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Ill go home then its war.., p.5

I'Ll Go Home Then, It's Warm and Has Chairs. The Unpublished Emails. -, page 5

 

I'Ll Go Home Then, It's Warm and Has Chairs. The Unpublished Emails. -
 


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  Mel

  …………………………………………………

  From: David Thorne

  Date: Monday 27 February 2012 9.57am

  To: Mellissa Peters

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Form

  How long did it take you to make the form in Word?

  …………………………………………………

  From: Mellissa Peters

  Date: Monday 27 February 2012 10.02am

  To: David Thorne

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Form

  Less than an hour. Can you just fill it out please?

  …………………………………………………

  From: David Thorne

  Date: Monday 27 February 2012 10.42am

  To: Mellissa Peters

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Form

  Of course. Please find attached. I thought it would be quicker to scan and attach as a password protected .RAR file than put it on your desk. The password is Fritter. I aplogise for the delay in getting it back to you, I had to load Word, work out how to print from Word, install printer drivers for Word, reboot Word and load the typeface you used in Word, before I could print and fill it out.

  I will mark the forty minutes down on my time sheets as Mellissalaneous.

  Regards, David.

  …………………………………………………

  From: Mellissa Peters

  Date: Monday 27 February 2012 10.51am

  To: David Thorne

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Form

  I’m not doing your supermarket shopping for you and you’re meant to print it out not email it to me. If you email it to me I will just have to print it out. The form is for lunch from the deli down the road. Just things from there. They have sandwiches and stuff.

  Mel

  …………………………………………………

  From: David Thorne

  Date: Monday 27 February 2012 10.56am

  To: Mellissa Peters

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Form

  Those sandwiches sound all-right. I’ll just have one of them.

  …………………………………………………

  From: Mellissa Peters

  Date: Monday 27 February 2012 11.02am

  To: David Thorne

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Form

  Then write what you want on the form! That’s the whole point of it. Why is it so confusing for you? Everyone else has filled out theirs.

  Mel

  …………………………………………………

  From: David Thorne

  Date: Monday 27 February 2012 11.33am

  To: Mellissa Peters

  Subject: Attached revised order in .EPS format

  …………………………………………………

  From: Mellissa Peters

  Date: Monday 27 February 2012 11.41am

  To: David Thorne

  Subject: Re: Attached revised order in .EPS format

  Are you being annoying just for annoyings sake? What kind of sandwich? What do you want in it? I’m not a mind reader. You have to write down exactly what you want. Everyone else has written down exactly what they want on theirs. I’m doing this to help you you know. Ive got better things to do with my time than get you lunch. If you don’t want to fill out the form then you will have to go out and get your own lunch. I’m going out at 12.30

  …………………………………………………

  From: David Thorne

  Date: Monday 27 February 2012 11.46am

  To: Mellissa Peters

  Subject: Re: Re: Attached revised order in .EPS format

  Nice day for it. I’d probably pop out myself for a break if I wasn’t so busy with all these forms to complete. If you are going anywhere near a hardware store, would you be able to get me a key cut? For anywhere, I don’t mind.

  …………………………………………………

  From: Mellissa Peters

  Date: Monday 27 February 2012 11.55am

  To: David Thorne

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Attached revised order in .EPS format

  Im not going anywhere near a hardware store. I’m going to get lunch for everyone at 12.30 from the shops down the road. I’m not driving anywhere.

  Do you want something for lunch or not? You’ve got about 30 minutes to fill in the form or you can get your own lunch. If you just write I want a sandwich or whatever dumb shit you want without being exact then I’m not getting you anything.

  …………………………………………………

  From: David Thorne

  Date: Monday 27 February 2012 12.27pm

  To: Mellissa Peters

  Subject: Attached revised order v.2 in layered .PSD format

  …………………………………………………

  From: Mellissa Peters

  Date: Monday 27 February 2012 12.34pm

  To: David Thorne

  Subject: Wasting time

  You could have just written you wanted a cheese and tomato sandwich instead of wasting time doing drawings. In the time it took you could have just gone to the shop yourself.

  …………………………………………………

  From: David Thorne

  Date: Monday 27 February 2012 12.37pm

  To: Mellissa Peters

  Subject: Re: Wasting time

  An excellent point. To save both time and ever having to go through this process again, I will just have the same thing for lunch each day this week. That way you can use the same form.

  …………………………………………………

  From: Mellissa Peters

  Date: Monday 27 February 2012 12.41pm

  To: David Thorne

  Subject: Re: Re: Wasting time

  No, I need a new form for each order. I write the total at the bottom of each one and add them up at the end of the week. That’s what the total box is for.

  …………………………………………………

  From: David Thorne

  Date: Monday 27 February 2012 12.45pm

  To: Mellissa Peters

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Wasting time

  Not a problem. As writing ‘x5’ once on the bottom of the form would waste far too much company time, I will just email you the same file each day instead.

  …………………………………………………

  From: Mellissa Peters

  Date: Monday 27 February 2012 12.48pm

  To: David Thorne

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Wasting time

  Ok.

  Ten reasons I probably shouldn’t be alive: the rowboat

  I quite like boats. Many years ago I wanted to buy and live on a boat but after discovering that the only kind of vessel I could afford on my budget was a second-hand rowboat, I gave up on the dream of boat ownership and bought a book about boats instead.

  A couple of years before he stabbed me in the stomach, my relative Christopher bought a large, old, wooden rowboat with proceeds raised from a homemade charity collection tin and a week of knocking on neighbours doors. I still don't understand how he got away with it for so long as both the apostrophe and letter S were missing from the words Children's Cancer, but his plan to "do up the rowboat and sell it for heaps" was nothing short of entrepreneurial genius. If Donald Trump ever hears about it he will probably say "Everyone's fucking fired, I want the rowboat guy."

  Paying three hundred dollars for the rowboat, patching the holes with Plaster of Paris, and painting the whole thing white with house paint, the boat was placed in the middle of his front yard with a sign reading “4 SAIL. $1000” . When I mentioned that the word sale was spelled incorrectly, I was told that it was a clever play on words and that is why I didn’t get it.

  A short time later, Christopher was arrested, on charges I won’t go into but involved the attempted sale of a
large amount of copper wire to one business and the disappearance of a large amount of copper wire from another, and was sentenced to nine months in Adelaide’s Yatala prison. It was about his eighteenth offence. As Christopher rented the property he was living in and couldn’t pay the rent while incarcerated, his lease was forfeited and he was given two weeks to remove his possessions.

  Being the only relative that owned a trailer, I was somehow delegated the task of removing and storing the rowboat in my shed.

  Arriving early Saturday morning in order to get the task out of the way and leave the rest of my weekend free, I quickly realised that due to the weight of the boat, I should have bought someone to help me.

  I was able to wobble it from side to side on its hull but unable to lift it at all. Positioning the trailer in the driveway parallel to the boat, I came up with the ingenious plan of rocking the boat from side to side until it flipped over onto the trailer, figuring I could get someone to help me drag it off once I was home.

  As I began to rock the boat back and forth (A) with increasing momentum, it appeared my plan was working quite well and I managed to get it practically vertical (B) up on its side when I slipped on the grass (C) and fell. Realising the boat was about to roll back on me, I tucked my arms to my sides and rolled away from it as quickly as possible (D), almost making it to safety, but the boat returned to its original position and, carried by it’s own momentum (E), continued its arc and flipped over onto me (F).

  Pinned face down on the grass by the two planks of wood which made up the seats inside of the boat, one across my back and the other across my legs, I was unable move. I read somewhere once about a lady who managed to lift a tree off her baby or something due to finding untapped strength under stress, or perhaps it was the power of love or something like that, but she must have been fairly fit or it must have been a little tree because regardless of how stressed I was feeling about being trapped under a boat, the boat wouldn’t budge. It probably only works if there is a baby involved or at least a much loved family pet.

  After what seemed like an hour of yelling, “Help, I’m under a boat” proved futile, it dawned on me that the absolute darkness meant the boat’s weight had created a fairly solid seal rendering it relatively sound proof.

  Wiggling my arms, I was able to reach into my pants pockets in search of something useful but the only items I found were my cigarettes and lighter. By twisting my arm into postions it had never been before, probably due to untapped dexterity under stress or the power of love of nicotine, I was able to edge my left hand up to my face and have a cigarette while I pondered my situation.

  I actually considered using the lighter to set alight the boat, with the hope that a neighbour might see the smoke and investigate, but the thought of news reports detailing my death by burning to death under Christopher’s stupid boat caused logic to kick in and, instead, I banged the lighter against the side of the boat in three bang sequences on the off chance that someone walking past might know morse code and either rush to my rescue or call the authorities.

  As I was banging, I struck a section that Christopher had plugged with plaster of paris and a hole the size of a ten cent piece appeared as a section of the makeshift repair popped out the other side of the boat. Elated by Christopher’s half-arsed approach to boat repair, I bashed excitedly at the hole and was able to increase its size to double.

  Maneuvering my head towards the hole, I looked through and saw the family next door reverse their car down the driveway, with kids in the back, and drive off down the street. Deciding to wait patiently for their return, at which time I planned to yell through the hole and be rescued, I relaxed and had another cigarette.

  Several cigarettes later, and with the sun setting, the neighbours had still not returned and I was becoming quite cross at them. Who goes out for this long? Surely it was past their kids’ dinner time and this was irresponsible parenting. Around midnight, I accepted the fact that the neighbours had gone away on a weekend trip.

  An hour or so later, I stopped crying and decided that if I was going to escape, it would have to be without aid. As all attempts to lift the boat upwards had failed, my only recourse left was to attempt to move the boat horizontally.

  Digging my fingers and the toes of my shoes into the grass, I strained forwards until my head was hard against the wood at the bow of the boat. Repeating this procedure, while also arching my back against the wooden seats, I felt the boat move forward an inch. Encouraged, I again pushed forward with all my strength and the boat again moved another inch.

  Estimating the edge of the lawn to be eight feet from the sidewalk and the sidewalk approximately four feeet wide, I calculated that I would have to push the boat another one hundred and forty four times to reach the edge of the curb. At which point I would be able to edge the boat lip over the edge of the curb’s dropoff and crawl out.

  On push ninety six, I hit the letterbox and had to back up a few inches to go around it but eventually reached the sidewalk and found the boat moved much easier over concrete.

  As the lip of the boat reached the curb, I almost cried with relief as hours had passed and my fingers were numb and bleeding from the process. Gripping the curb’s edge, I pulled with all the energy I had left and the boat teetered, then slid, taking me with it, all the way onto the road.

  I was now under a boat on the side of the road. Angry and frustrated, I banged against the hull with the palms of my hands and screamed “get off of me, get off of me” until my outburst was suddenly interrupted by the sound of car tyres screaming and a loud thud against the side of the boat; sending it sliding several feet.

  Dazed by the knock and grazed by being dragged several feet beneath a boat along asphalt, I heard the sound of a car door closing and a man’s voice voice stating “There’s a fucking boat on the road.”

  After an exchange that included “what the fuck are you doing under a boat” and “there’s no way I am going to be able to lift this son of a bitch,” the man, who turned out to be a milkman named Tom on his predawn local milk delivery run, managed to raise an edge of the boat by using a tyre iron as leverage and I rolled finally to freedom.

  After explaining what happened, thanking him for rescuing me and attempting to hug him (denied due to the copius amounts of blood on my arms and face from sliding several feet underneath a boat along asphalt), Tom said to me “You know, that’s actually a really nice boat.”

  Several months later, when Christopher asked where his boat was, I told him I had given it to a milkman.

  David & his best friends go camping

  Ten F26-A formal complaint notices in six months

  Apparently after receiving three, you are meant to have some kind of formal meeting between the parties involved but this never happened. According to the rules, if there are five complaints, an external mediator has to be bought in. This didn't happen either and I was quite disappointed.

  I don't really have anything against Simon apart from the fact that he likes the band Nickelback and I have no idea what his problem with me is, as I'm pretty sure I am an absolute pleasure to work with. I brought in donuts once, which is pretty nice. I found them in a bin and left them near Simon's desk. When he asked, "Who brought these donuts in?" I replied, "The girl from the shop across the road brought them in because they have too many" and watched him eat four, complaining between mouthfuls that they weren't very fresh. He would have eaten them all but stopped after finding a dead cricket in the box.

  My very first run in with Simon was when he blamed me for stealing pens from his desk, which I vehemently denied. He then proceeded to point out the tiny engraved words 'Simon's Pen' he had done on all eight of the pens currently on my desk. It was so small he had to point them out to me with the aid of a loupe. Each two-millimetre high letter was meticulous. When I asked how he had managed to get the letters so perfect, he told me that he had a headset at home with a light and magnifying glass on it. When I asked why he had a headset with light and ma
gnifying glass on it he replied, "For painting collector figurines."

  There have actually been twelve formal complaints by Simon against me but two of those were complaining that nothing had been done about the previous formal complaints so I didn't bother scanning those in.

  From: Simon Dempsey

  Date: Thursday 31 March 2011 12.37pm

  To: David Thorne

  Subject: No Subject

  Did you draw Justin Biebers face on all the images in my stock images folder and save them over my files?

  …………………………………………………

  From: David Thorne

  Date: Thursday 31 March 2011 12.44pm

  To: Simon Dempsey

  Subject: Re: No Subject

  Yes.

  …………………………………………………

  From: Simon Dempsey

  Date: Thursday 31 March 2011 12.49pm

  To: David Thorne

  Subject: Re: Re: No Subject

 
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