There was little old me making a cup of tea in the office kitchen. Another terrible Tuesday morning which was just about to get worse.
A new lawyer had just joined my team. He was pretty good looking in a ‘best-of-the-office’ kind of way. He sidled up to me and some other colleagues and hit me with this:
‘You know there are two types of people in this world. To demonstrate – if the world was Argos there are those that are the front of house, customer facing people. Then there are the people that would be in the back of the stock room, away from everyone. You would be the latter.’
In fact not a day went by when he didn’t mention my gender (apparently I wouldn’t like anything he watched because
of his bad taste I was a girl) and at one office party decided to explain, in great depth, how bodies are cremated. To a colleague who’s mum had just died.
Another colleague actually informed my secretary who was about to get married, how men only care about two things on their wedding day. Whether the dress is white and how much cleavage is on show.
But hey – I mean it’s all just banter isn’t it?
The ‘fear of missing out’ used to apply in my life, to those parties I couldn’t attend because my granny was having her sixty-something birthday (I was a bitch). Or when I wanted to go clubbing and a bald headed 24 year old driving licence didn’t cut the mustard. As I have reached my twenties it has morphed to become something far more philosophical. FOMO now is the fear of missing out by making the wrong choices. It is about future events I will miss because I’ve decided to a) get married at 22 because some girl at school did and maybe that’s what everyone is doing now b) decided to say no to all respected professions in the vain hope I’ll do something slightly edgier c) do nothing because this dilemma fundamentally stunts me (the irony). When you have fabulous relatives who swan around being arty models it is hard to get carried away into thinking you genuinely could be like them and that it’s moreover something you want. I have to convince myself over again that everyone has real-life-FOMO and to get over it. Artsy models have the same dilemma but then perhaps it’s not FOMO at all, perhaps it’s FOMO’s better known bedfellow – the familiar jealously.
– LFTW = No not London Fashion Week with a typo, this is living for the weekends. When you actually have a 9-5 job this struggle is real. But drinking in the week is also totally necessary.
– My dad passed away a month ago from a two and a half year ‘battle’ (as people like to call it) with cancer. A brain tumour to be specific and at age 53. So the second thing I have learnt isthat unfortunately I have one thing in common with Kim Kardashian and that the people you love most are not infallible and you will miss them unbearably.
– If you work in a golf club where the members are 90% rich, bald men, a bar job is not a real job. They are also allowed to remind you of this at every opportunity, whilst standing in front of people for whom the job is a ‘real’ job. But apparently trading in intangible debt is totally worth everyone’s time.
– Book clubs are totally awesome. They involve meeting up with friends, totally rinsing each others choices and drinking. What a brilliant idea.
– This is apparently the best you are ever going to look. This worries me as I can not for the life of me remember when I last saw my hip bones or thought ‘hey – I am definitely going to wear that sequin crop top tonight’. With fellow twenty years olds including Candice (pictured) this is doubly worrying.
To be continued….