Valley Commando!!
It's always a challenge, adjusting your ears to the mumblings of different fee earners. There seems to be an unspoken (hah) rule amongst lawyers that the longer you work in a law firm, the less coherent you will sound on dictaphone. Once you reach partner status, the Swedish chef from the muppets becomes more easily understandable than you.
And so I find myself on a late Wesh summer afternoon listening in wonder to the up-and-down cadences of a mumbly Welsh accent on a less-than-efficient voice technology device. On the one hand, it's quite lovely to listen to the undulating tones of 'less-EEE, less-ORR, execut-ORRRRRRR' (yes, I'm in temping in conveyancing) - however on the other hand, I'm trying to stem a steady flow of files being dumped on my desk and having to constantly rewind each sentence in order to understand one FUCKING word of what is being said, is getting kind of frustrating.
In other news, I've landed a week's temping in a small firm of solicitors who are also having their walls painted by two bloshie blokes in white overalls. Now, I've spent the last few years of my legal life helping move almost every goddamn law office in Melbourne due to painting and decorating (operation Move Up One Floor for a Month and then Move it All Back Again) but I've never had the pleasure of being 'painted around' before. Nor have I ever gotten so high on paint fumes at the office that I come home at night and collapse laughing on the floor because my flatmate said 'hello'.
The painters provide welcome relief from the usual office gossip. The loud and lovely secretary with whom I share the space doesn't have time to regale me with the ins and outs of the legal personalities as she is too busy telling the builders where to shove it, as part of the friendly yet gutteral banter that accompanies the overwhelming yet somewhat dangerously aromatic paint fumes. She has quite the turn of phrase but my favourites are:
'Fuck off, bastard face' (to the painter)
'Kiss my arse' (to the painter)
'If I wanted to hear an arsehole I'd fart' (to the painter)
'I bet you haven't washed your knickers for weeks you filthy bastard' (to the painter, whose reply was 'no love, i'm not wearing any knickers' - to which she immediately yelled 'watch out girls, he's going VALLEY COMMANDO!!!!)
and
'I'm sorry love, I hope we're not offending you with our bad language' (to me)
My reply
'Oh I couldn't give a flying fuck. It's nice to work with people who have personality'
And so I find myself on a late Wesh summer afternoon listening in wonder to the up-and-down cadences of a mumbly Welsh accent on a less-than-efficient voice technology device. On the one hand, it's quite lovely to listen to the undulating tones of 'less-EEE, less-ORR, execut-ORRRRRRR' (yes, I'm in temping in conveyancing) - however on the other hand, I'm trying to stem a steady flow of files being dumped on my desk and having to constantly rewind each sentence in order to understand one FUCKING word of what is being said, is getting kind of frustrating.
In other news, I've landed a week's temping in a small firm of solicitors who are also having their walls painted by two bloshie blokes in white overalls. Now, I've spent the last few years of my legal life helping move almost every goddamn law office in Melbourne due to painting and decorating (operation Move Up One Floor for a Month and then Move it All Back Again) but I've never had the pleasure of being 'painted around' before. Nor have I ever gotten so high on paint fumes at the office that I come home at night and collapse laughing on the floor because my flatmate said 'hello'.
The painters provide welcome relief from the usual office gossip. The loud and lovely secretary with whom I share the space doesn't have time to regale me with the ins and outs of the legal personalities as she is too busy telling the builders where to shove it, as part of the friendly yet gutteral banter that accompanies the overwhelming yet somewhat dangerously aromatic paint fumes. She has quite the turn of phrase but my favourites are:
'Fuck off, bastard face' (to the painter)
'Kiss my arse' (to the painter)
'If I wanted to hear an arsehole I'd fart' (to the painter)
'I bet you haven't washed your knickers for weeks you filthy bastard' (to the painter, whose reply was 'no love, i'm not wearing any knickers' - to which she immediately yelled 'watch out girls, he's going VALLEY COMMANDO!!!!)
and
'I'm sorry love, I hope we're not offending you with our bad language' (to me)
My reply
'Oh I couldn't give a flying fuck. It's nice to work with people who have personality'
posted by belle de dayjob at 8:16 pm
1 Comments:
This is from a couple posts back:
In the last few weeks I have resigned from the permanent well-paid part time position with the private law firm and have thrown myself back into the chaotic world of temping. This is mainly due to life circumstances and the need to fit a crappy day job around them but I'd be lying if I denied that a little part of it was fuelled by the desire to have more entertaining stories to write about.
Too funny!!!
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