A well-known adage, I’m sure, and one which I’ve suddenly found has come true. It’s happened: I’ve turned into my mother.
Not literally, of course. I haven’t become a middle-aged woman overnight. (Not that I think of mine as middle-aged. Until she stops running around after all of us, which probably won’t be for at least six years, she’ll be ageless.) But having left education, I find myself living at home, working as a temp, and driving my father’s automatic Volvo estate. Which happens to be just what she did. It’s funny how things pan out, all the patterns and similarities.
Perhaps I’ve led you all on. I’m not about to write an essay on whether daughters become their mothers. I have a lot in common with mine, but I’m no expert on the subject! Instead it’s really a bit of an update and a few thoughts on life right now. My official title is Customer Services Advisor, with a bit of moonlighting as a receptionist on Mondays and Tuesdays, and so far it’s been 100% more interesting than anything else I’ve ever done in an office.
Previously, most of my time has been spent doing monotonous
data entry, filing, and waiting around to be given something to do. While I’m
always grateful for employment, it’s quite hard to enjoy work when a quarter of
your day is spent twiddling your thumbs.
Now there’s almost no time to thumb-twiddle; instead, there are orders
to process, customers to ring, and, when I’m working on reception, the tannoy
|Obligatory bathroom pic. Trusty Looks-Like-Chanel jacket right there.|
|Work = money = spend it on tea. Investigating the correlation between packaging aesthetics and taste.|