What the hell is a CBT anyway?

OK, so I actually hate it here right now. Like, not wanting to make eye contact with the locals hate it. Not because I think that avoidance is the best way of solving problems, but because if I look into a pair of British peepers I will either scream or cry from frustration. Most likely cry, really, because it's me, and it's embarrassing when I get all snotty and puffy and red.

Monday the 25th should have started out a happy day, as it was payday. And that's a pretty momentous thing when it only happens once a month (LAME!). So, I'm all excited about being reinforced for my toil--and then it doesn't happen. Human Resources somehow didn't find the time in the last 10 working days to send a stupid fax to the payroll company. And then they didn't bother to let me know. They knew for like a week that I wouldn't be paid on time. Nice, hey? So, I have to spend a collective 2 hours or so talking to various people--none of whom know what's going on--just to find out they they will issue a check on Tuesday afternoon and put it in the mail. To which I replied,

"Hell, no! Yes, I'll come down and pick it up. Yes, I'll wait. Yes, I know this isn't how you normally do things. Yes, I know this is slightly inconvenient for you. Yes, I will come to your awkwardly located office in the warehouse district behind the local B & Q (?!). Thank you so much for all your time and help. I really appreciate the extra effort. Have a nice day."

I wanted to vomit after faking nice for such an exorbitant amount of time. But, the way things work here, I figured if I didn't suck it up they would 'accidentally' stick the cheque in the local post, where it would likely either disappear or be sucked into the vacuum of postal space. With the ongoing threat of a strike, I was keen to avoid that outcome at all costs.

It wouldn't have mattered, though, because it seems that the bank tellers, 'personal accounts representatives' and bank mangers at HSBC were determined that I not have access to any money regardless. Getting the freaking account set up in the first place was a world class headache, and it's apparently accompanied by snotty, inefficient and incompetent service. Turns out they gave me the wrong type of account in the first place. And then on Tuesday when I deposited the cheque and they told me it would take until Friday to clear, they actually meant Monday at the earliest. Apparently my psychic powers were supposed to pick that up. And then they reminded me that if I wanted them to switch my crap account to one that actually works (ie one with cheques that allows me to have certain portions of money cleared without hold), they will have to take away my bank card and change all of my account numbers. Which could take a week. 'Cause that's a realistic option right now.

Wednesday was an OK day, especially when I found out that my Criminal Record Check still has not been approved. Yet another fax that needs to be sent. So, I'm not really allowed to do anything right now other than visit local agencies and shadow other workers. Which was cool for the first 4 weeks, but since I'm running out of locations and people keep canceling, it's no longer a particularly worthwhile exercise.

Thursday was alright. Nothing disastrous, at least. Well, except for the disturbing stories coming from Chris Benoit's death. Freaky. Apparently his dad lives in Ardrossan. And our shower stall being ripped apart in our bathroom because it's leaking into our newly acquired downstairs room. Right on.

Friday rocked when I had to work an hour unpaid overtime and missed my train to return from a neighboring town where we had been working. So, I got to sit on an unmanned outdoor platform for an hour with nothing to do. And then I found out about the CBT test, which has something to do with our scooters. I don't know what it is, but apparently we each need to have one. You would think that someone would have mentioned it when we were buying, insuring and taxing the things, but apparently not. So this week we will be in search of 'it'.

Saturday was the first really good day of the week. I checked my e-mails and had some, which was awesome, and I got to chat with Mom, which made me happy, and Mike got to start his new job in Worcester.

Today was made cheery and light by the grocery store manager who rudely paged us to the front of the store while we were paying, to inform us that we were to move our scooters IMMEDIATELY from their parking spots due to Health and Safety Concerns. Because apparently the spot we've been TOLD to park in--where all of the employees park and there is no signage--is unsuitable. Like, right that very second?! Again, must-have psychic powers. And also learn to not hate store managers who start sentences with, "If I was being pedantic..." I really do wonder if he'd feel justified speaking to us in that manner if we had British accents. I doubt it, and I think that's what discrimination must feel like. I cannot imagine what it's like to be here and of a different ethnicity and/or non-English speaking. It would be truly awful.

There have been good things this week. We got a tentative invite from my coworkers to go to the local beer festival later this month where there will be like 200 different types of cider to sample, all of which are brewed locally. And Saint Alan, our landlord, has managed to hook us up with a car for 500gbp--hello pink VW Polo. Which will be much nicer to ride in during floods and rain. I'm just having a hard time right now with what feel like endless hoops and choking bureaucracies. And people being rude and dismissive. And having to check, double-check and recheck things, only to discover that we've been given incorrect or just plain wrong information. And then being treated like crap for not knowing so.

Everything just feels hard right now. And there's some wicked self-doubt creeping in. Was this the right thing to do? Can we stick it out? Why the hell am I putting myself through this? I'm pretty sure it will pass, and that culture shock has come just a bit early. Mike made the observation that the forthcoming change in routine as a result of his new job and ungodly waking hours (5:45 people!) will bring about different ways of seeing and doing things. But, I'm tired of things going wrong. I'm particularly tired of feeling powerless when up against said things. And right now I'm tired of complaining, so I'm going to go before this posting devolves any further.

This week will be better, right?