Tales of catastophe, sex and squalor from the Alpine Underbelly...

Belle de Neige

Sunday, 24 January 2010

Pet hates..... one has many....

Continuing on a theme....I would like to now voice my Chalet Girl pet hates. Au jour d'hui was not a happy experience dans la chalet.... basically if we had a bunch of farmyard animals living with us it would be a less chaotic experience! Pigs I tell you. Pigs!

There are many things which conspire to irk the chalet girl. He are a few of my favourites...

The Cupboard Of DESPAIR
This is essentially a melange of shite. A dumping ground for everything we don't know what to do with. I'm talking bottles, bags, hoovers, mops, cans of drink, dirty laundry, general goip. You can't find anyfuckingthing in it. It's an under-stair cupboard, so you can't walk into it - only lean, precariously and painfully whilst clinging to the door frame, while you rifle through all the crap and become more and more enraged and emotionally scarred by the experience.

There's only one place on earth that's ever been more depressing than this cupboard. And that's Auschwitz. L has laid in it, completely flat on her stomach to try to reach some coke cans at the back, flailing around with the hoover head sticking into her groin and her face in a plastic bag - it was at this moment she said she had a moment of 'what the fuck am I doing? I'm a law student!!' clarity.

Chalet girls do a lot of shopping. Therefore another pet hate is clients standing in your way when you're carrying enormous bags of either laundry or food into or out of the building. Both men and women (and children are the worst) have an unbelievable habit of ambling in front of you when you are clearly staggering under a heavy load. They then grind to an oblivious, gormless halt. Because obviously them standing with their fat arse in the doorway is much more important than you not breaking your back with your shopping bag full of cheese. Cheese which, no doubt, they will later stuff their faces with at dinner, rendering their arse even fatter and more difficult to get past next time. Fucking move. I'm not standing here like a frickin manikin you cunt.

Toilet brushes. Just generally pretty unacceptable.

Piss under the toilet. How they manage to do it is beyond me. I can't figure it out.

Today I found what can only be described as black goo, on the carpet by the bed in one of the rooms inhabited by a particularly snotty teenager. Innocently and perhaps naively I dipped my finger in it and had a whiff, thinking it was chocolate milk spilt by some charming, yet clumsy child. Alas. It was chunder. Teenage-boy-I've-drunk-too-much-jaeger-or-some-other-disgusting-shit chunder. It was the consistency of tar.I wouldn't mind but said teenager lay on the bed and watched me scrubbing it out of the carpet without so much as an embarrassed flinch. His mother didn't apologise either.

Don't worry. Their toothbrushes have already been defiled.

Rich yet tight clients
May I just relay this conversation between my colleagues/flat mates L and H. L was so excited by some information she had just found out she started shrieking at H, who was in the shower. Open the bathroom door! You must hear this immediately!!

L: OMIGOD. I just found out Client X was worth 428 million!!! Can you believe that? 428 MILLION!
H: ........and he left us that tip?! Fucking cheapskate.

A demain

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