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30 October 2009 @ 02:15 pm
 
Okay, I'm going to be the first to admit here that though I am generally a happy, perky, content sort of lady...when the time comes for Work, I'm all business.

And when something--or someone--irritates that desire or in any way adds extra friction between me and my Work? I become one vexed vixen.

Today we were put into groups for our weed practical. No probs, me and Jojo paired up and started digesting the directions, our heads whirring away. She looked to me to devise a system, she started on the gnitty gritty. Well-oiled machine we were.

Pjork comes wandering over five to ten minutes later and says in his obnoxiously slow voice, "We ran out of supplies so I have to be in your group." Well jubbly, I think, provided you don't irk me to no limits like you did last year.

Immediately:
Pjork: "So what are you both doing this weekend?" [Very disinterested.]
Jo: "I thought that might be coming."
Pjork: "What? I was just making small talk."
Kiwi: "Yes. The only problem is that you have but two topics--'what are you doing this weekend' or 'what did you do last weekend?' We're content to be silent, if you'd like."
P: "I was just making small talk, finding something to say."
J: "The conversation always goes the same way. We're good with silence."
P: "I'm good with silence too. I just thought you two girls would want small talk."
K: "Jo and I say things when we have things to say."
J: "Yes, we don't make up topics just to say things."

Thankfully he disappeared for a bit, enough for me to get on kilter again. I'm sure the above seems harsh, but Pjork is a boy who clings to us and literally can only talk about coursework (which he puts little effort to), his weekends (which are devoted to caving), and...actually nothing else. And he always asks us about our weekends with absolutely no interest in what we have to say, even if we ever felt like saying anything. At this point we're just sick of it.

I went about my work. Snipped rhyzomes at the nodes, snippied apical buds, put them in the treatments, bla bla bla. I was so gleeful to see freedom knocking on my noggin. There had been a few moments of annoyance, but thankfully, praise Greenland, Pjork seemed to have given it up. Except for those moments he wouldn't hush up or did his strange criticising thing.

After:
Pjork: "So what do you want to do after you graduate?" [Fair enough, good question, even though hardly any of us rightfully know how to answer.]
Jo: "Master's."
P: "After that?"
J: "Pick up a job in a company. Live at home. Travel for holidays."
P: (After hardly listening:) "I want to travel. Although I may work at Kew and they can send me out to get rare seeds. I'll be like Indiana Jones in the Himalayas."
Kiwi: [Chuckles.] "I could work at Arnold Arboretum in Boston, I suppose, although I'd feel I was walking in my old botany instructor's shoes too much. Next I'd be teaching deaf children and then botany."
P: [Makes 'mmm'ing noises alerting us to that he clearly isn't listening.] "Well that will work out for you."
K: "It would if I planned to do it. I said it's what--"
J: "Her botany instructor did."
K: [Pauses and looks him up and down.] "Your listening technique is...interesting."
P: "I'm going to to be honest, I totally didn't care."
K: [Starts ripping off labcoat and walking to the pile, Pjork follows for some incomprehensible reason.] "So I gathered."

I walked back to find him touching and speaking about my book to Jo. Which, I'm sure, seems innocent enough. But anyone who has been in any sort of schooling with me for a year knows that when I'm miffed, do not touch The Book. Pjork has previously discovered this.

K: [Pleasantly enough.] "First touching my favourite pen and now my book! My my."
J: [Looks him up and down.] "You shouldn't touch the book."
P: "Fine fine! How many other Pratchett books have you read?"
Jo and I tried to finish the conversation. At last he declared he was leaving, we wished him a pleasant weekend, he left.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I chatted with Jo, congratulating her on getting through too. Suddenly Pjork was back--whoever knows why, for he had previously said goodbye. He asked obnoxious questions. I answered them quickly and evaded as many as I could. I took a step towards Jo, Pip and Emma as if I were interesting in speaking with them--because, you know, I was. At last I said, "Well, I hope you have a lovely evening, Pjork, goodbye!" He went off.

The three of them turned to me. Jo said, "Well, that was very polite!" I smiled. "And look what it took out of me," I responded. When the lecturer came around I banged my head on the table, not knowing he was there. He asked if it was that bad and I declared that group projects were not my thing.

Last week, a boy who made small talk and kept messing with my system--thankfully I noticed or we would have had uneven samples in light and dark. This week Pjork, with his constant questions that he ADMITTEDLY doesn't care about hearing the answers to.

Geh! Weed biology practicals slay me!


Thankfully I require no more venting. :D Back to silly sparrow content creature Kiwi! I'm onto Stats work now, which is blissfully solitary. Ahhh beautiful. :)

We don't mean to be bullies, I swear--the boy just doesn't get the hint! And we talked with him many times about it last year, too--really made an effort to express that we'd love to talk to him, but not pre-formulated conversations.
 
 
Current Mood: enragedVexed.