Bucketloads of Regret

Working girl

I go into the Job Center to sign on again. 

"Morning Ms Trowbridge" says a young man at the desk, "Had any luck looking for a job this fortnight?"

"No luck" I muttered.

Richie was his name, he was tall and muscly, he obviously worked out.  He had dark hair and blue eyes.  I often got Richie when I went to sign on.  He was gorgeous, but I couldn't tell his age.  It could be anywhere between twenty and thirty.  Too young for me anyway, but a girl can dream.  I expect there are also some rules about not going out with clients, which is what they call us.  But I like to have daydream fantasies about me and Richie hooking up, just for fun. 

I go on the computers to look for a job suitable for me.  I'll admit it, I'm lazy, I don't want a heavily physical job.  I want a sitting in an office, typing away sort of job.  I browse through the job searches.  There's one as an NHS typist, typing up medical notes.  That could be quite interesting in a gossipy sort of way.  Not that I'd be allowed to gossip.  I mark that as one to go for.  There's another one for fruit picking.  I don't think that's for me.   I scroll down for administrative jobs, a lot need experience that I don't have.  

"Come on Felicity" I mutter under my breath, "Think what you would like to do.". 

What I'd quite like to do is coding, so when I'm back at home I search for coding apprenticeships and find a course I can do online that will get me the qualifications I need.  But it'll cost me thirteen hundred pounds or just under two hundred pounds a month, which I don't have.  I look at my credit card.  Do I dare risk such a huge amount without the guarantee of a job at the end?  Then I find a few actual apprenticeships, where I can work for a starter salary but learn on the job.  I apply.   I've been out of work for so long I know it won't look good.  But I have to start somewhere. 

I am thrilled and excited when I get an interview for one of the apprenticeships.  I don't know how, they must be desperate.  I've no experience of coding, just some office experience for a couple of years.  That was 20 years ago now.

I have nothing to wear to the interview.  It says casual clothes are fine but I should dress a bit smarter for the interview.  I opt for a skirt, tights and a smart top and flat shoes because I never could do heels.   I am rubbish at interviews so I'm terrified.  I practice some questions that they might ask me.  I never know how to answer the strengths and weaknesses question. 

"Good morning Ms Trowbridge, can we call you Felicity?" they ask.  There's three of them.

"Yes of course" I reply.

There are two men and a lady. All about my age.  They grill me as to why I want to start in a new career at a low salary.  From the waiting area I saw that the other candidates all look like school leavers.   I haven't really had any other career to start anew from.  I've been on benefits for years.  I tell them I was concentrating on bringing up my daughter and not on myself and that coding is something I would really like to do and I don't mind the starter salary as I have low outgoings.  

My daughter is no longer with me.  She's eighteen and living with her father a long way away from me, so it's hard to see her.  She's been living with him for a while now, which is why I really needed to get a job.  I'm still in shock that she's gone, that she wanted to go.  

They ask me lots of questions about relevant experience and qualifications, despite the advertisement saying that none was necessary.  It was pretty terrible, but I did the best I could.  They wanted all the candidates to do some coding for them to show we were computer literate and sent us all to use a computer, with a piece of paper with instructions. Thankfully I followed the instructions well and managed to do the work in good time.

Always on the look out for a potential mate, I was eyeing the two male interviewers up and down when they weren't looking.  One was nice looking but had a wedding ring on.  The other didn't have a wedding ring but he had a bit of a pot belly.  But he had a sweet face. I could forgive the pot belly.  I tend to look and nothing else.  I don't actually do anything about taking it further.  Plus, in this instance, I really wanted this job so didn't want to muck it up, flirting with the interviewers! 

I got a phone call the next day.  They actually wanted me.  I couldn't believe it.  They must have wanted someone with a bit more maturity because there were plenty of young candidates with more computer experience.  I actually had a nine to five job, with a salary!  I just had to be good at it and keep it.   They said there was a probation period, so if I mucked up, I would be out.

I would now be working with Mr Pot Belly so I could get to know him better before plucking up the courage to ask him out.  I know, there is still Simon Smythe out there, but I'm being open to other possibilities, just in case.  Some firms have a no dating within the employees policy so there may still be an issue with that anyway.  Do I sound a bit desperate for some love? Maybe I am. 

Mr Pot Belly, otherwise known as James Turner, turned out to be my direct manager, so if I had any problems I had to go to him.  And he told me what to do and gave me my workload.  I was learning coding alongside working, so was given a huge Bible of a textbook to read through at my leisure.  James turned out to be very lovely, so lovely in fact, I found out he had a girlfriend, but they weren't living together.  The firm did have a policy of no dating within employees so I had to put my fantasies to bed.  Either that or find a new job, and this was too good a one, for someone with my lack of experience and qualifications, to pass up. 

Anyway, I was so happy, my step one of the plan get Simon Smythe back had come to fruition.  I had a job and a wage.  I just had to keep it.   I was so focused on step one, I hadn't really thought about step two.  What should that be?  Maybe working out so my body wasn't a saggy mess?  Or figuring out how I was going to let Simon know that I now had a job, without speaking to or messaging him.