After a week of true work hellishness (though I take pains to point out that this still does not bring my job anywhere even close to the status of Job From Hell), I escaped my rampant sense of failure and inadequacy by jaunting off to Galway for the weekend to meet a friend.
Galway was great - pretty town on the coast with loads of time spent just walking around, eating, drinking and people watching :-) It was made even better by the fact that we had almost perfect weather! Sunny, blue skies and gorgeous temps. I had to wear my sunglasses! And I even pushed up the sleeves on my sweater a few times. Amazing.
Sadly, no pictures of the pretty town, my amazingly small B&B room with the Thumbelina-sized shower stall, or of me looking stylishly "hot" because I accidentally reformatted the memory card :-( But I'll be going back, I'm sure, so will have some to post in the future.
Showing posts with label Job From Hell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Job From Hell. Show all posts
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Friday, September 7, 2007
The great and the downright scary
Here's an example of the kind of thing I like best about Ireland vs. my life in Raleigh and the Job From Hell. Today (Friday) at 3:30, I heard the dulcet tones of my coworker voice one of the most beautiful phrases ever - "Hey Jamaican in Cork, you want to get out of here and get a drink?" Now, have you ever heard such a beautiful invitation? And, best of all, we walked out of there with no guilt or worry about what anyone would think - half the office seemed to already have left for the day anyway - walked up the road to the bar/grill at the local golf course and proceeded to start our weekend early! Would this ever have happened quite this way at the JFH? Absolutely not. Would I have felt quite so entitled to enjoy myself without guilt in my life over yonder? Heck no!
Here's the not-so-good part, and one my caucasian friends probably won't get the inherent drama of. Last night I girded my loins and walked into a hair salon to get my hair done. (Here you'll have to close your eyes and imagine scary music playing in the background while the black character in the horror movie screams, "No! Don't go into the basement!", just before he buys it big time. The black guy also gets killed off first, right? Sort of like red shirt on Star Trek). Anyway, it was either take the plunge or give in to the incipient afro action that was taking place on the top of my head!
The good news is they didn't fry my hair and no major breakage has occurred in the last 24 hours. The bad news is that, despite my being assured by several other customers that this was "the best black hair salon in Cork", the owner went on to a) gush about how beautiful and unusually nice my hair is (mine?!), b) voice her hope that she can someday travel to the U.S. to learn how they do hair so well over there, and c) complain that black (African) women in Cork don't take care of their hair and so she's thinking of giving up stocking supplies for them altogether! What.....?! This does not bode well for my future hair health, I'm thinking. I might have to go back to the idea of doing a regular jaunt into Dublin after all. Surely the capital city of this country would have some hairdressers who are on par with the U.S. Surely?!
Here's the not-so-good part, and one my caucasian friends probably won't get the inherent drama of. Last night I girded my loins and walked into a hair salon to get my hair done. (Here you'll have to close your eyes and imagine scary music playing in the background while the black character in the horror movie screams, "No! Don't go into the basement!", just before he buys it big time. The black guy also gets killed off first, right? Sort of like red shirt on Star Trek). Anyway, it was either take the plunge or give in to the incipient afro action that was taking place on the top of my head!
The good news is they didn't fry my hair and no major breakage has occurred in the last 24 hours. The bad news is that, despite my being assured by several other customers that this was "the best black hair salon in Cork", the owner went on to a) gush about how beautiful and unusually nice my hair is (mine?!), b) voice her hope that she can someday travel to the U.S. to learn how they do hair so well over there, and c) complain that black (African) women in Cork don't take care of their hair and so she's thinking of giving up stocking supplies for them altogether! What.....?! This does not bode well for my future hair health, I'm thinking. I might have to go back to the idea of doing a regular jaunt into Dublin after all. Surely the capital city of this country would have some hairdressers who are on par with the U.S. Surely?!
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