In isolation

I hate this place.

Work is dreadful. I 'taught' thirty-five students in a classroom with a broken AC in the morning. My second class in the afternoon had thirty-odd as well. The room smelled so bad from the previous class, I had to move the students downstairs where another department with very-nice-rooms-thank-you-very-much had one going spare. When I'm not teaching, I am surrounded by students wanting answers to why the place is such as mess. I don't blame them. I do blame the previous coordinator who decided to take a three-week holiday at the start of term, the Egyptian mentality of not lifting a fucking finger unless specifically told, and the director for lacking a set of balls and doing bugger all in the three months prior to me arriving.

Ten uneducated-barely-evolved-from-chimps cleaning staff in every building clean the floors every hour, such is the speed of the build-up of dust, sand and grime. They never seem to venture into the toilets though, of which not one has any toilet paper or soap. I complained to the building manager who said the reason there is no paper or soap is that the students mess the place up given free reign over soap and paper. I tried to explain that basic human hygiene trumps a few naughty students and that a university committed to combating swine-flu should be ashamed of itself for not providing basic sanitary in the toilets, but I might have well have grunted and banged my fist off my head for all the good it did.

It's no surprise that I have caught a stomach bug. (And not just any bug, but the kind which gives you very painful shits.)

At the end of the working day, as I was sitting waiting for the bus to start the long journey home, a security guard brought the message that my presence was requested immediately in the main building. (The bus driver received a call ordering him to wait until I got back, which he interpreted as a complaint and got all upset.) In the office to where I was summoned, I was met by the President of the university. Apparently, the Chairman of the Board of Trustees of Future University asked the President to ask me to give private-tutoring to his six year-old son on Saturdays (a day off for me). I was informed that I would be picked up by a chauffeur, would spend an hour or so talking and teaching this kid, then be taken home.

I politely declined, which didn't seem to go down too well.

On the long bus journey home, a student who is having a hard time adapting to university has decided that off-loading his problems on me is the answer to his shitty life. At the end of a horrible day, the last thing you want is to have to converse with a student, but I sat and politely listened to his pathetic tale, all the while wanting nothing more than to tell him to shut the fuck up or fuck the fuck off. After refusing him my Facebook name and mobile number, he settled with getting off at my stop (one earlier than his), walking down the road with me to my flat, and threatening to get on at the same stop as me tomorrow morning.

For fucks sake.

Three hours later (after dealing with a problem in the new flat which we've not had time to move into yet) I got home and sat down, unable to communicate or think out of pure desperate exhaustion of this horrible place. I hate everything about it: the people (thieves, beggars, idiots), the city (smelly, dirty, noisy, disgusting), the university (the worst job I have ever had)...

...everything.

It's hard to function when you feel like this, let alone blip. It's important to write it down I think, but I'm uneasy with the fact that everyone can read about it and pass their own judgments on my words. I've been toying with the idea of shutting 'David77' down and opening up another journal where I can anonymously write whatever I like but perhaps that sort of writing is best left to a private diary.

For now though, this is my outlet.