Secrets: no longer ours to keep
Like many people, I have had a lot of varied jobs; especially in that phase when I finished college and couldn’t find anything I really enjoyed enough to stick with. The job I talk about today, however, is the one I had as a night job during my office cleaning croydon period. I was 19 at the time, and after my day of cleaning offices – and I mean cleaning EVERY SINGLE PART, including the toilets until they were immaculate… – I would head out to work at the newsagents around the corner. I really liked that job, apart from one small thing: the girl I had to work with on Friday’s…
The girl was, more accurately, the boss’s daughter Tracy. Now, I had nothing against Tracy in the beginning. In fact we were of similar age and we got on well enough that after work we’d walk down the street together and have a hug before we both went our separate ways.
I was probably over-reacting, but when she laughed at me and pretended she had no idea, I grabbed her by the wrist…
And it was all going fine until one Friday a few months into the job when I came back from the bathroom to discover Tracy holding my mobile phone.
“Who’s this?” she said, holding the phone up, a message on the screen. “He sounds hot!”
The writer of the message was actually my friend Laura, a girl, and sometimes Laura amused herself by sending me saucy messages and pretending she was my male lover. This might make you wonder about my sexuality and general life goings on, but trust me when I say that Laura was just a girl with a wicked sense of humour and too much time on her hands. Nothing more.
It was only later that evening, when I got a text back from another friend who said he had got a sexy message from my phone, that I really started to realise how much Tracy had annoyed me — and all this quickly builded into one supercharged wall of negative energy. It took me longer than it should have done to work out what had happened, and when it did I confronted Tracy right away. Well, almost right away…the second she came in from her ridiculously frequent fag break.
I was probably over-reacting, but when she laughed at me and pretended she had no idea, I grabbed her by the wrist and yanked; told her that she couldn’t go looking through my phone and replying to people she had never met. Tracy stared at me and stopped laughing as I told her, in no uncertain terms, to never do that again. And as it transpired she didn’t. And even better, her visits to the newsagent became a lot less frequent after that day, and I didn’t even get in trouble! Funny how saying the right thing at the right time can have exactly the right dramatic effect!
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