Friday, October 19, 2007

Tales from the fashpack

(EDIT: I started writing this post a week ago but due to extreme laziness, have only decided to finish and post. Apologies, I am rubbish.)

I think I have officially proved that I have little to no sticking power at blogging. Or at least no privacy in which to write furtive posts without someone reading over my shoulder or raising an eyebrow.

I promised you all Truck fest but a month seems to have whizzed past since then and in the meantime, far more interesting things such as the long anticipated holiday and woeful tale of the jacket have occurred. After a week's long search for a cheap holiday that wouldn't involve food poisoning or chavs, we booked a week in Cyprus on the morning of Friday 5th and left on Sunday 7th for a week of sun. I'll try not to brag but it was 30 celcius every day and sunny as hell. It was just what we'd both been looking forward to for so long - 15 months, to be precise.

Unfortunately, upon my arrival back at work on Monday afternoon, I was plunged into the week from hell and thus begins the tale of the jacket. Let me give you a little background first. In my job, every month I am delivered a new work experience to train and eventually mould into a returns fiend.

The job which they do is simple - I did it for two months before I got my job - collect samples, fill in a form, cross items off a list, bag and send out items. Most people are good at it - frankly, it's hard to be rubbish at it - but there are always some who manage to astound me with their sheer pig-headedness, such as Workie-from-hell, hereby refer to as WFH. WFH tested my patience to the limit.

From the moment she walked in, bearing more than a passing resemblance to Betty from Ugly Betty (but at least Betty makes an effort) I got a weird vibe from the girl and I could tell that month was going to be a bitch. I could list the things that she did that annoyed, tested and almost forced me into violent action but that would be petty and I would be here all night but the one thing that I will reveal is that the girl couldn't complete a return without somehow fucking it up unless I stood over her and watched her write every letter on the return form. Unfortunately for us both, I do not have time to play gangmaster and have my own job to do, so I did not witness the fateful moment where a particular one-of-a-kind sample was picked up by WFH and sent somewhere, ANYWHERE, bar the right place. I spent the first week post holiday leafing through old dockets desperately trying to figure out where in hell the bloody thing had got to, calling any and every lead I found and being flat out floored at every opportunity. The jacket had vanished. And I got in shit. While everyone around me told me that it wasn't my fault, I had a giant fashion albatross hanging round my neck. And of course, it wasn't just that. I also discovered in the midst of the jacket drama that three moderately expensive necklaces were sent back in my absence by a new workie. Thankfully, they did not go the same way of the jacket and the final one was returned to me today, unharmed. Needless to say, it was a relatively awful fortnight but now I can sleep easy and heal myself of the flu that everyone in London seems to be picking up or just getting over at the moment.

Plus, I have to be well for Monday, I have a new work experience coming in. God help my blood pressure.

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