Cheese and The Child

Whilst not admiring the local marching band at the chipper the other night, I was enthralled to note that the bloke I sit next to in work (who has just turned 20 thank fully – as up until then this made him a mere 19 years of age – meaning I was EXACTLY TWICE HIS AGE.  Depression inducing?  You betcha).

One of the only good things about working in a call centre is that you have to sit next to people you would never normally talk to or look out without disdain.  You then become bonded through your eternal hate of the customers at the end of the line – for further reference to why I hate, you need only look at some previous posts that highlight my dealings with what are essentially sub-humans.  This 20 year old works in a bar at night after dealing with our abusive friends all day long.  One day, he came in with a bruise which covered the entire left side of his face.  He said he had asked a bloke to leave, who wouldn’t and when he tried to tell him to go, his face was bashed in.  That day, he said that working in the pub was nicer than dealing with our customers at the bank.

The Child also happens to be a drummer in our local marching band, and who did I espy battering away but his good self, in full redcoat, outside the Half Price Sale Chipper the other night but his good self.  I did call out as I cruised by, but Lilsister said I was hollering like a common person and she was too embarrassed to be seen with me, so I was unable to make contact.   However, it’s reminded me that when I return to work next week by 10.30am we will go through our routine where I will sigh deeply, throw my headset to the floor and declare my lack of faith in humanity.  This is a cue to all that I now need my tea.  I will get my tea, then whilst in the kitchen get two types of cheese from the fridge, mild cheddar for me and anything strong and smelly for The Child.  I bring the two cheeses back to my desk, with some napkins, and together we cut up the different cheese blocks into neat cubes, break open the crackers from my desk and have our cheese and crackers whilst being called every name under the sun by our customer counterparts.  This gets us through the morning and prevents death to all around.

We also like to discuss my lack of a boyfriend, and The Child has been most helpful in locating available older men for me on his phone, which has internet access, as mine does not.  The latest ”find” is a  52 year old ”man” who looks 72 in his profile photo, making me feel that perhaps the child sees anyone over the age of 30 as being the same as being dead.   If I’m lucky I also get to hear details of The Child’s love life, which sounds very complicated and full of young girls who like to ”stalk” The Child as they are in love with him.

And every few days, the office runs out of milk, so if somebody makes him a tea but leaves out the milk as there is none, I get to drink it, as I like my tea sans sugar and milk.

There are some good things about working in a call centre.

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