Day 99999 - The real DIY story

Now you have all seen the Mitre 10 advertisement on TV. First there is the blokey put up a fence, build a deck DIY manly man. This is contrasted with the sad looking "pay someone else to do it type". The advertisement then concludes by stating "You don't wanna be this type."

Actually, I am this guy, and more to the point, I aspire to be this type. You see, I work all week decoding complex legislation, drafting weighty legal opinions and dealing with other irritating bureaucrats,so I can come pay someone "qualified" to do my building stuff. So in the weekends, I can be the sit back, have a beer, play with the kids and read the paper type. Excellent. 

The key word in that last paragraph is "qualified". My mate Nigel the Builder breathes an enormous sigh of relief every time I tell him my local builder mate, Dave the Builder, is doing something to our old house. As Nigel the Builder will tell you, builders spend an enormous amount of their time fixing inept home handyman's errors. Builders by nature are grumpy. Builders are down right terrifying when they discover a botched job.

If you consider the Mitre 10's advertisement closely, it is quite brilliant. It encourages unqualified slobs to undertake DIY that looks good for a short while. Then it leaks, breaks, jams and/or buckles and the wife is forced to call the builder. This keeps surly builders in business, and Mitre 10 wins both times.  

Overall, undertaking DIY when you are clearly incompetent is much like shagging your mate's sister. It seems like a good idea at the time, but never is.










  

Day 501 - Manners Street v The Terrace

In a quirk of fate, or perhaps in an attempt to marginalise it, the Commission of Commission’s offices are located in the dubious surroundings of Manners Street. Of course, any self-respecting Government organisation is located within spitting distance of Parliament. Preferably on the much vaunted “The Terrace”.

The Treasury is at No1 The Terrace and flaunts its address with the drunken strut of a 5/10 women at any Wellington bar at 3am - it just knows it’s going to score. By comparison, Manners Street is like Tawa. One understands it exists, but would never actually visit. Much like Manners Street is on the way to Courtney Place or Cuba Street, Tawa is on the way to anywhere, but Tawa.

Having occupied office space on both The Terrace and Manners Street, I have come to appreciate Manners Street and it’s natives. Some preliminary observations:

- The other day, I saw what I thought was a walking highlighter pen. Alas it was a Manners Street dweller attired in a bright combo of pink and orange. The Terrace, by comparison allows only varying hues of grey on black – or if one is daring, navy blue for a casual Friday.

- The Mucho Mucho Cuban Coffee kiosk has the strongest coffee in Wellington.

- The narrow bus lane is a pleasing process of natural selection. To the Manners Street local, the slender bus lane is a free PlayStation game. To the bus drivers, a chance to vent some frustration at being a bus driver. And to newbies, a reason to buy some new underwear.

- The teenagers outside Burger King seem nice.

Day 0.03 - the private dump

In my view, one of the most important things to check out on your first day at a new job is the toilets. Its crucial. You don't know these people. Its therefore vital that the toilets are conducive to a decent level of privacy.

Nobody likes to to talk about it, but the last thing you want to do is listen to your workmate's toilet sounds. Plop, plop, quickly followed by unsettling machine gun fire. Then comes excruciating wiping sounds. If hell is other people, pure hell is other people taking an audible dump in the cubicle next to you.

In my old job, I used to sneak down to the ground floor disabled toilet to guarantee a serene bowel movement. I don't have any qualms about occupying a disabled space. To be sure, disabled people are entitled to a little extra space to swivel their wheelchairs, but they shouldn't have the monopoly on a secluded poo.

At the Commission of Commission, I have encountered near lavatory utopia. To even get to to the dunny, one must swipe through two security doors - its the Fort Knox of toilets. Even better, when you get there it is a fully enclosed room with only one toilet. Absolute bliss. I will never leave this job - they have got me for life. I call it "commode capture".  

 

For completeness sake, I googled "how much of your life do you spend on the toilet?" One Wiki answer said: "about one 2-5 years but women take longer on the toilet so it depends and that is just for the average person as well ... imagine a fatty". I'd rather not.