Wake up. Chris Evans. Running about trying to find name badge. Breakfast. Read yesterday’s newspaper. Drive.
Work. Ring customers. Do Field’s Tests. Help people choose glasses. Secretly try on glasses. Laugh at how I look in the ‘granny’ frames. Notice customers looking at me. Blush. Angry Phone Call. Herbal Tea. Feel slightly smug that I have avoided caffiene at work for almost three weeks (between the hours of 9-5, I’m trying to resist the urge to pass it by nearly climbing up the walls). Smell the coffee pot anyway. Feel slightly guilty.
Lunch. Walk around shops. Take off name badge.
Work. Put on name badge. Herbal Tea. Angry customers mis-informed about the availablility of contact lenses when your sight test is out of date (I’m saving up the anger of this rant for one when more than 2 people outside of my work actually care). Come back to cold herbal tea. Clean new pairs of shiny glasses. Go home. Shower. Computer. Tea. Computer. Tv. Read until I can’t concentrate on words. Asleep.
*yawn*
Of course, this was a bit different a few weeks ago. I went to London to stay a few nights with a friend, and lie to myself about being a student. It involved not much sleep, good food and drinking in such a way that my liver sulked and wouldn’t speak to me (though my stomach did after a very brief session with my head in the loo). I was also kicked in the chest at 7.15 in the morning after sleeping at the end of a bed.
This is not a rant about me hating work. While I do sometimes appear to be wearing a sign that says “Are you mental? Come and chat to me about the size of your ears in agonsing detail” that only the mad, sad and bad can see, the people I work with are great. It’s the whole 9-5 aspect that kills me. That, and the hectoring my certain members of the public.
It’s probably me, but I was raised to believe that if you wanted to complain, you wrote a stinky yet polite letter to who was concerned (because that way you could edit what you say, yet still sign off as ‘Yours, disgustedly’. Whenever I have had bad service in a shop, it has always been with greatest reluctance that I complain about shoddy service, as I understand how rubbish certain jobs are. There is also the fact that I’m too nice for my own good, and will empathise with the shy lass who has been stuck in till hell for the past few hours, but I’m one who would rather say ‘thanks for your help’ than ‘well, that was a bit crap, wasn’t it?’.
Call it the Primary school teacher in me, but I like to think that others are trying their best. This means that when customers lose it at me, and start complaining that me not allowing them to have a packet of contact lenses without a valid test, or that I couldn’t get them booked in at the time they chose, or making out that I’m trying to price them blind, that my first reaction is shock, and then the second one can be ‘But, by shouting at me when I’m doing the right thing, what are you trying to prove?’
In other news? I have finally ordered the books for my course. Now all they have to do is arrive so I can read them before the course begins….
