Insignificant

Warning: The following write-up contains negativity and complex parentheses.

I remember fondly the morning coffee run at my old job back in the UK. Once clocked in, a small group of us would saunter down to the in-house Starbucks where I'd pick up a piping hot Americano and a fresh cheese scone. The banter was always good at this time in the morning, and would set the day up nicely. Thinking back, it was the best team I've ever been part of, mostly because we all got on so well and respected one and others different roles and abilities (though I'm sure a few choice curses have been directed towards some of my legacies since I left).

This morning, I popped into the Costa near my bus stop for an Americano, which is what got me thinking about the good old days. They don't sell cheese scones out here, so I settled for a blueberry muffin (back again in Cairo after a month off (I suppose I should thank Allah for eventually gracing the stock orderers with the foresight to actually order things that are popular enough to run out regularly)) which, when fresh, light and fluffy, is a more than adequate replacement tastywise. The nostalgia ended there however as I sat down in an empty office with my muffin (the coffee was finished during the bumpy bus ride) to whatever the day had in store for me.

It was a most unpleasant 38 degrees today, which would have been bearable had The President's promise to install an air-conditioner (yes, it's down to just the one now from the originally requested seven) materialised. Instead, I sweated and stank my way through eight truly awful hours of meetings with Deans and The President (with the boss away for a month, I've been left holding the fort), briefly interrupted by the parents (and distractingly irritating little brother) of a girl who failed English and couldn't accept my decision to not just add a couple of percent here and there so that she could pass. (They flitted between myself and The President, moaning and whining about some bollocks and generally not getting what they had come for. During the final parent-plea (after The President had told them to sod off), She Who Must Not Be Named Knobface (who is getting better and better and finding things to pick a fight about) provided the translation for their increasing agitation which apparently involved an offer of money if the pass was awarded. Needless to say, I finished that conversation with a firm handshake and a 'Khalas' which the angry daddy reluctantly accepted, albeit with a few utterances under his breath as he left.)

On the plus side, The President did promise today (when he makes a promise, he keeps it (he told me with unwavering belief in his words)) that the air-conditioner would be installed this afternoon/tomorrow Inshallah.

Yawn.


---> Music - Corynorhinus