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I sat at my desk in the dingiest part of the small building and wished, wished, I wasn’t there. I hadn’t had this job long, but I regretted taking it with all of my being.
The job seemed so perfect. I had been temping for a while and was looking for something permanent, when I found the ad in the back of the local paper. The job seemed just right, the office was virtually around the corner from me, the hours were great, the pay…well, the pay was OK. Just think of the travelling expenses I’d save!
I turned up at the interview looking my best, and had prepared myself fully. The moment the interview started they more or less said they had already decided I was the person for the job. I sat a few tests, which I passed, and was asked to start in two weeks.
Back at my temping job, I let them all know. I loved that job, but it didn’t look like it was going to be made permanent anytime soon, and my landlord disapproved of temping work. I said my goodbyes, and two weeks later started at my new job.
I should’ve guessed something was up really when I was handed my job description and ‘making the tea’ was the headliner. The exclamation mark at the end made me assume it was a joke. Oh, how wrong I was.
I felt like I was working in the 1930’s for the aristocracy. I was kept well below stairs and away from the public. Tea had to be punctual and at set times throughout the day, delivered on a silver tray with a plate of biscuits. My supervisor looked like she was certainly born in the 1930’s, and was the meanest old cow I had ever had the misfortune to meet, let alone work with. Any attempts at humour were met with icy cold stares. Conversation was frowned upon. All work had to be put through her as she didn’t trust me to get it right, yet she complained that I gave her too much work to do. Nothing was ever right.
All through this I kept in touch with people I worked with in my old job. I would send them text messages saying how unhappy I was and wished I were back. One day, I got a reply, “Permanent job is going. Boss says get your application in quick. Interviews are tomorrow”.
That night after work I went straight round to my old office. The boss had put aside and application for me and I hastily filled it in. “The interview is tomorrow. Will you be able to make it?” Would I? Of course I did!
I had the interview, and things were getting steadily worse at the new job. I hadn’t heard if I had definitely got the job or not, but I had had it. I wrote out my resignation, popped it into an envelope, and went to work.
They called me into a meeting almost as soon as I got there. The manager was sympathetic, and seemed genuinely sorry to say I had to go. He explained that due to my experience, he thought I’d be excellent for the role. With my bitch of an ancient supervisor seated beside me, I delivered the best line I had the pleasure to say “Well, you have been very kind and understanding, but this job was not what I had hoped it would be, and I have already written my resignation”. I passed him the envelope. He nodded. Old-cow scowled. I sighed and inwardly grinned.
The next day whilst I was busy having a panic about not having a job, I received a phone call from my temping job. The interview was successful, and I was to be taken on as permanent staff. Two years on, I’m still there, still happy, and still give the finger to the old office whenever I happen to drive past. Immature, I know. But it gives me a small sense of revenge!
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