I think my soul died yesterday..

You know those nights where you cannot sleep, nor can you get even the slightest bit comfortable? Thus, you end up shuffling and swearing, sweating and throwing the duvet around, punching pillows and crying. I had one of those nights last night. Admittedly, it was my own fault. I spend the day in my pjs, watched 11 hours of television (I kid you not) and drank approximately 2 litres of diet coke. My body basically told me to get lost when I tried to go to sleep.
That's why I slept in this morning. That, and my stupid technological phone is a numpty. My alarm clock hasn't been too well lately, and because I now don't trust my alarm clock, I've been using my phone alarm. Which didn't go off. So I don't trust anything which claims to be an alarm anymore.
When I woke up at 10.30am, I thought my alarm clock was joking. Then I thought my phone was joking. Then I panicked, phoned my boss, begged for mercy, and got a stand-in until I got myself there. I basically threw myself in the shower, squeezed some shampoo on my hair, rinsed it as fast as possible and jumped out of the shower. No shower gel, no exfoliator, no shaving. Just shampoo. Then I ran into my room, dripped water over my phone and laptop, cursed at the fact that my phone's touchscreen wasn't working and roughly towelled off. Then I grabbed a dress from the cupboard, pulled on some tights, combed my sodden mess of hair into a normal style and ran around the house. I threw a biscuit at the dog, threw a cereal bar into my bag, grabbed my purse and change for the bus and legged it. Yes, the bus. I don't even have the car this week, as my brother has gone camping and decided he needed it. Fair enough, really. So I legged it down to the bus, where the bus driver was outside having a chin-waggle with an old friend of his. I was waved onto the bus, where I sat fidgeting whilst the driver finished his conversation ten minutes later. I really dislike getting the bus in the morning, which is why I normally drive to Uni. Every single stop has a gaggle of pensioners waiting to get on, and then they only travel for 2 stops at the most and get off. WALK, DAMMIT! They just clog up the bus system.
So I finally got to work, sweating, hair wet, no makeup, and had a cup of tea with my stand-in.
I now have to go and choose a new alarm clock. I would try new batteries in my old alarm clock, but I really just don't trust it anymore. It's sad, not trusting small electrical appliances. I'll miss being woken by the radio. Pros and cons, though. You can either get woken by a nice flute orchestra playing mellow and happy music, or you'll get something loud with drums which is guaranteed to put anyone into a bad mood in the morning.

So I have a day of fun planned with my best friend tomorrow, and as she spends her wages on CDs and beer, we have to restrict ourselves to only cheap fun. I've got a few things up my sleeve, depending on how much fun she wants to have, but she's already let me know that we're going to a gig in the evening, which is nice. She's arranging a poetry reading evening for sometime in the unforeseen future and has requested that I am in the line-up. Very exciting.

The despair of wedding season.

Wedding season has been well and truly upon us for a number of months now, and it doesn't seem to want to cease. It's becoming increasingly frustrating informing endless customers that we don't actually carry wedding outfits, watching their faces fall and then pack up their things and leave. It's not a personal thing; we just don't sell it. We're eveningwear specialists for a reason. We sell eveningwear.
So, with all these bedraggled customers marching their way out of our door, we haven't been getting the normal amount of custom. This means that it's even more soul-tearing to sit here all day during the week and direct people away to other shops which might suit their tastes and needs.
We should do an appointment system. That would sort out the wheat from the chaff. Get rid of all those unwanted "wedding enquirers" and allow the people who actually need an evening gown to come and get one.
Having attended my friends wedding this weekend, I know the strain of finding a wedding outfit - I can empathise with the customers, although only to a certain extent. I'm younger and thus have more pick of the bunch when it comes to outfits. I'm not limited to a tailored suit with a matching hat just yet. Plus, I was able to order my dress in specially - one of the perks of the job.
Plus I've already recieved my outfit for the next friends wedding I'm going to - and I bought the handbag already on quite a whim. I was perusing the fascinator section of Debenhams (a past-time of mine) and I spotted the exact colour of my dress in handbag form. Now, I'm not usually one for matching, but it was such a perfect match and so cheap that I couldn't resist.
I spoke to my brother about it whilst making chit-chat, and he pointedly said - "Why don't you sell wedding outfits, then?" to which I had no reply. We've discussed bringing in wedding outfits, but don't really know if it's a market we actually want to go into. There's only so much tailoring I can take.
Anyways. The shop is morbidly depressing. The sunshine is glorious, which makes me worried about the meatloaf that I have sitting in the back of my car, which was supposed to be thawing but might end up cooking instead. At least that'll save time later on. Apparently some man on the radio has confirmed that his temperature gauge read 33 degrees Celcius only five minutes ago. How amazing! I think tonight might call for another sunlit stroll along the beach. Luckily, my Significant Other lives in a penthouse on the beach, which makes it easy access to the beach and carnival, circus, etc. Might have another go on the waltzers. Did that the other night whilst waiting for my dinner table to open up in the restaurant we were going to before the cinema showing. On the waltzers, I managed to lose a flip-flop and flash most of the crowd that had gathered to watch. Tres embarassing, and all whilst I screamed the way round. Maturity at its epitome..

The latest apple in my eye.

Before you ask, the chick in the shower to the left is not me. Nope - this photo depicts my latest obsession. Meet the Olympus Mju 1030.

Okay, admittedly it's not a DSLR, and that's what's holding me back from just going for it.
BUT - this camera has balls. Not literally; that's not what I go for in a camera. This camera is shockproof, shatterproof, crushproof, scratchproof, and heck, it's waterproof. How cool is that? When the day comes that I take the plunge and go scuba-diving, I'll be able to throw my digital camera in the water and get some shots. Not many people can do that! I keep hovering over the page, restraining myself from buying it...I'm not sure why. All the reviews are good, all the stats are what I'm looking for, I can basically throw this camera into an underwater rugby scrum and it would come out untouched.

Life in the goldfish bowl.

Sitting in my little glass box, I can vaguely see that the sunshine is glorious. I'm talking heavenly standards. It was certainly toastily warm when I drove my little car to work this morning, and it was certainly toasty as I walked from the car park to the door, so I'm guessing it's still toasty...but I can't feel it. Damn air conditioning. The one day of summer Britain might actually get, and I'm inside. At least I'm getting paid for every hour I'm not allowed to be outside...

I'm the type of gal whose motto works out to be something like, "God bless the great *indoors*".
I don't tan very well, and I become quite fidgety in direct heat. I'd much prefer to be in the pool getting a tan, or getting a tan whilst being fanned by toned men in trunks. Either or. Since I departed the Middle East forever, my tan has faded into nothing but a mere memory. I keep stumbling across photos of a bronzed girl with long flowing blonde hair and then catching a glimpse of the remains in the mirror. Pale, short brown hair..Where did it all go wrong? I realise that my hair isn't going to be blonde anymore because there is no direct sunlight hitting my locks, and I realise that I can't spend all of my time worshipping fake tan. But still - it seems like a hefty fall from a pretty nice position.

If you were wondering what this has to do with the boutique, it has nothing to do with the boutique. Nobody in their right mind would brave the sweltering heat to come into a shop and put on an expensive gown. It's just logic. I knew it would be like this, so I'm not too concerned. It gives me a chance to kick back and write a lot. Occasionally I turn up the radio and sing along.

Actually, we have had people in the shop, but they were two pre-pubescent girls who giggled a lot and sang along with the radio, fingered every dress and then vanished, off to giggle at other things.

Why me??

I don't quite understand why people come into the boutique and ask whether we have a wrap or something to match their dress. I say we have none. They then proceed to whip out their purchases and parade them. What am I supposed to do about that? So I coo over their purchases and apologise for having no jacket that matches the exact pattering of their dress or shoes or scarf. Geez.
One of the most random times was when a women came into the shop with a dress that she'd bought in *another* shop and asked for *my* advice on why the ruching wasn't lying flat. I told her I have no expertise in the area - I just sell the dresses. Occasionally I make witty remarks and small-talk. I do not mend, patch, darn or advise about garments. When it became clear that I was of no help, the customer decided to track down my manager of her own accord and show her the ruching. Strange. I'd understand if she'd bought the dress from the shop, but bringing a random dress from a random shop in and asking a teenagers advice about it...? Don't think so.

There seems to be a severe lack of personality here..

My parents are often informing me of my lack of social skills, which I find constructive in the sense that it makes me realise how much of a failure I really am. When I was younger, whenever somebody asked me a question, I had a habit of answering the question via my mother. It would go something like: "How's school going?" I'd respond with a look at my mum, "It's alright, wouldn't you say, mum?" And so forth. Thankfully, I don't do that anymore. I'm more than capable of articulating my own sentences and holding up my end of a conversation. Anyway, this was brought to mind when a pair of customers entered the boutique in search of a dress.

There are some customers who seem to radiate a sense of confidence, of happiness and a joy of self. And then there are some customers who do not. Some customers have no sense of self, for some reason. I don't know whether they left it somewhere, whether somebody stole it, or whatever the circumstances may be for this loss. I have a certain dislike for dealing with these customers, because in comparison, I appear gawky and exuberant. Bubbly and OTT. I'm not. I don't really like coming across as this because it seems so fake. I'm normally just sarcastic and chatty. Anyway. Mother and daughter team of customers looking for a mother-of-the-bride costume. Argh. I was facing a couple of people both in denial of sizing and a mother who lacked both a personality and self-esteem. Every dress I showed her had to be approved of by her daughter, who seemed only capable of pulling out dresses in wrong sizes and forcing her mother into them. Pitiable.

This happens a lot in here. Mothers who seek the constant approval of others and daughters who don't seem to think about the feelings of the person they're forcing into a dress that they probably would only wear if they were twenty years younger. I mean, I do the same with my mother, but it's hard when it happens here.

Return of the wanderer..

I only went on holiday for 11 days, and my boss has turned the shop against me! Quite literally. I returned to work this morning after a family holiday, and every single piece of stock has been moved around! Colour co-ordination has been taken to the next level, rails have been added and taken away. One of my key skills as a shop assistant is my ability to pinpoint the location of every garment. Good luck now. I'll just point customers vaguely to the colour section and hope they find something.. Joshing, naturally. I'll get used to it. We re-arrange every so often to trick our customers into thinking we've got hundreds of new stock and it lures them in and makes them spend an afternoon hunting through the newly moved rails. Muah ha ha.

My holiday was great, with the exception that my brother fled after only a week. To be fair, he had a recruitment day and he is jobless, so we thought his reasoning was valid. But still, it left me alone on holiday with the parentals, something I'm all too used to. We holiday down where my family lives, which happens to be where I attended boarding school, so its an unusual combination of emotions when we head down to my old stomping ground. I usually get a trifle paranoid that I might bump into somebody who knew me from before, and to be honest, I've managed to get rid of my former self, so meeting anyone who knew my former self may be self-destructive. I didn't like who I was when I lived there, thus the emotions become more complex. But, as you may or may not know, one of my favourite past-times for ridding myself of depression is changing my appearance. I've had my hairstyle changed more times than I've changed my sheets. Honestly. (I lack the cleaning gene..) So I wasn't too afraid of bumping into anybody I used to know because I don't look like me, and so they shouldn't technically be able recognise me. Or who I was. Or something like that.

The drive up was killer. We stayed overnight a few hours from where we were staying, partly to break up the drive a bit, and partly because we had a family function to attend. Obligatory duty. I've found more and more that adults don't seem to give a damn about teenagers, but I put on my best accent, best top and best manners and proved myself a worthy candidate amonst the chattering adultions. I think secretly they were just impressed that I wasn't a teenage mum and that I don't carry a knife.
But yes, the drive. Eight hours in a car with my parents isn't a big deal, per say. Having lived abroad, I am used to long plane rides, long car rides, and even longer awkward silences after bitterly arguing about how uncomfortable the Skoda is. It's not that bad, it was just that we managed to gain a few extra suitcases on the drive up, which spilled from the boot into the back seat until they were pretty much giving me a luggage lapdance. Not so pleasant. The dog had more room than I did. Plus my seatbelt didn't fasten the entire way up because the middle seat had been put down right onto the clasp part, so every time I tried to fasten it, it pinged back and hit my collarbone. Very irritating.

But as it were, I am sitting once more in the boutique. Nobody has crossed the threshold except myself and a friend of my boss, so my attention has been taken up by impulse buying on Amazon. I've managed to restrain from buying another camera, but it might not last that much longer. I'll keep you posted.

VOGUE!

Just got the phone call. We're going to be in the September issue of Vogue, which focuses on "Boutique Chic". Apparently, we're the only boutique in our city which was approached, and it was purely on a reputational basis, as one of the Vogue colleagues has been to our boutique and forwarded it as a suggestion! Keep your eyes peeled, we're the next big thing!

When you're in a hurry..

Why are there so many obstacles when you are in a dire rush? Are they always there but just aren't so noticeable because you're not trying to overtake 8 buses and a taxi?

I had a slight emergency this morning, mostly my fault. A friend of my significant other passed away recently, so I took my SO's black suit to the dry cleaners to get ready for whenever the funeral would be. Organised, but about an hour after I dropped it off, we found out that the funeral would be tomorrow. Gutted. The suit wouldn't be ready - I checked. And when I called to see if I could pick it up without it being dry-cleaned or whether they could speed up the process, they said that they'd already doused it in chemicals, thus there was no-can-do. No suit for Significant Other.

So at midnight last night I was ironing his spare black trousers, he was ironing his white shirt and my mum was trying to find my dad's black tie. Nightmare. And at 9AM this morning, we made a dash to ASDA to find a cheap black blazer to finish the mourning look. Ended up dropping my SO at 10AM on the dot, the exact moment I was supposed to be putting my key in the shop door and welcoming our potential customers to spend their pay on our goods.

As soon as I hit my internal panic button, the entire geriatric population of the city appeared on the roads for their annual road trip to nowhere. My normal route takes me along a country road thats 60mph for a reason - it's a fast paced road; not for the light-hearted. Of course, the first granny decides that 60 is far too near her own age and drops it down to 35mph for comfort. Had to overtake her on the first of the mere 2 overtaking spots on the road. Then, out of nowhere, a car pulls out. Slowly. And for some reason, doesn't seem in a hurry to accelerate, even though there's a row of cars shoving up his rear doing at least 60mph. Overtook him on a semi-blind, fearing for my life and cursing the aged at the same time. I'll respect my elders when they learn to drive! Right, cooling down.

Onwards to the boutique, where I put my key in the lock at 10.14AM exactly. Not too bad. It's now an hour and a half later and one person has scoured our rails, so I'm assuming a slow day is ahead. The weekend was dire - about ten people came into the shop, mostly old people shopping for a bridesmaids dress for their cousins sisters dog walkers estranged transexual son. Muppets.