Monday, 21 November 2011

Arts, Crafts, and Sausage Rolls.

After all the initial feelings of good fortune at getting an extra hour in bed due to the clocks going back, I am now very much starting to detest getting up when it is still pitch black outside. It genuinely takes every ounce of determination I have not to phone in sick every morning because I feel like I've just been born every time I switch my light on. It makes it especially difficult to want to go to work when, after all my efforts, the customers don't even seem to appreciate my being there anyway. Last week, one woman got so angry at me because we didn't have a section in the shop exclusively selling gift cards that she made me take the flowery label from a packet of bulbs she was purchasing and use my creative skills to turn it into a gift card myself. I get paid to sell pork pies, not to involve myself in intricate arts and crafts projects. She was one of those customers that seem to think we are slaves and not assistants, one of my least favourite types. Still, they're not as bad as the customers who think we are somehow similar to primary school teachers or baby sitters - there is nothing I want to hear less at 8am than, "tell the nice lady what you want!", whilst a two-year-old child is shoved in my face and I am expected to decipher whatever mishmash of words comes out of its mouth. By the end of the charade (which, by the way, is usually about twenty minutes later), I am forced to tell the disillusioned parent that, no, it is not clearly obvious that your child was saying 'sausage roll', no, I can not heat it up for you, and no, I am not going to politely ignore the fact that your child is now licking the front of the counter and rubbing the saliva in with his hands.

I feel my lack of maternal feelings is starting to have some serious karmic repercussions. The other day I was forced to give the finger to a highly obnoxious child on the train when his mother wasn't looking (don't hate me, he did it first), and then ten minutes later my dentist informed me that I had to have re-root canal. (When I said that the child did it first, he was actually holding up his index finger, but I could tell from the look in his eyes what he was trying to get at). Another karmic repercussion (of my lack of maternal feelings, I am sure), came in the form of a speeding ticket - on re-root canal day, no less. A £75 fine and a speed awareness course to look forward to - nothing makes you feel quite like a criminal like breaking the law. It's a mark of how many years I have spent in education that my first thought was whether or not I would get a qualification out of the course - it's a long-shot, but I take what I can get at this stage. In an attempt to lessen my exposure to the cruel Gods of karma and make myself known to the generous ones, I have taken to performing random acts of goodwill whenever possible. So far, these have included picking up someones wheelie bin after it had blown over, ringing the roadwork people to tell them their temporary traffic lights had stopped working, and not telling a young girl that her 'AMY <3s JLS' hoodie should be burnt. I eagerly await my lottery win...

This week has seen me regress to my trademark trail of destruction after ripping one of the fridge doors off its hinges at work, thus forcing a sliced meat evacuation process and having to secure the door with copious amounts of sellotape. This is not the first time this has happened - we had a similar incident in first year where a drunken raid of the freezer saw the door somehow end up in my hands and unattached to the rest of its body. It probably wasn't the best idea I've ever had to then scrawl "we're not getting our bond back" across the door in bright green marker pen...

Also, whilst Googling whether or not 'unmaternal' was a word, here is what I found:

Clearly, I am dead inside.

1 comment:

Katy 'Mum' Warren said...

I am fairly sure that if not being maternal means having no emotions it is only because when you are maternal (and then have children) you want to cry constantly, whilst looking back at what used to be your life. Count yourself lucky, all us maternal types have to look forward to is labour, crying and exhaustion :)