Sunday, 21 October 2012
It occurred to me today, whilst mouthing ‘we’re closed’ through the window of my shop, ten minutes after said-close, to some sort of hot chocolate-crazed woman; that it may not, after all, have been my imminent withdrawal to the blissful land of coupledom that put me in such high tolerance of the stupidities of the General Public for much of 2012.
It may, in fact, have been the almost long-forgotten decision I made to remove myself from the world of retail management, which I so helpfully combined with my life-move to Nottingham to co-habit with Mr J and his band of Merry Midlands Folk. What bliss that was…contentment, relaxation and if anybody had any problems at my places of part-time, I simply no longer had the power, or indeed the will, to do anything about it.
Fast forward a few months, three house moves, a sort of half-planned, half-unsure of where we’re going with it business, plus a teeny tiny little factor of this little surprise, coming to a town near you in early March 2013, I’ve not only found myself shunning the world of fashion retail (because it’s mostly appalling), I’ve found myself back in the business of being a store manager for a top-end merchant of tea and coffee (which, in many ways, is still appalling). Gone are the blissful memories of no weekend work or complaints letters to deal with, the sarcasm has well and truly returned with a bang and I’m back to dreaming and planning new ways to make a living/livings with my hobbies, as opposed to dealing with incompetence and brainlessness (customers, not actually people I work with) on a daily basis…
Bebbe Jeffberry! She's actually a bit bigger than this now, but the 20 week scan pictures were awful!
‘Oh, so that means, if you’re shut, I can’t come in then?’ Pretty much love, the lights turned off and till shut down is what we call ‘subtle hint number one,’ I too shall be soon exiting the building which will mean that, despite your fawning gawps through my shop window, there will not be a soul here any longer who would be able to serve you. It may come as quite a surprise to some people out there, but shops generally work on their own timetables, not on the off-chance that you might be a few minutes late into town.
Don’t even get me started on the couple who tried to serve themselves coffee and operate our grinder earlier on today. Honestly, try that at Nero, operating machinery by yourself definitely falls under a Health and Safety clause. Of course it’s OUR fault we don’t have a sign explaining that customers are not to serve themselves, despite the endless amounts of coffee paraphernalia involved in doing so, not akin to Kurt Cobain’s top desk drawer if I’m not mistaken. Nothing to do with the fact you’re just useless excuses for human beings then?
So I got home today, I felt narked-off enough to start ranting about life again and thought, hey I remember when I used to write about things like this and people enjoyed reading them. Well HERE I AM. Unfortunately I’m currently leading a caffeine-free life, which means a distinct lack of Skinny White Mochas, (one day my friends, one day soon) what with the bumpette and all, but this only serves to create more black humour, surely?
Forgive my absence, I’ve been a little accidentally busy settling in to life as a nearly-Northerner, but here’s to new musings, new rants and new musings from a New Musing Mummy-to-be! Whose in?!