies for them and most of the time that comprises ignoring them as much as possible. When pushed, I have to force myself to listen to what they say because maybe, just maybe, they may have a valid point in a discussion, but it’s a struggle because in my head, before they start they have no credibility.

There must be people like them in every office, and we must all, if we work, have colleagues we feel similarly about. Please someone tell me I’m not alone! I know I’m not the most tolerant of other people and most of the time would rather spend my life in glorious isolation, but generally speaking I manage to rub along with most including a complicated and awkward family. So I don’t think it’s me. But then there must be a common denominator, so perhaps it is?

I’ll probably never know, because most people are not blessed with the gift of honesty and won’t say what they think. Why can’t we just be straightforward from time to time, and if someone is being a total dick just tell them instead of nodding politely and then slagging them off behind their backs. It might at least make the workplace more lively!

Thirty one years ago. Blimey!

Today (19^th September) if I had remained married to Hubby Number One, I would have been married for thirty one years. I was 20 when I got married, and I thought I knew it all. Yeah, right!

A lot has happened in those thirty one years, some of it good and some of it pretty shitty. I have made and lost friends on the way and have learned a great deal.

Twenty was, of course, far too young. Looking back with the wisdom of middle age, at 20 you are still a baby in many ways. I think it should be law to have to live with someone for at least two years, or live away and independently from your smothering parents for that long, before you commit to something as serious as marriage.  Nothing prepares you for the shock of leaving the family bosom and having to fend for yourself.

Of course these days teenagers are much more worldly than I ever was, and when I look back I was incredibly square and unaware of the ways of the world even by standards in the 70s. I mean for God’s sake, my 18^th birthday party was in my parents’ lounge with them and their neighbours as the principal guests! Not one contemporary, not even my close friend from college Fizz Currie (actually she can’t have been that close as she buggered off to Uni and I never heard from her again!) (Oh, and her proper name was Felicity and she was mad about cats).

I have made some monumental mistakes in the past thirty one years, but I suppose it is all credit to me that I can recognise that and admit it. Hubby Number Two is perhaps the most monumental of all, and my excuse is that I was suffering so much backlash from my divorce from so called ‘friends’ that any port in a storm seemed attractive. And I have certainly paid for my mistakes, both emotionally and financially.

One thing that 24 years of turmoil (the amount of time since my first divorce) shows you is who your true friends are, and I think I can count them on the fingers of one hand. Yes I know a lot of people, but true friends have been hard to find. It is disappointing that I have so few but I think I am being more truthful when I say that then most people are who say “Oh, I have hundreds of friends”. True friends will tell you what they think but not be judgemental, will be there for you in times of trouble, stand up for you if necessary and will not gossip and spread nastiness about you even in fun. How many people can you honestly say that about? At the last count I had over 100 Facebook friends, but really that’s a misnomer; most of them are acquaintances and very nice people to boot, but they don’t fall into the definition I have just given.

Despite my somewhat chequered marital escapades, I think I’ve got it right this time, even if it did take me three attempts. The Hubby puts up with me, supports me, provides advice, affection and cuddles when needed, and is generally a good chap. He thinks like me (although he thinks I am also slightly bonkers) and even if he goes about things somewhat differently, has a common view of the desired end result. We have been married for nine years this year, and they have been the best nine years of my life.

Long may it continue.