The homeless Slinky

I hate preparing for the move. I'm not someone who likes to get things organized; I'm more of the "leave it to the last possible minute, then panic and do the headless chicken and start praying" variety of person. If I were a royal I would sniff and say that that's what I have minions for. Unfortunately, being in entirely the wrong era and economic class, I've had to get my ass in gear and actually do things in order to ensure that (a) I have a plane to board come February (b) I will have clothes which fulfill the requisites of both form AND function (very hard, I tend to become entirely impractical since anything remotely pretty causes the practical side of my brain to take a vacation) (c) I will be able to get off said plane and actually enter the foreign country without having to resort to begging, bribery or just plain tears and (d) I will have someplace to live.

I've cleared my closets to see what I need (not that THAT was a lot of help since I was promptly seduced by the Mango sale into buying a jacket which is only marginally practical – but so soft!), cleaned out my room (but not packed it afterwards– the place looked like a bomb went off, clothes and paper and CDs everywhere), and spent two very frustrating days trying to sort out my visa. ("Question : do you smoke tobacco?" Slinky: "Wellll, technically.....")

Today I tried to settle the issue of accommodation. At present, I am, essentially, homeless. I applied months and months ago for some on-campus accommodation but was, after an interminable wait and some delay, rejected. I was sent some useless letter telling me that when I get there, then they’ll help me source for 'up to 3' different accommodations and in the meantime, go find your own damn place to stay.

(Small rant: I am paying my own damned way there, motherfuckers, and I don't have spare cash just to spend on fucking accommodation while you faff about and attempt to get your act together and try and find a place for me to stay when you bloody damned well know that this problem happens every year and for god's sakes, get off your ex-convict asses and DO something about it rather than leaving me in the lurch already!)

Fuck.

I wrote back immediately via email to the contact person, let's call her Little Miss Inefficiency. She writes back saying, and I quote "We are sorry we are unable to assist you with On Campus Accommodation for your Semester 1 enrollment at _____ University", and to call Mr. Unavailable (in Australia!) instead.

I call Mr. Unavailable and get voicemail saying that they're closed from Christmas till 5 January, those fucking slackers, please leave a message and we'll get back to you never.

Well that was a lot of stinking help.

I idiotically leave a message and my number in the foolish naive belief that they will call me back because I am a sucker that way.

Naturally I do not get a call so I waste yet more money calling them long-distance.

I was told Mr. Unavailable was unavailable, and then found out that I was talking to - guess who ? - Miss Inefficiency herself.

For god's sakes, if Miss Inefficiency writes to me and spout me some crap about being "sorry we are unable to assist you" then she writes to tell me to call Mr. Unavailable only to have him be unavailable and then end up with me coming full circle and talking to Miss Inefficiency who sent that useless fucking email in the first place, why didn't we just do this via email in the first damned place?

Miss Inefficiency proceeds to live up to her name by telling me that "everything is in the letter ]they] sent", and emphasizes that "it's all very clearly set out, you know" in her best 'speaking-to-an-idiot' voice, because evidently, I'm some dumbass yokel foreign student who can't fucking read English, so maybe I should go and read it again, right dear?

Listen Little Miss Inefficiency, you can take you snotty superior attitude and SHOVE IT because, goddamnit, I already have one degree under my belt, I come from a country whose infrastructure beats the living fuck out of yours and I can probably speak better English than you ever will, PLUS I don't have that ridiculous accent, so eat me.

I emphasize to her that I am asking her about matters which are NOT covered by the goddamned letter, and she starts to TALK OVER ME.

Status after a rather expensive transoceanic call - I am still homeless and likely to remain that way for a while, and may end up being stuck in some godforsaken apartment way out in Whoop Whoop being roommates with an 18-year old jock whose idea of fun is pub-hopping every night and vomiting in the wee hours of the morning outside my bedroom door and eat my fucking food and some spoilt little Sixth Avenue princess who will not wash her dishes after she uses them and uses my clean stuff instead and who will nick my goddamn Kenzo. Do I sound bitter? I am not bitter.

I complained to The Boy (well, I yelled actually) and he told me that Miss Inefficiency was probably cranky because I had disturbed her from her afternoon nap.

Meh.

I’m going to spend the rest of the afternoon doing nothing and live the Australian way. Humph.