Breaking the Mould

Rachel

There is nothing like a good cup of tea. Teabags first, milk no sugar, if you please. For as long as I can remember I have been a fiend for tea. Some people wake up to coffee and croissants, I am all about tea and toast. I think I get it from my mum; she used to go through at least ten cups a day, still does, if memory serves. Its seven thirty and I’m almost at work. My shoes are wet and my hair is straggly – again. It’s Tuesday and it’s raining - again. And I had to walk to work in the rain - again. There is so no point blow drying my hair if this is the result. I really should buy an umbrella. Knowing me, I’d probably lose it like every other umbrella anyway. I am known for my clumsiness and losing everything that comes into contact with me.

A 94 bus swoops past me, I can’t even afford the bus at the moment seeing as I’ve just taken a job at a lower pay than I’m used to. Don’t worry, I’m not glutton for punishment I was just really desperate for a job away from a fucking call centre. I took the job on the promise of a pay rise in the first three months. I really couldn’t deal with giving the same spiel over and over when Sky HD Plus was much better than Tiscali. Come to think of it, I really didn’t care either way anyway. However, because of this pay cut, I feel slightly resentful about even bothering with work. Being poorer than poor in this day and age is ridiculous in my opinion. Well, so poor I can’t even catch a bus is ridiculous anyway. I work full time in Chiswick, so it’s about a two mile walk from my flat. Sometimes I have to work through the weekend at home. As much as I love my new job, my toes are really not appreciating walking to work in the cold every day.

The office I work in isn’t the biggest in London, nor is it the nicest. But the people are ok, I guess, and the work itself is a little more rewarding than say, flipping burgers. Not that I have a thing against burger flippers, it’s just not my preferred career objective. When do you get to a point where money isn’t an issue? Or is it that money is always an issue? A car dashes past and I dodge a flying muddy puddle. I’m wearing a white coat and that would NOT have been a good start to my day! Finally reaching the office, a wall of heat meets me as I open the door. Ok, so outside is fricking freezing but that doesn't mean I want to sweat my coat off. I set my hot cuppa down on my desk and wishing good morning to my colleagues, I flick on my computer for the day.

‘So tell me what happened?’ a voice appears to my left. Anne Lindsey is my saviour. The only sane (by my standards) girl in the office who has an obsessive love of shoes, a most exciting sex life and a penchant for popcorn at her desk. Although, 8am has to be a record to ask me about the latest and greatest meeting. To protect certain identities, I shall refer to our boss as The Boss and our secondary line manager as The Boss’s Pet. I’m really not exaggerating here; if she could be up our Bosses backside any further The Boss would have a moustache.

‘Morning to you too, love the shoes,’ I note the scarlet red heels currently tucked under her bum. Anne smiles briefly and wiggles closer.

‘Nothing much, only the usual – blah, blah please speak to Anne about the documents blah, blah,’ I say, logging in at the same time and almost whispering so as not to be overheard. The Boss may not be in the office just yet, but her minions’ ears are always on red alert for juicy gossip. It’s like a mini cult here, most of the office is from South Africa and all seem to know each other from before working here. It’s slightly unnerving.

Anne sits back in her chair, her cold hands cupping hot coffee. The Boss isn’t in quite yet, and so it makes for ample time for emails and Facebook and such other time wasting necessities. Anne and I are both admin support for a mini recruitment company. Again, to protect certain identities I shall refer to our company as Hell. No, I am not exaggerating!

I lean back in my spinning chair and take a sip of my now-warm tea.

‘How was last night?’ I ask her with a suggestive smile, raising my eyebrows at her. One thing you have to understand about our Anne is that she loves men and because of her adequate proportions and her flirtatious attitude she can pretty much have any man she wants at a click of her fuck-me red heels. And she knows it. You and I both know we hate her but we love her all the same. I click into my inbox as she smiles wickedly in my direction. I already know I’m in for some kind of sexual awakening here and a little part of me sinks: being single officially sucks.