Tuesday, 1 October 2013

What Do You Mean, I Can't Be Enid Blyton?

For some reason, whilst I was up to my usual tricks and putting salt in my coworkers coffee for a laugh, someone at work thought it would be a sensible idea to employ me as a part time marketing office monkey. This basically means that as well as working behind my beloved deli counter, as well as working in the glorified burger van and actually flipping burgers for a living, I also get to spend part of my week getting coffee for the big bosses, sorting out press cuttings, playing on the internet and making sculptures of golden eagles out of paper clips. Within the first hour I had already almost lost a thumb in the paper shredder after trying to unjam it whilst it was still plugged in, so I think my dubiousness about working in an office was not unjustified. When I was younger, I never thought I'd be flipping burgers in order to pay my rent, but just as equally I never thought I'd be working in marketing. Here were my top go-to answers to The Big Question of what I wanted to be when I grew up:
  • A social recluse
  • A marine biologist
  • A writer of adventure novels
  • A cartoonist
These are all the things I wanted to be when I was younger. I spent a few of my adolescent years being a social recluse until I hit seventeen, realised I could get into bars and drink myself into a stupor every weekend, and decided it wasn’t the road for me and I had a good four or five years of talking and socialising to catch up on. My dreams of being a marine biologist went out of the window when, during my GCSEs, I realised I just wasn’t good enough at science for this to be a realistic goal, mainly because instead of listening in science lessons, I was too busy figuring out what I could set fire to with the Bunsen burner and reading the graffiti in the textbooks. (I don’t know about anyone else, but in my school it was commonplace for someone to devise a little game at the bottom of the pages in school textbooks to entertain other pupils. It went something like this:

Turn to page 18
Now turn to page 22
Turn to page 20
Turn to page 83
Turn to page 91 

…and then on page 91 someone had scrawled, ‘your dad’s gay,’ and drawn a very detailed picture of a penis. My school was full of these artistic genii and, although I appreciated them at the time, I now blame them 100% for the fact that I am not in the middle of the ocean right now studying exciting plants and exotic fish. Thanks a lot, dickheads.)

My dream of being a writer of adventure novels went out of the window when I realised that I didn't actually want to write adventure novels anymore because I am no longer seven and have eventually come to terms with the fact that I can't just write Famous Five fanfiction and call it my own. As for the dream of being a cartoonist, that ended when I figured out that I couldn't just draw a doodle of a hippo being eaten by a crocodile whilst sat in a coffee shop and then call it art.



 As such, I have hit a wall in my search for a career and am instead just floating around various roles within the same trusty old workplace until someone trots up with my dream job on a silver platter, artistically decorated with a little sprig of fennel, and tells me they are going to pay me lots of money to sit around and draw animals.

4 comments:

Michael Cargill said...

I reckon you're a better cartoonist than old Blyton.

She's probably got you beat on the size of her audience though.

learntokeepyourmouthshut said...

Come work with me please Amy xx

Amelia T said...

That IS art

Amelie said...

Oh, you. Stop it.