New job! New house! New…well, no, same old me.

I guess I kind of ruined the climax of this post with the title, so I’ll jump straight to it.

I started my job this week, with days of inductions and paperwork and wearing a suit – who would have thought becoming a simple shop assistant would be so stressful? On the bright side, I’m now trained to work on the check outs and have a sparkly new uniform. 

Today was my first proper shift.

Now, its fun. I enjoy the banter with the staff and there is variety, so it isn’t as boring as one might assume. But it did leave me with a question. A musing. A philosophical conundrum which I shall now pose you…

Why…oh why…do people wait until they’re at the till, to go through their entire wallet sifting through coupons dating back five years? I’m more than happy to be patient – but when there’s a queue of stressed customers and I’m the one left to deal with their displeasure, I have to admit, I get rather vexed.

Inwardly vexed, of course, like most British people. We seethe and tut and strop and mutter – on the inside. (Well, tutting is on the outside, but the rest is an internal process.) Any how, consider this a plea on the behalf of check out assistants everywhere – when it’s busy, and they have a target to meet, please sort out your coupons before you get there. At least, as far as you can. We want to be understanding. I know it can be hard to find what you want in a wallet that seems to grow to Mary Poppins proportions every time you’re rushing to find something. But understand that many of us (at least, me) are sensitive souls and facing the disapproval of a legitimate small army of people is daunting to the best of us.

Despite this moan, however, I actually enjoyed it more than I expected to. 

Once done – for today was not a long shift – I made my way to a house viewing. Now I have a room (I hope) in a nice house (fingers crossed) with a large garden and a dog. It’s close to where I’m at already, with people from my home town – no more mocking of my accent! And like I said, there’s a dog. A DOG. 

Now I’m knackered. But that’s just because I have a sleeping pattern resembling that of a cat, and when someone disturbs my usual 18 hour slumber with irksome things like working for money (silly system), it knocks me for six.

Time for a glass of wine and a bath (that’s right, I’m embracing my feminine side). Excuse all the brackets. They’ve been overused but I’m too flobbly to go back through and sort them out (flobbly. It’s a word. In my dictionary, any way.)

Hope you lovely lot are having a great weekend as always. It’s been super sunny here, and I now feel somewhat crisped. 

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