Bye Hun

Three temps left the Office today. It’s an epidemic. And I don’t blame them. Would you want to work for six-odd quid an hour if you had something better lined up? Neither would I.

#1

Celebrated her 22nd birthday in the Office by crying because she missed her mum. Her mum was back in South Africa. I got her a miniature pack of crayons for her birthday, she was very impressed. Once I swapped her over to someone else’s team (she was petrified of nasty phonecalls, which doesn’t help when you’re supposed to be manning the enquiries line of a large-ish Government body), she was eternally grateful. I also equipped her with Monster. Monster came in a Happy Meal and cheered her up no end. One we put her in charge of filing, the stationery order and away from horrible callers, she was having a lovely time at work. In fact, everything was ‘lovely’. Every phonecall ended with ‘lovely’ (apart from the nasty ones, those ended in tears).

Anyhoo. Today was her last day. I went over to say goodbye. Next thing I know she had burst into tears and is crying on me. I think this was her first job ever. She said she would miss everyone (I doubt that! She is off to work on a cruiseship in the Mediterranean sun, why would you miss rainy London?). I nearly cried myself. Just out of solidarity.

#2

Was with us for a couple of months, but didn’t get a permanent position so her temping agency found her another job. That pays better. Apart from constant singing/sighing, she also delighted with a bewildering array of Darth Vader breathing noses (once her cold had cleared up this stopped) and some very strong opinions on God. She tried to convince everyone to visit her church. Hm. No thanks. We bought a cake for her today. The idea was for her to share it with the rest of the team. We even gave her a little knife with the cake. Somehow, she missed the point, thanked us profusely and proceeded to stuff the whole cake box and the knife into her bag. How awkward. For a split second I toyed with the idea of mentioning to her that she was supposed to share the cake with us. Then I thought of the major embarrassment this would cause, so the cake stayed in her handbag. I hope she is enjoying it as we speak.

#3

A very sudden demise. It is Friday afternoon and she announces via email that she won’t be back on Monday. The email was worryingly entitled ‘News Flash – This Social Butterfly Is Leaving’. Is being a ‘social butterfly’ something to boast about, when you turn up at work in miniskirts and fuck-me-boots on a regular basis? The social butterfly also indulged in overzealous greeting procedures (normal work greetings are somewhere between a friendly grunt and ‘morning!’). HEY HUN! HOW ARE YOU, BABES?. First thing Monday morning, that is a lot to take in. And Hun always makes me think of Attila. Today someone suggested I should have hired an actual Attila The Hun outfit and greeted her back with ‘yes, that’s right’, before offering to make a cup of tea. Worse still, she also called everyone ‘HEY BEAUTIFUL!’. I wasn’t beautiful last time I checked and adding ‘hey’ won’t change that fact either, I’m afraid. And don’t get me started on ‘TA BABES!’. I have left the baby stage about 28 years ago. I am not a baby. Let alone a ‘babe’. Like in ‘A Pig Named Babe’, maybe but in a screeching, belching, stinking and gargling newborn sense of the word. I think not. A rather nasty person suggested drawing a butterfly being squashed with a large hammer on her leaving card. But that would be just plain nasty. So nobody did.

Of course they all promised to stay in touch. Yeah right, as if. I’ve only ever stayed in touch with people from work if I actually liked them. Which is why I sometimes go for lunch with a girl I temped with years ago. That’s because she is good fun and I have a lot of respect for her. I would never stay in touch with work people for the sheer sake of it. I don’t even want them on my Facebook if I don’t actually like them on a social level.

And if I have to ever see another ‘Forever Friends’ greeting card, I am going to kill somebody.

Even more on estate agents ....

Dear Mr and Mrs Estate Agent,

(… or shall I say ‘Dear Mr and Mrs I. Diot’?)

THANK YOU!

Thank you for taking a massive holding deposit off me on the proviso that I would indeed be allowed to kill myself in the privacy of my own home via cigarette smoke. Thank you for assuring me of this fact in your letter I received last week. I do appreciate the fact you assured me this was not going to be a problem, when I asked you about this three times. Thank you for offering to remove the non-smoking clause from your lovely prefab tenancy agreement.

And thank you for then turning round, a week before I’m meant to move in, and announcing that you’re now not so sure about that part of the contract. Gosh, aren’t you ACE? Thank you for reminding me I am a filthy nicotine junkie and crazed addictive personality. And thanks for putting my holding deposit at stake here. Gee, I do love you for this.

THANK YOU!

Thank you for sending me a long letter about checking out of my old flat. Thanks for reminding me I should really splash out on having the carpets professionally steamcleaned. Despite the fact they were not freshly steamcleaned when I moved in (you helpfully stated on the inventory they were cleaned six months before I even set foot in the place) and despite the fact your amazing contract merely states that I have to pay for them to be cleaned if they are ‘soiled’, whilst at the same time assuring me that ‘reasonable wear and tear’ is not a problem. And thanks for recommending a whole host of cleaning products to me (we recommend that you use products such as Hob Brite for cleaning ceramics and Shiny Sinks for stainless steel sinks). What would I do without you? I’d be polishing off the windows with toothpaste. And thanks for reminding me that you will retain £250+ of my deposit if I don’t have the carpets steamcleaned. You even provide me with the mobile number of your nephew, who happens to be in the carpet steam cleaning trade.

THANK YOU!

And thank you for patronising me over the last year and a half. Thanks to you I know the dangers of suspect leeks in my bathroom. I also know to be alert at all times, because your staff just love to pay a surprise visit. It’s nice to nip downstairs to make some tea to find one of you is already in my kitchen. He even helpfully asked me what I was doing there. Thanks for reminding me that I do still live here. And thanks for your lovely follow-up email to this unannounced viewing exercise. Gee, I had no idea one can utilise a Hoover for anything other than pest control. And a big thank you for losing my original contract and then asking me to hand over my own original copy to you. That’s way better than having to lug four pages of A4 paper to the recycling bin. It really has helped me a lot.

It makes me very sad that our fantastic partnership won’t last for much longer, because, unfortunately, I will have to gauge out your eyeballs with a wooden spoon now. Terribly sorry, but the voices in my head make me do strange things sometimes.

The Last of the Secret Agents

Good morning, I’m ringing about this flat in Whetstone you’ve got advertised ….

No, we’re updating our web site!

Okay. Er, the one for £155 a week.

I SAID, we’re UPDATING OUR WEBSITE! What are you looking for?

A flat. In N12 or N20. Like the one you have advertised.

Are you not listening? We’re updating our web site!

Does that mean you haven’t got that one any more?

No, now are you going to tell me what you’re looking for or not?

A flat in N12 or N20, LIKE the one you no longer have!

Only one I got is £230 a week!

I have had many conversations like this one in the past couple of weeks. Estate agents are complete cunts. I knew that already. But I didn’t realise they got worse. Now they’re advertising flats as Unfurnished and then refuse to take out the manky old sofa bed, table and chairs and horrible pine cupboard that’s already in there. Their ages seem to average out at 19. Like the one whose phone went off with some gangster rap ringtone during the viewing of a ‘lovely, cosy, good size studio’ (6ft by 6ft). It’s the missus. She hates that ringtone..I am not surprised. It sucks!. This is after he spent ten minutes trying to open the door to the flat and I had to help him prop the door up in the end. That little shit probably earns twice as much as I do. And he has a nice car and a little polyester suit.

These people enjoy nothing better than laughing in your face when you inform them of your budget. A studio is now the price a two-bedroom flat was a year and a half ago. I shit you not. Presumably landlords are freaking out over the supposed property price crash and rising interest rates and have decided to take this out on those who can’t afford to actually buy anything. Nice one. But don’t you laugh in my fucking face when I am offering you my business. And for God’s sake, stop patronising me like I’m some kind of imbecile. And don’t call me on my mobile three times in a row going ‘Ah, hello? Is that Mrs Vergho?’. Firstly, you spoke to me five minutes ago on the same number. Secondly, this is a mobile phone. They’re likely to be answered by their owners and thirdly, what gave you the right to assume I was married?

And don’t say you can do a viewing at 6pm and then go on and on about how inconvenient this is for you and how you have so many better things to do. Either you can do this time or you cannot. You said you could, so stop fucking guilt-tripping me. You’re an estate agent. You need people like me.

And don’t get me started on your trick photography of studio flats. You appear to be using a self-timing camera that’s sunk in a hole in the wall, facing some kind of mirror. How else could you give the impression a 6ft by 6ft hell hole was ‘large’?

And why instruct five different agencies to find you a tenant? The same two flats have appeared on the usual property web sites up to 10 times. This is very frustrating. I have seen both of them already. One was the 6ft by 6ft joke, the other wasn’t all that nice either. I used to live in the same house, I know these flats well. Could someone take them off these web sites, please? It’s confusing me.

So thanks to you and your inflated prices, I am currently thinking about taking on a flat I can barely afford. And it’s not even in the location I had in mind. I’ll be spending nearly half my wages on rent. How can a fucking studio be 700 quid a month plus bills AND be in Band C for council tax?

Your arrogant demeanour has had me in tears of frustration, I have lost sleep over bastards like you. You make me feel very small and like I am at your mercy. I don’t understand. I have a good job (for fuck’s sake, I’m a civil servant, I should be every letting agent’s dream!), my wages are okay (or so I thought!) and I’m trying to give you money. Why do you hate me so much?