I call this my Grown Up Coat.
I don't wear it often, probably because a classic camel coat just doesn't feel like me, but it's great quality, and it seems a shame not to give it an airing now and again.
I wonder if it has hidden powers which provoke me to introspection?
The last time I wore it, I felt aimless, adrift and dissatisfied. My Lucy Jordan moment...
And I've been pondering my situation again, reflecting on my recent experience of work, and as some of you have asked me what I thought about it all, I shall try to tell you. (The adage Be careful what you wish for may apply here.)
Did I love it? Not really.
Did I hate it? Not really.
I felt largely indifferent to the nature of the work itself, although I tried to approach it willingly. I found it tiring, and some of the late hours were hard going. Standing in the cold and rain at a lonely city centre bus stop at nearly midnight, waiting for the last bus which didn't come, I did think to myself
what the fuck am I doing this for?
But I know my reasons;
it was a place to start, a cautious re-entry into the wonderful world of gainful employment, it brought in some extra cash to help pay for Christmas and the long dreary month that is January, it will hopefully provide a reference and useful recent work experience.
And if I'm honest, I enjoyed the fact of having a job again. Part of that is novelty value for me, admittedly, but I liked being able to give a straightforward answer to the question
are you working? No need for a point-to-prove response about unpaid employment in the home or being a volunteer, a simple
yes will do.
The bit I really enjoyed was the people.
Most of the customers I encountered were polite, pleasant and friendly, even when I didn't know the answers to their questions...
I had some lovely chats with people while working on the fitting room.
I talked babies with an exhausted and pregnant Mexican woman, slumped on the sofa while her husband tried on jeans, who was looking forward to flying home for Christmas.
I sympathised with the self-conscious young man surrounded by his mum, sisters and girlfriend. all offering their views on the shirts he was trying on.
I laughed out loud at the bloke strutting down the fitting room corridor wearing swimming shorts and socks, while his wife hid her face in her hands and said
no one else should have to see that!
I was amused by the woman who instructed her mortified but smiling husband to turn around and show me his backside to assess the fit of his Wranglers.
And I discovered there is a strange satisfaction in sorting out a display table or rails. It's called recovery; all that relentless putting back of stock where it should be, doing up buttons and zips, putting clothing in size order, folding jeans and jumpers, picking up the rubbish people leave behind, the broken hangers, the stock dropped on the floor...
Of course as soon as you've done it, like Sisyphus, you have to start all over again...
At some stage during a very busy Boxing Day shift, one of the supervisors, an endlessly cheery and bustling young man, asked me to tidy up the displays on "small leathers" - wallets, bags, belts, leather gifts like notebooks, boxes, tablet covers, etc.
This I did. He came over later and said wow, I didn't expect that, it's looks great, you've worked really well today, Curtise.
Hmmm. So what didn't he expect, exactly? That I was capable of tidying a display? That I could make reasonable judgments about how to organise products? That I could replace wallets and belts in boxes, and line them up on a shelf? That I would stick at it until it was done?
I wasn't expecting my reaction either; part ooh, you noticed, thank you! and part wtf? I've just been praised by someone young enough to be my son for performing a basic task which my kids could probably have done equally well.
Is it good practice for supervisors to praise and thank their staff? Of course. Did I feel ever-so-slightly patronised? Err, might have.
The thing is, I am a bit of an intellectual snob. There, I said it.
I am still approaching my own employment within the context of my previous career. I used to be the manager, the supervisor, the one who directed and reviewed the work of my team, I was senior and responsible and experienced in my field. But my professional days are long gone, my career dead and buried, and I need to move on. I can't exist in a time warp where my expectation level is high, but my skill level and employability are low; something has to give, and I think it's my ego.
So having pondered what I could or should do next, I have applied for a job working as a stockroom assistant for a clearance outlet. It's local, and only a handful of hours, so no more long commutes and late finishes. It's minimum wage, and doesn't sound especially taxing, although once again, the recruitment process would have you believe it is a Very Serious Business. I've passed the online application stage, and am waiting to see whether I will be given an interview.
I'll let you know.
1970s Alexon wool/faux fur coat, dress and cardigan - charity shopped (my kind of retail)
Ankle boots - community fair
Scarf and bangle - gifts
Tapestry tote bag - made it myself
Beret - quiz prize
A final Debenhams incident on which to reflect.
One of the permanent members of staff commented to me that she had assumed I was a visiting rep when I arrived at the till point and asked for the department manager on my first day. Another colleague chimed in, and said she had imagined I was a manager from another store, come for a meeting.
They were teasing me, I know, and laughing at the disconnect between how I speak and present myself, and the truth of my lowest-of-the-low status as Christmas temp with absolutely no retail experience. And it was funny, their assumptions being so very out of step with reality, and although they didn't know it, so very in step with my own feelings. One of the women added, So you must have something about you then...
That remains to be seen.
So. What do you think about work? Are you lucky enough to love what you do, or make a living out of what you love?
Is work a
toad squatting on your life or to be
embraced as a friend? A necessary evil, good fun, fulfilling or mind-numbing?
Does what you do fit with your concept of yourself?
xxxxx
