Swansea, you're letting me down. :/

Monday, Monday…

I walked into the office this morning and there was a heated debate going on about how this particular company in India has very foolishly sewn a garment together incorrectly and how the designers wanted things changed and if it would possible to make something that was cut on the bias to be cut on the straight and still have the same drape. Pshh, no. Elementary, my dear Watson, seriously. I just chuckled to myself as the pattern cutters argued (if you can even call it that, the British are far too polite for a heated argument in the workplace, methinks) for about 20 minutes on how to change things whilst the designers are in India at the moment. It all doesn’t make sense and again it amuses me that the real world is just as, or even more disorganized than uni. It’s the most riled up I’ve seen them so far, but in that died down quickly and everyone went back to work. Standard.

…so here I am sat down at a brand new wide-ass computer screen, even though I don’t know why I have a new screen at all, I do fuck all on the computer. I came into today thinking that I would have something to pattern cut, so naturally I was so chuffed and excited to finally start something. My manager came up to me and said that the designer wasn’t here today and won’t be here until Wednesday, which means I won’t do anything at all until Thursday. But even that’s not promised because I don’t know how delayed the designers are anyway. I am so so so so so gutted and frustrated…although I should have expected this now that I see how everything works around here. I’m not slating the company, just noticing how things are.

I’m getting a little tired of just sitting here all day waiting for various 5 minute long jobs to do, to be honest. I think the other pattern cutters are a bit concerned that I come here and do very little. They keep wondering why the designers haven’t given me anything to do yet. They do their best to show me what they’re doing with each garment they work on, but it’s not quite the same is it…?*sigh*

On a lighter, funnier note, a good friend of mine at the Hippodrome came up to me in the break room and asked me how my “gash” was. Now, if you’re not British, you may just be thinking of a cut or something, which is what I had! I sliced my leg open on a broken bottle that was just chilling in a bin bag the previous day and he was just checking up on me. But “gash” also is quite a vulgar British slang word for vagina, which is what I took it as. I was so hot in the face, omg. It was just so funny, because my eyes went SO wide and I just stared at him really wondering if he actually asked what I thought he did. We both laughed for aaaages. Oh the funny misunderstandings in life.

Right, I’m going to go back to doing nothing again. :/ Peeeeace, brethren.