Welp. I very nearly had a mental breakdown this morning. Admin manager texted me at 7.30am to see if I'd picked up office keys as I was rota'd to do. The other girl, we'll call her S, also rota'd to collect some had forgotten hers. S and I had something in common.
"Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!!" Cue much flapping and blind panic. I'd inadvertently helped lock the entire early shift out of work. Now, an understandably pee'd off admin manager was en route to let us in, even though she wasn't due to be in til later, and lived too far away to let us in for 8a.m, our opening time. In her shoes, I'd be wanting blood. Pasty, caffeinated office drone blood.
Flapping and swearing kills a surprising amount of time. So, now, fifteen minutes before I'm meant to be at an unlocked and buzzing (busy,not smelly) office, I'm still in my living room, twenty minutes' drive away, doing my best impression of an alarmed chicken.
So, i grabbed my bag, bellowed an "Agh, fuck!!" at A, in lieu of a goodbye, ran out of the door, Bambi skidded my way to the car. Naturally, car was encased in a solid block of ice. Wobbled back to house, grabbed kettle, splashed warm water on car, car cube melted, back to house, deposited kettle, back to car.
Car is cube again.
Mad dash around car, spraying messy patches of de-icer on windows. Peeping through the patches, I race down the road, probably mowing down cats and schoolchildren I can't see. I run a red light, and nearly kill myself skidding on some ice at a busy roundabout.
But I make it to work on time. Ish. One measly minute late. Admin manager hasn't arrived yet anyway, but S is there to greet me, also soiling herself over the bollocking to come. Now, S, funny and chatty as she is, isn't exactly the office optimist. She believes that things happen for a reason (reason being to make us suffer horrily), and by the time the admin manager turns up, our preicted punishment has escalated from stern words to immediate firing and possible death by stoning.
Admin M turns up and let us in, being too polite to eff and blind at us. Instead, she takes the British route of talking very little and looking knackered enough to make us feel awful for dragging her from her slumber. Fair one.
We start work half an hour late, S and I waiting with trepidation, pooing our knickers in readiness for the Big M's (in hindsight, Big M not the best choice of label for the main office manager. Makes him sound like our pimp... Oh, well, I've used it now) arrival, which we've been informed will be at about midday.
He's going to murder us, I think. He's going to murder us dead.
Stressed, I start to work with my head bowed apologetically, despite my co workers being sweetly breezy about having been made to stand out in the cold, unpaid for half an hour while the sun wasn't even properly up yet.
I am a hopeless people pleaser, and I hate hate hate being told off, especially when I know I'm at fault. The worst thing someone can do to me is make me feel like I've let them down in some way. I dread my bollocking, and feel like a five year old about to be told off in front of the entire school. Exaggerating? I wish.
So, I work. And I work, and I work, and I work some more. I'm like a machine, getting a whole day's worth of stuff done in a single morning, just to avoid dwelling and building up a humdrum chain of events into something of cataclysmic proportions. Holy shit, I think, I didn't know I had it in me to get this much done!
Big M rocks up. I avoid eye contact for as long as humanly possible. But it has to happen eventually. And here it is...
"So." He places his palms on his desk, forcing us to look down the row of computers and acknowledge his presence. "Girls. You both managed to forget to take keys home last night..."
"Sorry mumblemumblemumble wonthappenagainmyfault..."
"Okay. So, who's doing what today?"
That was IT? After all that stress, all the palpitations and clammy fear, we don't even get a patronising finger waggle? A clip round the head? Five Hail Marys? I feel numb. Even a little cheated. I'd invested a whole morning of sweaty panic over "okay"?!! Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!
So. What I've learned today:
1. Things are never as bad as you imagine they'll be.
2. Terror is an excellent motivator. I mean, it just gets shit done!
3. I might have a slight...just slight...tendency to overreact to trivial things. Slight.
Just about to finish this entry, but I've had a text off S, which I feel I have to share with you guys. I'm sure she won't mind:
"You still in work? I can't find my house keys xxx"