Today

Didn’t realize I blogged similar thoughts from months ago. But it had to be explained. It’s time to be more chronological.

Beige Burka

“There are some mediocre women out there in this bar wishing they were like you.” I blushed politely at his words.  It had been the first time I had ever spoken to him one-on-one, his beer breath smelled stronger as he leaned forward to grab his next sip. I couldn’t even remember his name, even though we had chatted a few times in our office and he was one of my bosses strong armed blond besties.

This was quite the compliment  but it only made me internally roll me eyes and reminded me of the circular year I had in Afghanistan. I was living in a compound filled with loud horny contractors,  disillusioned ex-military men always trying to sweet talk you – like this American ex-special forces to their spring mattresses using the same boring lines in a confident chuckle(although his had been innovative and a feel good), by the…

View original post 617 more words

Advertisements

Triple Barfs and a Little Fucking Noise.

Cancerous Whores

Boom. Boom. Boom.

“Hello,” I yell through the loud beat of Mon Amour by Jessy Belleval (researched this instant, I hated that song, the Dj’s only skill was that he could press play, every Saturday.) Triple Barf.

♪ ♪

My phone is blinking. Unknown call. Hmm.

“Fuuuuuck. Where have you been?? I’ve been trying to reach you since forever, do you not ever answer your fucking phone? WTF is wrong with you? Like did you not see my email? I mean like hum I’ve got something for you and I’m sure you need it because you have no money and it would be a pleasure to help you out because I know you need to start having a real job and saving some money because you have none.”

 ♪ Je cacherai mes desirs. ♪       Boom.Boom.Boom.

“Euh, I’m working, it’s noisy and I have customers who need to hang their co”

“Anyways, I have to work so don’t really have time to chat but listen they are going to hire someone else in the Travel Department and I think you would be fucking perfect for this job as you have experience and like you’ve already been in Afghanistan and like you have great connections around town and like or otherwise they are going to hire that fucking Bosnian bitch whom tried to frame me in my last fucking  job, who’s contract hasn’t been renewed with ISAF and she really wants to stay in Kabul but we have such a great time I don’t want her to ruin it with her fucking negative energy and she is really fucking mean spirited plus  like she hates me so it wouldn’t be a fucking right fit. Have you heard anything about my sisters? Apparently, Sam is failing one of her classes or her university is on strike I’m not sure what’s happening? So, no like hum…I don’t want that bitch to work with us, she has already submitted her fucking resume and they will hire her as no one has applied for the fucking position. I don’t even think it has been fucking posted but we are only three here and our flight allotment, euh like hmmm, went up from once a fucking week to six I’m working fucking 14 hours per day running the whole show with the checking and guest services, I have no time for myself like I’m fucking exhausted, I’ve been here a month and Daft these fuckers better get their fucking fucking act together now,because I am about to quit. Like Head Office is fucking daft and I can’t understand why the fuck these cunts haven’t figured that out to hire more staff before they fucking launched these extra flights. Fuckers! So?

Another song :  ♪ Vivre loin de toi. Ah, Ah, Ah ♪        Boom. Boom. Boom.

“I, you want me to work with you?”

“Yes, isn’t that what I’ve been fucking saying.”

“But”

“What, fucking spit it out I’m in my room ill and I can’ even fucking rest because there is no back up and I’m all fucking alone and we are super fucking busy, but I have the fucking flu so I can barely move and I’m looking at bookings from my room. This is fucking bullshit the program they have for reservation server is in Timbuktu Shitvilles Canada and we are in the Middle East, so it takes forever to upload the information, plus the internet is fucking slow here. We pay these fuckers, these fucking bastards so much fucking money to be here and they can’t even have the fucking decency to have fucking fast internet. WTF.”

“So about me working with you, I was planning on going to Hong Kong and working there. I already made arrangements, so”

“What? You have a job with the fucking Chinese. Does it pay well at least?”

“Well, no I don’t have a job yet”

“Fucking, hell. Why the fuck waste your time with that when you can have a job here. What you’re going to waste money trying to find something crummy and then pay housing with what. You have fucking nothing. This is fucking stupid.”

“OK, maybe I don’t have a plan but”

“Fucking right, this is dumb. Come here first, work with me save some money pay your school debts than go work with your fucking Chinese.”

“You’re a sailor trucker filled with improprieties.  How can a person curse  and be racist as much as you, yet be a fervent Orthodox? I don’t get it. God you have issues.”

“Oh Fuck your face, you know I say what I think. And don’t use his name in vain. Don’t get why people are attracted to Asia, what’s there but sweat shops and rice, plus it’s only good for the food and you can get it at home. Fucked up that you want to go there. No money but travel plans? I’d say you’re the one with issues when I offer you a solution on a silver fucking platter and you like have to think about it. Don’t be a dumb cunt Beige.”

♪ ♪ ♪

Job Search

The Year

I had just graduated from University, but still working as a cloak room attendee (in a crummy bar)  mostly paid in tips; and I say mostly because it was a fight to get a few pennies from these cheap bastards. The music was mostly calypso, reggae top 40’s and zouk. Everything I never listened to, hence the reason I spent most of my time trying to block this noise and ignored everything around me so I didn’t realize my phone was ringing. Plus, I had no means of getting a smart phone.  I didn’t know I had received an email.

Poor student syndrome was surrounding me and this cold January month didn’t help. But I had a plan. I had already purchased my ticket via Expedia to Bangkok and my next leg to Hong Kong with Air Asia. I was obsessed by their fashion and fast lifestyle. I was going to find a job in Fashion this time, for sure. I swore I’d never go back to North America until I was successful, fucked properly and with a new network of fabulous friends equally interested in the superficial matters of eccentric wear. But I didn’t go, I went somewhere else instead.

I guess the capital letters really got me hooked.

 

EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH

The Year, Today

I love it when people think they are a mix of Oprah Winfrey, Barbara but mostly Mother Theresa. Sure, sure.

Would you write an email like this to your boss? Jezebel Martyr thinks she has the right.

This email arrived in his inbox two hours after she tried to pimp her sister in exchange for a position in our company, employee of the month indeed.

Etiquette girl, etiquette.

Real or faux email?

 

Constipated Wall

Today

“Madame, Madame,” he said with his Kiwi accent. “Please next time walk on this side of the wall.”

“What?” I am very confused as the Georgian soldiers pointed to step out of the car and wait over by this side of the wall. Usually, whenever we enter ISAF HQ (International Security Assistance Force Head Quarters military camp) off the dusty streets of Kabul our vehicle are checked at the entrance by Georgian soldiers.

Their military organization is constantly mocked by the international community as they barely speak English. They usually go to the stores in packs of twenty to purchase anything from cigarettes to an iPhone at the B&S stores or American PX, with an ambassador who speaks 45 words or less but can make his way through a purchase. Seriously, who are they going to call if the gate gets attacked? My guess is on no one knows. They also like to ask where they can find more women. I think they are looking for the whore houses, but most men here are.

This morning the gate opened with several guys pointing to Bin and Min (I know) to step out of the car. Two Nepalese drivers are certainly not Talibans, but because they are not part of NATO and the Georgian probably can’t tell the difference with TCNs, they have to go through a rigorous search, eye scans and finger prints included thank you very much. I’m late, I don’t want to walk in the mud with my Jeffrey Campbell’s knee high boots, yes even in a war zone I bring fashion and I’m fierce. You’d be surprised to see the selection of Gucci, Fendi’s, Louis Vuiton and vintage pieces the ladies have here. I have no time for this shit, but I’m not the one holding the riffle in my face, am I.

Rear view mirrors attached to long sticks check under our white Hiace for traces of bombs, this couldn’t be more contrary. Modern weapons, rudimentary ways to detect suspicious devices. As I am the glorious owner of a laminated Contractor badge with a security clearance highlighted by a red square around my face, I’m supposed to be subjected to a very quick search. Unfortunately, every time there is a new rotation, things seem to change into greater confusion; new soldiers arrive with new ideas, everyone thinks the last in post had terrible security procedures, makes new rules to assert their authority, changes the badge color scheme and priority, impose innovative ways to render entry nearly impossible, this chaos affects business transactions, millions of dollars are lost, I’ve even seen critical patient in ambulances turned away. A mess! Yesterday, I entered with ease, today my drivers and I are treated like Talibans. Now, you comprendo a little why I am seething and couldn’t care less about what he thought I should or shouldn’t do so I gave him my best left shoulder humph and walked away from him.

He catches up with me and blocks my way. “When you leave your vehicle,” he repeated in a slow manner identifying me as a mentally challenged person “you walk on that side of the wall.”  “This is the bad side.”

“Huh?”

“All the good vehicles go on that side and the suspicious ones loaded with bombs go on this side. If you want to die with me on this side of the wall, it’s fine with me Madame.”