:: Negative

What a week, what a week. Here's a quick rundown of what has been on my mind, constantly, since Monday. Best to start at the beggining...


They hired a new guy at work to be an installer. Commercial glass experience. About 35 I'd say. I think he told me but I forget. I get to work with him on his first day... 2 weeks ago. Here's the best part. Barely speaks english.

So whatever. I'm a big boy and the Calgary job market forces you to take what you can get. Having expeirence is a great bonus. I figure at least he can handle glass so I should be safe. Not true. By 10 in the morning I was lucky to still have blood in my body. The man handles glass like a cotton sweater. Luck prevailed and a mirror that should have broke and seriously wounded one of us was installed with minimal damage. This house probably goes for a mil or two but he didn't mind scratching everything he got near. And he was so fucking eager to work that it takes more work to make sure he's not fucking something up than to do the work alone.

When working with glass knowing your partner and communication are essential. I couldn't tell him to slow down. I couldn't plan the lift with him. Before the end of the day I've told the shop he shouldn't be working with us.

Blah blah, the next week he works with the boss so he can train him and see him work. I make it clear I don't ever want to work with him again and we should fire him. This week he's back with me. I don't like it but I'll try.

By 9 in the am I am totally fried. Out of patience. We're lucky we didn't break everything we installed. Absolutely in a rage. Thinking of hurting him, or myself, or anyone else. Furious. I want to smash everything I touch. At the end of the day I go straight to my bosses and make it clear I don't think he can work at house of mirrors and that I'm certain I can't work with him without wanting to drive into oncoming traffic so my day will end. He can see me shaking with rage. I put on my smile, paper thin.

He talks me into trying another day.

Tuesday. Not good.

Rage. I realize that I have a problem with rage. I am not just angry. I am enraged. I want to kill. I think it is the most logical solution and, therefore, would be easy. I can't stop thinking about it. A Kane mind at full speed. Jaws clenching constantly. Forgetting to breathe or look where I'm driving. And seriously not caring. Telus got me here once. They call this a "language barrier".

I tell the bossman again. Standing, shaking, arms crossed. Very clearly. He says to have a pint and try my best. I'm rage. I am rage. Putting my head through the walls makes sense.

Wednesday we work together again. I accomplish very little and leave as soon as I'm done. By now it is a personal insult to me that I have to even suffer these emotions. It both exhausts and invigorates me. I want to quit if this continues.

So the obvious solution is to take a day off and so I call in sick. Drinking enough the night before so that I am actually unable to work the next day seals the deal and my excuse valid.

In closing, I was, and still am, quite rageful. It's so strong. I could do anything because I would lose everything. Nothing less than full satisfaction will do.

I'm getting better and will be ok after the weekend. Boy, though.... like really really mad. grrrrfuckingowwwlll.