My life is not glamorous, nor is it particularly thrilling or in any way stimulating. In fact, my life is the definition of mundane and boring personified, except for my customers, that is.
I work in a miniscule little shop that is smaller than my bedroom… and my bedroom is by no means well-endowed with regards to space. So you can imagine the little shoebox space in which I work, no? My line of work –below read website description- is this:
| || |
“We are a small store that offers a big service which includes: retailing and refilling of original and generic Ink and Laser cartridges which are 100% guaranteed.
We offer professional advice on printers for your application. Print head unblocking, custom decals, canvas prints, custom printed magnetic sheets, custom mug prints, t-shirts, mouse pads, puzzles, sandblast vinyl.”
Yes, dear readers, that is my life 9am -6pm five (and sometimes six) days a week. Doesn’t that sound just super exciting?! I can’t wait to get to work every morning!
What keeps me going is the promise of money - even though my wages are shitty. Money is money and I searched for a job, any job, for a good 7 months before I was hired at Pinelands friendly, neighbourhood printing and cartridge refill shop. If you say it with a smile and a high-pitched-blonde-haired-American-commercial-tooth-glittering kind of voice, it almost sounds convincing. Almost, but not quite.
Anyway, my main reason for wanting to write this is so I can have written proof of the crudity of a Mr John Berry, Pinelands resident Mills & Boon writer. Billy Connolly once said, “Young arseholes have a great tendency to become old arseholes,” – this may be the truest thing ever said, and just a tiny bit hypocritical coming from Billy because apparently if anyone is an old arsehole, Billy is.
It started out as many days before it had. My alarm starts screaming at me and I grumble
and protest to the best of my ability at such an early hour of the morning – which is actually a very impressive grousing session indeed. I fall elegantly out of bed and drag my way to the shower, whilst supporting myself on a wide range of objects, namely the foot of the bed and then the floor. So you see; I wasn’t exaggerating when I used the word, “drag”. It’s actually a very apt description of my method of transportation. Showers are amazing aren’t they? They can effectively turn something that is very nearly Neanderthal and transform them into an almost recognisable human being. Many tedious grooming processes follow and then, astoundingly, I leave my house and set off to work looking pretty okay – almost nice.
Now, I should mention the day that I will describe to you was a Friday, on Fridays I make a habit of dressing nicely and putting on a splash of make-up to get the weekend celebrations going. I was wearing a little light pink dress that, I will admit, might have been slightly on the low side. So after a very uneventful morning at work things soon became somewhat more eventful. A Mr “David” Berry came in for a cartridge refill and left. It takes me about 10-15 minutes to refill so they usually go off to do a bit of shopping in the mean time.
So, Mr Berry didn’t come back for quite a while, I put his cartridge in a little recess on top of my desk with several other refilled cartridges waiting for collection. Upon his return I began to search the little “hokkie” intently. The dialogue that follows is as far as I can remember, word for word.
(I’m bent over in my vulnerable position, rummaging around for his lost cartridge)
Mr Berry: *Mumble mumble something mumble*
Me: I beg your pardon, Mr Berry? (all innocent like)
Mr Berry: I said it’s a nice view form up here.
Me: *looks down and sees right down own dress*
Oh my gosh, I’m sorry! *shoots up to a vertical position and blushes like mad*
Mr Berry: Don’t apologise!
Me: *finally finds cartridge and proceeds with sale*
Thanks very much, sir! Enjoy the rest of your day!
Mr Berry: Thank you dear, always a pleasure.
*AND THEN HE STARES AT MY CHEST, GRINS NAUGHTILY AND FINALLY LEAVES!*
Very professional relationship there, can you tell? The nerve of that gross old fart!! I don’t usually mind if some old chap gets an eye-full, ‘cause, you know, they’re probably on their way out and I’m quite happy to make their last moments on earth more enjoyable. My problem is that Mr Berry commented on it and made me feel so nasty that I was desperate to take a wash. Not cool, Mr Berry, not cool.
Anyway, I’m finding this blog thing rather therapeutic. Pretty crappy first instalment but hey, everyone has room to grow!
Stay tuned for the life and adventures of your friendly neighbourhood aspiring gypsy!