Arseholes, can’t live with them, can’t kill ’em all.

Sometimes you find someone who grinds on every single nerve ending you’ve got. This is one of those times.

We’ve got a new project manager, for ease of typing and anonymity I shall call him Tool. Tool is, I would guess, about 60 years old and has been with us for about 6 weeks. I haven’t had very many dealings with him before this week so had no idea how annoying he could be, although I did hear complaints from Fit Bloke about how Tool had stolen his chair and internet cable while he was out on site and how Tool loudly eats his sandwiches at his desk which is about a foot away from Fit Bloke.

This week I have had cause to spend more time with Tool and it seems Fit Bloke is right. He’s an arse.

Issue number one – He refers to me as ‘Vic’. Grinds my gears badly. There are people who call me Vic without annoying me, these include my brother, Best Friend (sometimes, not all the time), people at work who have known me for a few years and people on here I have exchanged personal revelations with. All these people are folks who have the right to call me Vic. Some berk I’ve spoken to fewer times than I’ve changed my car does not. It’s overly familiar and petty as it may be, it makes me want to shorten his name to something annoying. Like Twat. Which isn’t a shortening per se but is an irritating thing to be referred to while at work. Yesterday he referred to me as ‘Kid’, as in ‘Very good, Kid’. Listen dung-for-brains, I am a 31 year professional woman, I am not a kid and unless you want me to start calling you ‘Geriatric’ I suggest you cut that shit right out, now.

Issue number two – the car. For some baffling reason, given that his job involves travelling from site to site, Tool doesn’t like using his car for work. Tool prefers to get other people to drive him about, thereby avoiding the need for him to purchase fuel or put miles on his car. No, everyone else can do that. I didn’t realise this until I volunteered to go to a crane lift meeting with him and asked where on the site I needed to be, “It’s ok, I’ll show you because you can give me a lift there since I won’t have me car, good girl” he says, barely stopping short of patting me gently on the top of my bonce and telling me not to worry my pretty little head about these things. I wander off muttering words that no ‘good girl’ ever uses. The following day he rings me while I’m on site with Fit Bloke, “I hear you’re on S site straight after the meeting. Well that’s good because you can kill two birds with one stone” he says. I inform him I’ve got no idea what he’s on about. “You can drive me from the crane meeting to S site and it kills two birds with one stone” he says, somehow managing to make it sound like he is bestowing an enormous favour on me and not once gracing the conversation with the word please. In fact he doesn’t at any point ASK if I would mind driving him around like I’m working for a taxi company, he merely informs me that this is what I will be doing. Then hangs up. I’m left muttering more words that good girls don’t use while Fit Bloke laughs at me and my anger.

Issue number three – manners. The meeting with Crane Man is at 9am and is ten minutes away. At 8.50am I go down to where Tool’s desk is to see if he’s there. He isn’t, he hasn’t arrived yet. At 8.55am he rolls into the office, looks at me and says “Are you ready then?” as if he’s waiting for an eternity. Am I ready? ME? Are you on fucking glue sunshine, I’ve been here since 7.30am and you’ve still got your bloody coat on because you’ve just walked in. What the hell is the matter with you? I’m annoyed already. We go to the car and set off. Having got onto site, narrowly avoiding kicking him out of the vehicle for loudly chewing gum next to my ear so that I had to jack up the radio because it was making me itch, he starts barking orders. “Left, left, right, over the bridge, pull up here I want to ring to see where Crane man is, right we’ll drive over to the gas holder now so I can see if the subbies have finished…”. If you don’t say please, you pig ignorant shite-bag, I’m going to lose my temper. He doesn’t. I bite my tongue so hard in an attempt not to explode that I make the end of it bleed. This is not fun. When we’ve finished we set off for S site, a 15 minute journey which he fills by telling me all about the Mercedes he drives and how his daughter drives a Merc and has been to Spain to test drive the new model and his wife has a BMW 3 series that she leases from the NHS for £118 a month and how he bought a BMW for £4k less than the asking price then sold it on for £25 less than he paid for it a while later when he wanted a Merc again and blah blah blah. I fill the time wondering whether it is logistically possible to open the passenger side door from the driver’s side and eject a passenger. I figure it probably isn’t so I turn the radio up again. After what feels like 40 years we arrive at site, me for a meeting with Client and Fit Bloke and him for a meeting with someone I hope has a high tolerance level. Fit Bloke arrives and knowing how hacked off I am about the whole business, starts taking the piss, “How’s the new chauffeur shaping up?” he asks Tool. “Well ok, but I’ve had to smack her a few times” Tool replies. My eyebrows disappear somewhere into my hairline and Fit Bloke looks a bit surprised, that clearly isn’t the answer he was expecting. Off we go to the meeting, me still muttering obscenities and occasionally bitching and Fit Bloke laughing at me again. After the meeting I come back to the car and there’s no sign of Tool. Where the fuck has he gone now? I’m not waiting around all day for him, I’ve got stuff to do. I start muttering rude words and Fit Bloke drives off in his van, laughing at me. After ten minutes or so I ring the office to get his mobile number. They don’t have it. I try 3 other people. They don’t either. Some nice subcontractors in the cabin remember seeing Tool on site with their manager so they ring him but he isn’t answering. After a further 15 minutes of chasing I find someone with Tool’s mobile number and call it. “Where are you? I need to get back to the office to sort some stuff out.” I say. “Really? Well I’m actually just outside the office now, I got Subbie Manager to drive me back so don’t worry about it, you can come back now kid.”.  COULD YOU NOT HAVE FUCKING WELL TOLD ME YOU UNHOLY LITTLE TWUNT??? I’ve been sat here like a pillock, inconveniencing various people in the hunt for you because you didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me you’d got an alternative life back and I was too polite to take Fit Bloke’s advice and just sod off and leave you there. Not trusting myself to speak lest any of my thoughts escape down the phone line and get me into trouble, I hang up on him.

And that is the very last time the wanker gets a lift off me. Ever. What an arsehole.

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11 Responses

  1. Some of those things are bordering on harassment.

    There’s a certain shortened version of my name that – if anyone dares call me it – I immediately tell them that only ONE person was allowed to call me by that name (because he’d known me since I was born), and I went to his funeral almost 10 years ago.

  2. You have named him well.

  3. That’s horrendous and I’m furious just reading it, never mind actually experiencing it. AAARRRGH.

  4. I have no idea how you stopped yourself from decking him.
    But yes, for the sake of your sanity and blood pressure, never let him anywhere near your car again.
    As for ““Well ok, but I’ve had to smack her a few times” – words fail me.

  5. Honestly, I’d kill him. There are aspects that you’ve raised that are annoying, but I really would consider warning him about his use of language. He’s a misogynist and that’s not going to go away until you tell him what has to change. I hate him for you.

  6. What an arsehole. Is he still on his probation? Could you complain to HR and get the git fired?

  7. I think he needs a bloody good kick in the balls. Or, failing that, you should engineer a massive stitch-up which shows, to a very wide audience, what a total twunt this guy is.

    After thinking about it, I suggest the latter.

  8. 60+ year old men are just a pain in the arse, period, and should be abolished.

    Great read Vicola (resisting temptation to shorten name lest you bring cyber wrath down upon my bonce).
    🙂

  9. You must have done something really naughty in a previous life, Vicola. to merit having such a social inadequate foisted on you.

    On the upside of course, (pause to switch off sympathy gene) we get to read all about him in your usual excoriating and highly amusing detail.

    On the downside, he gives us 60 – somethings a bad name.

    Regards,

    jtx, 61 and bugger-all I can do about it

    • There’s loads of them at my work and they’re all a complete bloody menace. Shining examples of what happens when you put a moron behind a desk and give it a keyboard to play with.

  10. Fuck me! That guys sounds like the biggest dickhead on the planet. Patronising and arrogant too? Very bad combination.

    So me dear (oops, am I doing it too?!), stick to your guns and NEVER give that twat a lift again. And make sure you call him Geriatric next time he calls you KId (that made me laugh my bloody head off!)

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