Three hundred actually. In the past, I might have mentioned the Raven Family as a whole has been gifted with ‘luck in small things’. Not the major luck associated with a lottery win or I would’ve told you just before skipping the country for the South of France, but the kind of luck where timely meetings or golden opportunities have added up to a very big thing. Life’s 'natural luck' I suppose you’d call it.
Yesterday, while I was waiting in Carluccio’s for a takeout cappuccino and strawberry meringue, I noticed some very attractive patrons staring and pointing in my direction, smiling.
‘My lucky day’ I thought. They’ve noticed how perky and vivacious I feel on this lovely morning. And so you can imagine how fortunate I felt when I discovered an enormous delivery of pigeon poop right across the back of my newest, totally trendy jacket. Luckily, it’s washed out unlike Sandra’s cranberry juice from the front of my white jeans.
I also felt uniquely lucky when my ancient artifact of a mobile phone finally gave up the ghost, taking all my contacts with it [don't email me - I know all the tricks of the trade]. Granted, the battery’s had no juice in it for the last 12 months but I was hanging on because it was simple, light and no strain on my nerves [bless you Nokia]. So I wandered into the Orange shop on Bank Holiday Monday and spied a white Blackberry I thought might do the trick, until I encountered the sales assistant. She was very tactful but her face said
“What do you want one of those old fogey phones for when you can have this fabulous new one … in white?” She might as well have shouted “Abracadabra!!”
So, my luck is in and I’m a fully functioning member of society again with a fake iphone and precious few contacts. Chatting to the Next Doors last night and bemoaning the absolutely miniscule size of the Galaxy’s instruction manual, I asked them to text me their numbers. The details arrived promptly accompanied by the question “I thought you were an IT whizz?” Could be … but the nice people at Samsung don’t know that. And why are they nice? Allegedly, they paid their $1M fine to Apple in five cent pieces … in three truckloads.
That’s about the size of our weekly stock delivery to the Retail Cathedral and I’ve been uniquely lucky for the past couple of months not to be rota’d in to put it all away. I believe this is because the temporary management thinks I’m an idiot. Every time the under-management allocates me a task i.e. fetch me this, put that away, refill the lip balms, stand on your head etc., the temporary catches me red-handed in a place she doesn’t want me to be. Yesterday, I was collecting stocks of makeup from a particularly cramped area when she shouted for me to return to the shop floor. I replied,
“But the other one has asked me to do this and, as she’s expecting a chick soon, she can’t climb. And we’re missing sales not having it on the …” She cut me off at the pass saying,
“Get out there and clean the blessed makeup stand with Tea Tree wipes. And do customer service, and go on the tills because there’s no-one else to do work except the management.”
So, while I buffed away the cacky foundation and a million sticky paw prints from the stand, I reflected on how amazing it is to have this job. Another couple of years and I’ll either have invented time travel, or I’ll have gone mad. Three times over …
Tip of the Blog: Everyone says “I’ll go mad” at some time in their life, and it’s always a state of mind referred to in the future tense. Trouble is, by the time you hear yourself say it, you’re already certifiable as I am in the eyes of Frangipani. Earlier this week I confessed to taking home half of our uniform aprons to wash. Well, I was asked by the under-management who’s not much cop in the washing and ironing department and it didn't seem that difficult.
Anyway, Frangipani did not mince her words, saying
“Only taking half home doesn’t mean you’ve gone half mad. You’re nuts! Do your employers know Queen Victoria has vacated the throne?”
They do indeed. And I am just too ashamed to admit ironing the offending garments and using a laundry marker to identify which ones are cleanest. After working for 17 days straight, I’ve not gone mad; I’m only a gibbering wreck of a bird. Lucky me.
Raven
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