Another blog and it has only been 9 days since the last one - who am I anymore?! Do not panic though (I know all of you were), I am still the queen of procrastination. In fact, in writing this blog entry I am actually putting off the tidying of my bedroom, which has been a giant mass of clothes and banana peels for the last three weeks and is probably now home to a variety of new parasites. Instead of cleaning though, I have just decided to start eating fruit with an edible rind and re-wearing the clothes that are already on the floor, all the while trying to convince myself that it is, in some way, a form of recycling. (I am aware that it is not).
Work has been incredibly slow-paced this week (I know, how fast-paced can a deli really be? You'd be surprised) so I have mainly been spending my time practicing my ambidexterity whilst writing Eat Today labels and seeing if the ticket machine remote control can work from inside the fridge. It's a walk in fridge, by the way, just in case anyone thought I was some kind of freakishly small and freakishly flexible being that had the ability to get into an average size fridge, which I'll admit I am now tempted to try. Thankfully, I am incredibly skinny, so this should not be a problem..
Although I regularly get told that I talk too much whilst working, a customer the other day told me I had exceptionally good manners. I think a lot of people tend to confuse good manners and politeness with Mystery Shopper Paranoia, which I am a victim of at least three times a day. I'm starting to think I maybe have some underlying trust issues - as soon as a customer asks any kind of question about our produce, I am immediately alert and on the ball with all these suspicious thoughts flying around in my head, "why are you asking that? No one cares that much about meat, DID SOMEONE PUT YOU UP TO THIS?!" Instead of firing accusations, however, I keep calm and proceed to be as polite and obsessively helpful as is possible without making myself look like a creep (a battle I fight most days, to be honest). Knowing my luck, the mystery shopper will have been the woman I served whilst having a laughing fit and telling one of my colleagues that she bears an uncanny resemblance to Po from Teletubbies...
This week hasn't just been fun and games in the deli though, oh no. I have had three days off since my last blog, during which I have welcomed my old university lifestyle of getting spectacularly drunk with open arms. Friday night consisted of Lauren and Kelly's 21st birthday celebrations where I got very drunk but thankfully managed to stay respectful and did not attempt to grab the microphone from their parents as they were making a speech, something I attempted during my mother's speech at my sister's 18th birthday party where, thankfully, I was restrained and minimal damage was done. I also went out on Saturday night with Megan and some people from work which is somewhat more of a blur apart from a vague memory of being lifted into a taxi and sent home. Respectful, as ever. I paid for it the next morning though as I managed to sleep through all four of my alarms and 39 (39!) telephone calls from my father trying to wake me up, only succeeding when he rang Kezia and had her come and kick me out of bed and into work.
During my days off I also ventured back into Bradford city centre, which was as wonderful as ever. Within 100 yards of my house I had already witnessed a woman screaming "I HOPE TO FUCKING GOD YOU FALL!" as her small child ran full pelt away from her with a Satanic look in his eyes (no doubt inherited from mother dearest) and a bus driver shouting, "Oi! Tosser! Go back to your own country!" at a man from Denmark who was refused from the bus after trying to pay an 80p fare with a £50 note - the driver then gave me a look as if to say, "hey, nothing wrong with a little bit of casual racism on a Sunday morning!" I gave him a look back which I think said something along the lines of, "I disagree, but the next bus isn't for another hour, so I'm just going to stare at you and then sit down silently".
After a few more sightings of racist numbskulls and profane parents, I headed back home and spent the rest of the day Googling song lyrics after being unfairly mocked because I used to think that the Tracy Chapman song Fast Car said: "your arms and legs wrapped 'round my shoulders". I remember wondering as a child how that could be possible, especially sat in a car, until someone corrected me and told me that what it actually said was: "your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulders". An easy mistake to make. I started to wonder what else I had misheard after realising that the Toto song Africa probably didn't say: "I guess it rains down in Africa" when, quite clearly, it does not.