Sunday 1

Do you remember when you were little and the summer holidays used to last for decades?  I was talking about this today, about how time seems to fly the older you get.  Its now reached the stage where I’m groaning about it being Monday morning and, the next thing I know, I’m celebrating the end of a working week.  I mean, its February already!  Worse, its 2004 when I still haven’t got used to writing 1984 on my cheques yet!

Monday 2

Just before Christmas we had a temp in our department to cover for another secretary.  I helped her over the lunch hour with an important document that her boss was waiting for.  Finally, it was done and the boss returned to his office saying, “Thanks for that, [NAME OF TEMP].  Oh, and thanks for your help …. erm …. “ 

I was creased up at my desk laughing my socks off.  “Five months I’ve been here,” I told the temp, “And he doesn’t even know my name!” 

I am not a non-entity, I am a secretary, I am not a …

Tuesday 3

I’ve had ONE OF THOSE DAYS … secretaries the world over will sympathise.  Firstly, the damn phone would NOT stop ringing and, of course, I had mountains of work to get done to hectic deadlines.  So I’m typing up a massive document and being interrupted by the phone roughly every three minutes - I resist the urge to answer it and scream, “What?  What do you want? Get to the point and be snappy about it!” 

On top of this, I had a videoconference meeting to organise.  No, this isn't when a load of bosses take their favourite videos into a meeting room to watch.  Its where, instead of meeting face to face or having a deep and meaningful discussion on the phone , some bright spark decides to get 13 different people from 6 different offices into meeting rooms with a camera (so they can all have a good look at what each of them is wearing, presumably).  I have to find a convenient date and time for all 13 people (difficult at the best of times but totally impossible when they all seem to have a chronic aversion to putting appointments in their electronic diaries).  This alone takes about a day. 

The following day (assuming I’ve pinned them all down to a date and time) I start ringing other offices to book the videoconference rooms - except some offices (usually the last two on my list) don’t have a room available at that date or time so I have to start the whole process all over again (oh the joy, the fun!).  Then, if a nervous breakdown hasn’t forced me to run screaming from the office vowing never to return, there’s always someone who rings and says, “Oh sorry, I can’t make that date/time after all.”

Like I say, one of Those days!

Thursday 5

Going up to my floor today, the lift stopped and two men got in carrying Starbucks coffee.  The journey was uneventful and, in the total silence, I was only grateful I didn’t ‘pass wind’ (my big fear in such situations).  I got out of the lift on my floor, turned the corner and, before the lift doors closed, I heard one of the men say, “Wasn’t she pretty.”

Well, my ego ballooned to Zeppelin proportions!  I was well chuffed.  Bragged to my partner about it when I got home.  A compliment!

At about 9pm, realisation hit me like a baseball bat.  The men had obviously been talking about the woman who served them their coffee! 

Bugger!

Friday 6

Okay, its Friday so a bit of ‘toilet humour’ is called for, (look away now if you’re of a squeamish nature).

I was ‘caught short’ at work today (if you know what I mean) - bit of a stomach bug.  Twice I tried going to the loo on my floor, and twice I was interrupted (I can’t plop in public - this must be a girl thing because I’ve worked at places where men take the newspaper and make big announcements to all and sundry about doing this kind of thing). 

I bombed it down to the ground floor loos figuring it would be quieter down there, and it was - for a good three minutes.  Then someone came in, meticulously washed their hands before using the toilet, went to the toilet, meticulously washed their hands again, then spent about a day and a half engaged in an intimate relationship with the dryer.  I’m gritting my teeth at this point and cursing them to hell and back.  Then, just when I thought the end was nigh, I heard the hand cream dispenser go, listened to much slapping of hands and rubbing of wrists, then silence while they obviously inspected their sadistic face in the mirror.

Some days you just can’t get any privacy for love nor money.

Monday 9

A whinge about the CSA (Child Support Agency).  My partner makes regular maintenance payments for his two children.  At the beginning of January the CSA rang my partner at home and a very snotty woman demanded to know why he hadn’t made December’s payment.

“I did,” he said.  “I always pay on time.”

“Well, we haven’t received it,” she snapped.

“I have the receipt.”

“Send it to us.”

My partner sent them a copy.  A few days later they rang again, demanding to know why he hadn’t made the payment in December.

“We’ve already had this conversation,” he told them, “I’ve sent you a copy of the receipt.”

“Well, we haven’t received it.  Send the original?”

“You must be joking,” my partner snapped back, “You lose everything I send to you, including bank statements and pay slips.  I made the payment, sent you a copy of the receipt, now get this sorted!”

And there’s more!  My 19 year old son at university received a letter from the CSA before Christmas, claiming he was the father of some child of a girl he’d never heard of.  My son laughed at this, utterly convinced a mistake had been made (meanwhile, I’m having a heart attack and texting his dad: “Our son's being done for child maintenance!!!!!” …. counted to three, phone rings, “What?!”). 

Son rings the CSA.  They tell him to put his denial in writing, which he does.  He receives a letter back ‘thanking him for contacting them to confirm he is the father.’  Son rings them again, they tell him to write, again.  He’s not heard any more about it, but he has received somebody’s wage slips in the post from the CSA - when he rang them about this, the CSA told him to throw the wageslips in the bin!  Who’s running this agency, patients from a lobotomy clinic?

Booze up and brewery spring to mind.

Thursday 12

Booked the afternoon off work to go to building society to “do the deed” with the mortgage and loan - four years, four months and one day since separation (and, coincidentally, exactly a year to the day since the divorce finally came through - spooky).  My partner came with me cos I’m easily confused where figures are concerned (especially figures THAT big).  Managed not to pass out or cry, and afterwards celebrated with my first cup of coffee in months at a nearby cafe.  Caffeine hit me like rugby player; heart palpitations, dizziness, a general feeling of wanting to climb the walls and get hysterical - I think it was the coffee, anyway. 

Friday 13

Argh!  Friday 13th.  Didn’t realise till I got to work otherwise I’d have worn bubble wrap for the journey (actually, a valium is what I need for some of my journeys into the city).

My brain clearly wasn’t conscious when I pulled things from the wardrobe this morning - I look more like a bag lady than a secretary.  Hauled on what I thought were ‘woolly tights’ (375 denier) and flat shoes.  Got to work, looked at legs, thought Bugger!  Ordinary tights, which declared to the world that I don’t shave during winter for heat conservation reasons – I am a two legged hairy mammoth.

On the subject of tights, why, when you get them out the packet, are tights six inches long even if you've specifically picked large/tall/amazon-type-proportions.  Dragging them up my legs is like indulging in a workout at the gym.  They then struggle to return to their original size throughout the day so the gusset ends up around my knees. 

Anyway, despite my inability to walk properly, went out at lunch to get a Valentine card.  Interesting to note the difference between the men and the women in the card shop - the women were all huddled around the sloppy cards, the men gathered around the joke ones.  One man rushed in, stood next to me, huffed loudly, said, “Oh bloody hell,” snapped up the first card to hand and rushed to the till (and they say romance is dead!).

Saturday 21

Its been a pretty hard week, like climbing up the face of Mount Everest every single day and not knowing why, I just know I wanted to slip under my desk at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, every afternoon, and have a really good sleep.  I'm blaming it on the weather, the season and, mostly, public transport ... but more about that later.

Had a lovely Valentines Day.  My partner and I decided not to buy each other fluffy toys or extortionately priced gifts but clubbed together to buy a "The Billy Boys" print by Jack Vettriano.  Raced all the way from my office on Friday lunchtime to Athena in the Bull Ring Shopping Centre to get it.  Hurried into shop, noticed they have about fifty thousand prints and I only had twenty minutes to find it, buy it and get back to the office, so grabbed an assistant's arm.  "That picture, up there, three men on a beach, you got it?" I asked, breathless.  He went straight to it and pulled it out.  It was cellophaned onto a massive piece of cardboard.  "Could you roll it up for me?" I asked.  He couldn't, so I had to rush back through the onslaught of shoppers with this huge print under my arm. 

Went to Merry Hell Shopping Centre to get the frame from Argos, where they were displaying the exact same picture, already framed, for £5 cheaper.  Bugger!  We now have a rather splendid work of art on the wall - suspect a sign of increasing old age but feel hugely sophisticated and grown up.

Kids were off school last week for half term, which made for a lovely fast journey into the city in the morning, but it was utter chaos trying to get home at night - I'm sure Travel West Midlands have less buses running during school holidays.  On Monday night I waited half an hour for a bus that was so full it was positively dangerous.  Tuesday night, the same, so I emailed TWM.  They replied saying they'd 'investigated the matter' (sure) and 'there were no delays with buses or problems with passenger numbers on the nights mentioned'.  Yeah?  Tell that to the 250 people crammed onto those buses.  I emailed back, 'I'm sorry, but that's not true, nor is it accurate' and pointed to my commuting page where they would 'get a passenger’s viewpoint of their services'.  Fun just isn't the word.

Monday 23

This entry is for femmes only, so if you’re of the male persuasion I’d move on to the next entry if I were you.  Well, go on!

You know that time of month when you have to be ‘discreet’ (i.e. hiding bag underneath jumper when you go to the toilet hoping nobody shouts, “Oi, you off home then?”).  Went into chemist at lunchtime, picked up the required items and took them to the counter, where a very nervous looking male assistant looked at me like I was an unexploded bomb - he looked like a terrified rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck!

Tuesday 24

Once a fortnight my partner goes with a couple of work colleagues for a drink in a local pub. The pub recently changed management and the previously crowded and amiable atmosphere turned morgue-like.  The ‘landlord’ wore a teeshirt and jeans that, my partner said, he wouldn’t have worn to crawl underneath a car.  There was a naked baby running around wearing just a nappy.  The ‘landlady’ changed said nappy in the middle of the pub and, without washing her hands, carried on serving (“I bet she does the meals, too,” my partner said, forcing them all to leave immediately).  They won’t be returning and, next time, will be touring the Black Country area searching for a suitable, comfortable, clean and hygienic pub to drink in.

Wednesday 25

Pay day!  Thank God!  Went out at lunchtime with the intention of having a mad shopping frenzy.  Spent £6 in Superdrug, then, in a wild splurge, bought four pairs of socks off a market stall.  Total spent = £10.  Last of the big spenders, eh?

Friday 27

Totally mad morning.  Because it was snowing I wore my ‘big’ coat - unfortunately, my bus pass was in the other pocket so I had to pay actual money to get into the city. 

Once at work, I stopped to have a fag before I went in, only I couldn’t find a single lighter.  There’s usually three in my bag, a couple in my trouser pockets and at least three in my coat, but I was wearing new trousers, the wrong coat, and my handbag was bereft, so I had to give it a miss. 

When I tried to get into the building I realised my security pass was also in the other coat.  Eventually made it to my desk and checked my bank statement, noticed my credit card had charged me £20 of my hard earned cash for late payment!  As I’ve paid on the same date for the last nine months I rang them to complain - probably not the best thing to do if you’re already suffering nicotine withdrawal.  First I spoke to a thoroughly stroppy woman who just kept repeating it was a late charge, then I rang back and spoke to a bloke who rambled on about statement dates.  I demanded to speak to a supervisor, who rambled about statement dates some more before agreeing to refund my £20.  I told him I wasn’t happy with the service and would be changing credit cards - he didn’t seem the least bit concerned.  Great customer service!

After this, I was desperate for a fag so sneaked out of the building to buy a lighter (99 flipping pence!  I normally buy 10 for a pound!).  Smoked it and returned to building, which was in alarm mode and everyone was evacuating because the kitchen had set fire to some toast.  I merged in and we all stood outside, freezing, for 20 minutes.  But at least we got to see firemen.