The Vent - NO CHAT!!!

10,577 posts in this topic

You are so bad at what you are paid to do I wonder if you are taking the piss, trying to get fired and then extract more lucre for rupture of contract, or sick. You do not know where 1 is, or the time signature or how to indicate a pause or even the last note. Your idea of allegro is also pretty unique. :angry:

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You should have taken the bag from the aircraft at the stand and put it in the pile marked

"going to Hamburg",

 

Why is it then, now a week later, in Venezuela?

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I got to the Post Office in Ierapetra at 10 am today. One small parcel to send to Germany. 4 counters inside- only one bloke behind the counter. Fair enough- only 2 people in front of me, one with a package to send and one with a form to hand over to pick up his pension or whatever.

 

3 employees are in another room. Sometimes they come out and go back in again. No eye contact from them. No wish to help out their colleague, who is totally clueless.

 

The person with the package asks a question. The clerk disappears into the next room for five minutes and comes back again. Another question from the person with the package and the clerk disappears again.

 

This goes on and there is now a queue behind me. 

The man picking up his pension gets served. He has a question. The clerk disappears again and again and again.

 

I put my parcel on the scales and tell the clerk that is my parcel.

He ignores me, takes out a stupid plastic bag with coins from a drawer and starts placing them in a tray. Many 10 cent coins.

I speak to the queue, impersonating the knife in the shower Psycho scene.

Then he asks questions about my parcel. " Where is it going to?"

" Germany. It's all written on that form on top of the parcel."

" I can't read the address. Fill in the form again."

 

 

A Greek woman behind me steps forward abd puts her parcel on top of mine.

I start laughing. She withdraws the parcel in embarrassment.

 

The clerk speaks: "39.10 euros."

I pay and leave. It is 11.30🙁🙁

Ierapetra Post Office: FUCK YOU😩😩

I have another 8 or 9 parcels to send to Germany next Tuesday.

 Guess what? I ain't sending them.😞😰😡😡

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It has been a hard week and I was really looking forward to having a lie -in today. You woke me up at 6.30 and bit my arm, then you bit my leg. I got up and served you your Sunday fish breakfast. You ate two mouthfulls, turned around put yout tail in the air, jumped on the windowsill and began to wash yourself by whch time I was wide awake!!

 

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2 hours ago, tor said:

Anybody want to chat? :)

I wanna chat twice!😂

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Someone IS modding this thread!! A couple of posts have just disappeared!😂

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Someone IS modding this thread!! A couple of posts have just disappeared!😂

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Back in February I found myself banged up in a cell at the gendarmerie for 48 very long hours. It left me utterly traumatised. Some gendarmes were brutish thugs. I had a court appearance in May and have acquired a criminal record for violence. I am still trying to understand how I got there. It is not simple. A miscarriage of justice, unless your definition of violence is indeed slapping the cheek of a hysterical and highly disturbed teenager, to bring her back to reality the day she was admitted to the psychiatric unit in March the previous year. She stayed in 3 nights and was sent home - diagnosis was being in an anxio-depressive state but no pathology. The shrink she had just seen for the first time informed us she was suicidal but revealed no more than that. I had no idea and could not assimilate it anyway.
 
Apparently she tried to commit suicide when she was 14. She refuses to talk about it. She confided in a teacher who apparently could not sleep for 3 nights having read her mails. School did not contact us but gave it directly to the gendarmerie. Person in danger. From herself or me ? I say me, because apparently I have been the bane of her life harrassing her and putting her under pressure constantly (hubby s version) This despite me barely having had a conversation in whole sentences with her for years. The two slaps morphed into a fist in the face - which left no marks, strangely.
 
Do not expect any of this to make any sense. It just doesn't. The conclusion I came to after months of turning it all over and no-one being willing to impart any information - gendarmerie, school, lawyer, shrinks, hubby, my lass - I am apparently universally not worth a conversation with anyone - is that she has suffered trauma and lied, not being able to tell the actual truth - there was a second case at the gendarmerie for sexual assault which for the moment appears to have been quietly forgotten and about which I also know absolutely nothing. Hubby wants to bury it. Strangely. My lass was highly distressed and had to come up with something to justify trying to top herself. So she came up with not getting on well with me. Nice and vague. And they built a case on that scraping mist from the bottom of an empty bucket. With hubby s unofficial (as he is husband to the accused) input. And her aunt as witness, who has not seen me for literally years but paints me as maternally incompetent. I was supposed to have been so abusive - mentally - she was driven to suicide. Nobody actually said this. It was pure Kafka. But what else merited keeping me in a filthy cell for 48 hours ?
 
It was a hellish experience, in a state of shock, panic, high anxiety, they deprived me of water, thought about drinking my own urine at one point. The cell is designed to destroy you mentally. I felt like I was losing it and would end up on psychiatric ward. At one point the second night I had 3 masked (not covid) six-footers in heavy gear - exo-skeletal protection, gun vests, guns, etc. - outside my door checking on me. I thought they had come to do their worst. The terror you experience being locked up and not understanding why necessarily induces paranoia. What was the point of that exercise ? To give them a laugh and to terrorise me. The gendarmes were woefully unprofessional. The woman who took our statements only semi-literate and unable to keep up. Institutional dysfunction. And you have no recourse. I saw the mayor about a month afterwards and she rang the gendarmerie. Twice. She got the Great Fob Off. And she is the mayor. You can report them to the controleur des lieux de privation de liberté at your peril. They point out that any false denunciation is punishable by prison and a 45K fine. Nobody is going to go there. The gendarmes have sworn oath and just need to say you are lying and you are liable to find yourself back in a cell.
 
There were 10 weeks between coming out of the cell in an absolute state - I had to make my own way home from the court 50km away where I had appeared cognitively dysfunctional, dishevelled and stinky before a magistrate - the gendarmes just vanished without taking leave of me - and the court hearing. During that time the magistrate put me under court order. I could not see or speak to my lass. Hubby gave permission for me to live at his parents house which he owns. He took his policing duties very seriously although the magistrate had softened and said I could be at home but must not speak to my lass. Hubby (according to him) not informed of this, made sure I did not even set eyes upon her. It was utter torture. And the whole time expecting a prison sentence, which is what I had been led to believe would be the likely outcome. The thought of being in a cell again I just cannot convey.
 
The public court appearance was gruelling. I was suprised it lasted about an hour. Expected my fate to be decided in about 10 minutes. Saw a lawyer the Friday before court on Tuesday. She read excerpts of the mails my lass had sent to her teacher and told me in passing on the Friday about the suicide attempt but divulged no details. More acute distress. Can you imagine ? The procureur requested 5 years prison (make any sense ?) suspended with two-years follow-up with a psychologist. Kid you not. The judge gave me a fine and court costs and 400 euros damages to be paid to my lass. I did after all slap her face twice. I still have to see the latter on paper and have yet to pay. None of it makes sense. I have barely spoken to the kid in whole sentences (teen monosyllabism) since she was about 12 as she withdrew to her room, screentime, i-phone and school, not to mention my frequent absence. Rejection has been the order of the day, then they blame you for negligence.
 
Hubby's part in all this remains vague but of the essence. I think that despite his teddy-bear exterior he is pure manipulator and wants rid. I thought he was crypto gay. Well, I found the underpants with two colours of sh... clagged together with dry ejaculate in the washing basket. Not for the first time. But eventually took a photo. Sorry for that information. Too much of course. You cannot do DNA testing here as a private individual. It is pretty superfluous. Anyway, he knows I know. Confrontation useless. DARVO, ad hominem, silence. Although the label may be wrong. Possibly bi or transsexual. Also, I do not exclude incest. No proof, just doubts and suspicions and stuff that doesn't add up, unless... my lass and he hide behind the wall of complete silence. Which I find odd in itself. No protest of innocence. Just silence. All highly damaging whatever the outcome. Absolutely appalling. My lass is not in the state she is in because I fell for Him after marotal violence and neglect spanning more than a decade. Hubby sells that story as me cuckolding him. The poor victim. No contact from his family. Why would they disbelieve him and my lass ?
 
I have since taken reluctant refuge elsewhere. Hardly dare speak to my lass in case it starts over. She refuses to talk anyway. I try to keep communicating in small steps. Cannot stand to see hubby. Avoidance is the order of the day. Have no idea where it is all going.
 
Why did my lass lie (she had to come up with something), what is the truth (sex looms large) and why can't she tell it (PTSD and traumatised) ?
 
I now have an understanding of trauma. A journey. The first couple of months I was displaying various symptoms. The strangest of which is your perception to stimuli of whatever sort. The gentlest touch from the dearest person is perceived as an aggression, an irritation. It has been and is a learning experience. Still trying to recover. Getting there slowly but cannot see the future.
I see people's non-judgmental, confused circumspection - at best. Generally, people do not know what to do with this information, what to think or how to respond. It is painful.
 
Goodbye, TT
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Back in February I found myself banged up in a cell at the gendarmerie for 48 very long hours. It left me utterly traumatised. Some gendarmes were brutish thugs. I had a court appearance in May and have acquired a criminal record for violence. I am still trying to understand how I got there. It is not simple. A miscarriage of justice, unless your definition of violence is indeed slapping the cheek of a hysterical and highly disturbed teenager, to bring her back to reality the day she was admitted to the psychiatric unit in March the previous year. She stayed in 3 nights and was sent home - diagnosis was being in an anxio-depressive state but no pathology. The shrink she had just seen for the first time informed us she was suicidal but revealed no more than that. I had no idea and could not assimilate it anyway.
 
Apparently she tried to commit suicide when she was 14. She refuses to talk about it. She confided in a teacher who apparently could not sleep for 3 nights having read her mails. School did not contact us but gave it directly to the gendarmerie. Person in danger. From herself or me ? I say me, because apparently I have been the bane of her life harrassing her and putting her under pressure constantly (hubby s version) This despite me barely having had a conversation in whole sentences with her for years. The two slaps morphed into a fist in the face - which left no marks, strangely.
 
Do not expect any of this to make any sense. It just doesn't. The conclusion I came to after months of turning it all over and no-one being willing to impart any information - gendarmerie, school, lawyer, shrinks, hubby, my lass - I am apparently universally not worth a conversation with anyone - is that she has suffered trauma and lied, not being able to tell the actual truth - there was a second case at the gendarmerie for sexual assault which for the moment appears to have been quietly forgotten and about which I also know absolutely nothing. Hubby wants to bury it. Strangely. My lass was highly distressed and had to come up with something to justify trying to top herself. So she came up with not getting on well with me. Nice and vague. And they built a case on that scraping mist from the bottom of an empty bucket. With hubby s unofficial (as he is husband to the accused) input. And her aunt as witness, who has not seen me for literally years but paints me as maternally incompetent. I was supposed to have been so abusive - mentally - she was driven to suicide. Nobody actually said this. It was pure Kafka. But what else merited keeping me in a filthy cell for 48 hours ?
 
It was a hellish experience, in a state of shock, panic, high anxiety, they deprived me of water, thought about drinking my own urine at one point. The cell is designed to destroy you mentally. I felt like I was losing it and would end up on psychiatric ward. At one point the second night I had 3 masked (not covid) six-footers in heavy gear - exo-skeletal protection, gun vests, guns, etc. - outside my door checking on me. I thought they had come to do their worst. The terror you experience being locked up and not understanding why necessarily induces paranoia. What was the point of that exercise ? To give them a laugh and to terrorise me. The gendarmes were woefully unprofessional. The woman who took our statements only semi-literate and unable to keep up. Institutional dysfunction. And you have no recourse. I saw the mayor about a month afterwards and she rang the gendarmerie. Twice. She got the Great Fob Off. And she is the mayor. You can report them to the controleur des lieux de privation de liberté at your peril. They point out that any false denunciation is punishable by prison and a 45K fine. Nobody is going to go there. The gendarmes have sworn oath and just need to say you are lying and you are liable to find yourself back in a cell.
 
There were 10 weeks between coming out of the cell in an absolute state - I had to make my own way home from the court 50km away where I had appeared cognitively dysfunctional, dishevelled and stinky before a magistrate - the gendarmes just vanished without taking leave of me - and the court hearing. During that time the magistrate put me under court order. I could not see or speak to my lass. Hubby gave permission for me to live at his parents house which he owns. He took his policing duties very seriously although the magistrate had softened and said I could be at home but must not speak to my lass. Hubby (according to him) not informed of this, made sure I did not even set eyes upon her. It was utter torture. And the whole time expecting a prison sentence, which is what I had been led to believe would be the likely outcome. The thought of being in a cell again I just cannot convey.
 
The public court appearance was gruelling. I was suprised it lasted about an hour. Expected my fate to be decided in about 10 minutes. Saw a lawyer the Friday before court on Tuesday. She read excerpts of the mails my lass had sent to her teacher and told me in passing on the Friday about the suicide attempt but divulged no details. More acute distress. Can you imagine ? The procureur requested 5 years prison (make any sense ?) suspended with two-years follow-up with a psychologist. Kid you not. The judge gave me a fine and court costs and 400 euros damages to be paid to my lass. I did after all slap her face twice. I still have to see the latter on paper and have yet to pay. None of it makes sense. I have barely spoken to the kid in whole sentences (teen monosyllabism) since she was about 12 as she withdrew to her room, screentime, i-phone and school, not to mention my frequent absence. Rejection has been the order of the day, then they blame you for negligence.
 
Hubby's part in all this remains vague but of the essence. I think that despite his teddy-bear exterior he is pure manipulator and wants rid. I thought he was crypto gay. Well, I found the underpants with two colours of sh... clagged together with dry ejaculate in the washing basket. Not for the first time. But eventually took a photo. Sorry for that information. Too much of course. You cannot do DNA testing here as a private individual. It is pretty superfluous. Anyway, he knows I know. Confrontation useless. DARVO, ad hominem, silence. Although the label may be wrong. Possibly bi or transsexual. Also, I do not exclude incest. No proof, just doubts and suspicions and stuff that doesn't add up, unless... my lass and he hide behind the wall of complete silence. Which I find odd in itself. No protest of innocence. Just silence. All highly damaging whatever the outcome. Absolutely appalling. My lass is not in the state she is in because I fell for Him after marotal violence and neglect spanning more than a decade. Hubby sells that story as me cuckolding him. The poor victim. No contact from his family. Why would they disbelieve him and my lass ?
 
I have since taken reluctant refuge elsewhere. Hardly dare speak to my lass in case it starts over. She refuses to talk anyway. I try to keep communicating in small steps. Cannot stand to see hubby. Avoidance is the order of the day. Have no idea where it is all going.
 
Why did my lass lie (she had to come up with something), what is the truth (sex looms large) and why can't she tell it (PTSD and traumatised) ?
 
I now have an understanding of trauma. A journey. The first couple of months I was displaying various symptoms. The strangest of which is your perception to stimuli of whatever sort. The gentlest touch from the dearest person is perceived as an aggression, an irritation. It has been and is a learning experience. Still trying to recover. Getting there slowly but cannot see the future.
I see people's non-judgmental, confused circumspection - at best. Generally, people do not know what to do with this information, what to think or how to respond. It is painful.
 
Goodbye, TT
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2 minutes ago, fraufruit said:

Sounds like a suicide note to me.

 

I hope not. But she's still around, visited TT today.
No matter where the truth lies in this highly dysfunctional family, she needs to *get out get out get out*.

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No people. Tougher than that. Just expecting TT to fall over any minute. Will make one hell of a film script.

 

Obviously I am no longer at home. But my lass in the jaws of the lion. Or not. If I am just mistaken (gaslighting :lol:)  and hubby realy is a teddy bear.

 
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