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Firstly, I'd like to apologise for the last post. I was tired. I'd had a long week and only too late did I realise that my brain and fingers were both in working order, but unable to work in conjunction. Sorry about the randomness of the whole affair.

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I'm in another one of those 'Let's listen really intently to these song lyrics' moods. Finding a line in so many songs that make me go 'Ooh, clever! Well done you.' Sometimes, this mood makes me change my facebook status to said lyrics. Most of the time it makes me late for things. things like miss the bus because I'm too busy rewinding the sang to hear it again. Being late for work because I won't turn off my music until the songs finished.

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Music is Love, Love is Beautiful, Beautiful is a Song, A Song is Music. It's all connected.

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Gag!

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So, I had this customer the other day (here we go) who stormed over to my till point and slammed a bill onto the counter. She actually made my member of staff jump.

"Good morning madam, you OK there?"

"I want you to sort this out" Picture, if you will, a small terrier of a woman with a face that needs an iron and a voice that equally crinkled. She's quite well spoken and is wearing one of those fleeces with the pictures of the wolves across the back. know the ones I mean? Good, then we'll continue

"OK, would you like to pay your bill?" (oh yeah, I completely forgot to say that the piece of paper was in fact a statement for her store card"

"No, I don't want to pay my bill (sarcasm) I want you to be clever and tell me where the hell it says I need to pay £27" (Patronising)

"Well madam, if your statement says that then you must have spent that and need to pay it back. I can do that on this till if you want."

"What did I say?" (patronising tone turns to alight anger) "I will not be paying this and you are going to sort it out that I don't. Understand?"

"I'm sorry, if there's a mistake then you'll have to call the number on the statement. I can't access your bank details on this till."

(hand flicks in the air as if swatting at a wasp "I'm done with you girl, I want to speak to your manager."

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Now, I've been in the shop this whole time and have listened to the conversation. My staff member comes over to get me and, after the initial look of 'you couldn't possibly be old enough to be in charge' she puts the paper back on the desk and says the self same thing to me.

Unfortunately I get the disco remix with two verses of "That girl said she wouldn't do anything" and a beet box of "I know my rights" I just calmly explain that there's nothing we could do and if she talks to or about my staff like that again, I would have to ask her to leave the store.

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This is the moment when anger turns into blind terrier style yappy rage.

"How dare you talk to me like that, I demand to know why I'm forced to pay my hard earned cash on something like this. The girl before you was useless and you're just the same. I want to speak to someone higher than you." the 'you' at the end of this sentence is spat out like a pip. Pow right in the eye. The word 'speak' has a certain level of saliva in it, which narowly misses my left cheek. Phew, close call there!

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"I can get a floor manager but...."

"No, I want (dramatic pause) the store manager."

"Unfortunately he's unavailable but I can get you a floor manager. I regret so say (I'm the sarcastic one now) that they will say the self same (sorry Siany) thing as me and my staff."

"Oh forget it, I'll go upstairs to business support. I'm just going round in crcles with you and that girl of yours."

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And you have a lovely day too.

A Post About....Nothing. (Seriously)

I am beat!

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I'm contemplating on making those three words my entire post.

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I am beat

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But I won't. Instead, I will bore you with small stories about my days. It's just a pile of words. Every now and then, a couple of words pop up and say to me 'We're going to start a sentence, want to join us?' Most of the time I decline the offer, choosing instead to check my facebook page or watch another weird video on You Tube. But today, my fingers feel the urge to type. They want to get the random guff that's inside my brain, twist it into paragraphs, write it down and put a small star surrounded by two wavy lines after each one.

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See

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I've been typing a lot this evening. Writing a new CV from scratch, trawling through job vacancies at various shopping malls and stores, filling in online application forms and typing in criteria for flats I want to buy.

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I, my good friend, am growing up! Yey me. After a day sipping JD and Coke and flinging a frisbee around, I'm sitting down and doing proper grown up work on a proper grown up computer ( as apposed to my cheeky little net book type affair) I won't lie and say I'm not scared about this whole thing. I'm terrified (I've been using that word a lot recently. I must get a thesaurus. Otherwise people are going to start to hate me.) But I'm tres exited. McBride is home for the summer and I keep forgetting that when he goes back to Glasgow, I'll be there next to him. Tugging on his sleeve and saying 'pleeeaaaaasssseeeeee can we buy that Kath Kidston apron?' or 'ooh ooh ooh, look, a Hello Kitty toaster!'

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Erm, so this isn't going anywhere really is it. I think I might just delete the whole thing and start again. Then I think Nah, just type type type. Oh god whats this about? Quick, make a point, say something clever, witty, intelligent (which is the same as clever)

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........

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Nope, it's not happening. I'm going to bed.

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Tomorrow I'll blog for a better reason than 'because my fingers wanted to.' Still, It kept my fingers out of the cake in the fridge for a while.

Five things

Things that have flittered through the cobwebs of my mind in the last few days

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1: I have a play to do.

A play I feel totally unprepared and under rehearsed for. When on stage, I feel like I'm really acting. That sound big headed and wrong, let me explain. I feel like there's no naturalness to my character. It all feels quite shallow in meaning. Like I'm just reading the lines from a book. I'm trying my hardest but I just look back over my last scene and think to myself 'That was obvious acting, and, even more worrying, not very good obvious acting.

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2: My basic academic skills have failed me big time.

Standing at the till point, the transaction comes to £4.50. The customer gives me a £10 note and a 50 pence piece. I press the £4.50 button then can't for the life of me work out how much change to give the customer back. The till display is saying no change due to wrong button pressing and I'm left staring into my till drawer thinking 'so 10 take away fifty is nine fifty. plus four pound fifty is twenty seven divided by pi is...'

It's not difficult woman! Seriously. To make matters worse, I look to the customer and say (and I quote) 'Sorry, my mathematical skills are badder than I thought.' Badder? That's not even a word! Go back to school dipshit!

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3: My arm muscles are starting to look like they could do some damage.

My new job demands more heavy lifting than my last job. In Gunwharf, I had about 9 men that could carry a box for me if i promised them tea. Now, I have no one so it's down to 5 foot 2 me to lug crates of notebook down a flight of stairs. Because of that, my arms are starting to muscle up a bit. Now, I must confess, it's nothing compared to the Fabulous Calves Of Finch™ but I'm quite proud of them. 

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4: The sun is shining

This makes me smile. Enough Said

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5: He comes home on Tuesday. This is a very Very VERY good thing.