PostaWeek – The Indecisive Eejit

Pre accident, I was never a fan of ‘the weekend’, in fact all those cheery voices saying ‘Thank feck it’s Friday’ would drive me absolutely banana’s. The reason, well I worked a part time job, so there really wasn’t a weekend to get excited about. Post accident me however, is a whole different ball game, come 5 o’clock and I am jumping up and down and clapping like a seal. I have morphed into the very object of one of my own pet hates!

Sometimes I miss my part time job, but at the moment leg recovery and the situation at home are the main things stopping me from returning, that and I don’t miss the stress one little bit.

I’ve worked as a phone operator for taxi firms since I was 18 years of age. I’ve had 3 marriage proposals, all from drunk men might I add, countless offers of meaningless sex, date requests, flowers, oh and I’ve been threatened twice.

A vast majority of the town in which I live know me, or at least know of me, however only a small handful of them would be able to pick me out in an identity parade, due to the fact they have never actually seen me. They are, for all intents and purposes in love with the voice on the other end of the phone. The funniest thing of all has to be when you are in a bar and realise the group of guys standing beside you are actually discussing you, remarking on what a hot voice you have…..I tend to find things like that quite embarrassing because I personally can’t see the attraction. It’s fun though when they ring the next week and you casually ask them to stop discussing you in public and they are gutted beyond belief that you did not introduce yourself. You can never make them understand that the real life version does not match up to the ‘Jessica Rabbit’ version they have in their heads.

There is no doubt though, that the Irish accent does have it’s advantages, take this simple call with one of BT’s foreign offices for example:

Me: Hi, I have a problem with my modem.

BT Staff member (female might I add): And what seems to be the problem?

Me: It keeps turning itself off.

BT Staff member: M’aam may I ask you a question?

Me: Sure, what is it?

BT Staff Member: Are you a jockey disc?

Me: A what?

Bt Staff Member: A jockey disc.

Me: I’m sorry I don’t know what that is?

BT Staff Member: On the radio, a person on the radio.

Me: Ohh a Disc Jockey (I’m laughing at this point and so is she), no I’m not a jockey disc.

BT Staff Member: Well M’aam I hope you don’t mind me telling you but you have a nice voice, a voice for radio.

Me: Mumbles something incoherent to hide embarrassment.

BT Staff Member: I’ll send you a new modem and it won’t cost you a penny.

Me: Ummm thanks very much, you have a nice day I say as I hang up the phone, bemused and confused but getting a new modem!

By far however the strangest request I have ever had, and believe me there have been many, was a gentleman one night asking me had I ever though about branching out on my phone operator career. What do you mean I asked all ears, thinking he was opening a new firm and trying to poach me. When he told me I had the perfect voice to be a phone sex line operator, there was a stunned silence from my end of the phone. Sensing I was not too keen on his idea, he proceeded to tell me it paid £10 an hour, which in those days was really good money. At that point I might have given a small ‘Hmm’, and seizing what he perceived to be an opening he continued by telling me I would be able to work from home….wait….WHAT!!?? I had a quick mind flash of how this would pan out:

“Oh yes baby, it’s getting really hot and steamy now.” – He doesn’t need to know I am doing the ironing.

“Mmmm honey that’s right, my lust is boiling over, oh actually wait, I’ll brb it’s the feckin spuds.”

I started to laugh at that point and told him I didn’t think that I was suited for the job, but thanked him for considering me.

So if you need anyone cajoled or you want to bargain with someone, I’m your woman, for a small fee I’ll ring them up and mesmerize them with my ‘allegedly” magic voice! I wouldn’t get too excited about it working though, because I am pretty sure that beer not only affects the goggles but hearing as well and in sober reality my voice is decidedly average!

The Geeky G4mer was not my first foray into the blogging world. Oh no. There were many many others.

Over the years I have had various little bits and pieces about my life on the World Wide Web. Scraps of this and that, scattered over random names that I have long since forgotten.

To date though, this has been the one I have updated the most, but it‘s hard to think of new content when your life is just run of the mill and compared to some, downright boring.

Everyone has something to offer. Everyone has something to give. Everyone will touch someone regardless of whether they realise it or not.

A blog for all intents and purposes it usually an outlet for something. Somewhere to be honest, somewhere to be humorous, somewhere to vent, the list is endless. Most of us do it for fun. There are some though, who have crafted their art so skillfully they can now live off the proceeds, or so they would have us believe. I feel under pressure to think of new things now, imagine what it would be like if I was getting paid and had deadlines. Pressure cooker springs to mind.

Despite the fact I do it for fun and to keep my aging brain active, there is no denying the little buzz you experience when you get a notification of a new like or follow. If I write and post something on my morning train journey, one person liking the post has me squealing with delight, usually at the expense of the eardrums of everyone within a 100m radius.

It makes me want to better myself, but in doing so, do I set the bar to high.

Years ago I realised I was never going to be an amazing writer or poet and I’m ok with that. I’m content to be mediocre or even something close to it. I’m enjoying the company of the people I have around me here, and getting to know them via the details they choose to share.

I’m learning things about myself, like the fact that I don’t have to be perfect or amazing or even all that intellectual. It’s perfectly fine to just be me, a little bit thick and occasionally funny. I’ve made people smile and I’ve made people laugh, and that in turn has made everything worthwhile.

Every time there is a little tinkle of a notification or someone leaves me a comment it’s a little pat on the back, someone is saying, you know what, you’re no Whilimena Shakespear but that wasn’t a bad attempt. That beats back the blues just a little.

So to sign out I am going to leave you with one of my poems, Lee who is much more organised than me kept a back log of all my old posts and poems from the site I used to have called “The Trouble With Me”. Now bear in mind this was written around 2002, so a little like my mental age, it’s around 11 years old.

Being Late

The birds didn’t sing and the sun didn’t shine,
as I snored in my bed unaware of the time.
And the next thing I know it’s a quarter to 8,
and my Mum’s screaming up, “you’re going to be late”.

But even at that time all hope was lost,
I’d missed the damn train and my parents were cross.
My bed was calling but my mind said “Make haste”
So I tossed off the covers and to the bathroom I raced!

A quick sprinkling of water, and a brush round my jaws,
and a luke warm face cloth around my face and my paws,
locating clean clothes amid all the clutter,
running around like a bit of a nutter.

Down the stairs slowly it feels like a mile,
But “Good afternoon” she says with a sarcastic wee smile,
into the car for a 5 mile journey of silence,
mind it could have been worse there might have been violence.

So here I am on a later train,
I shall never trust my alarm clock again,
but you know what it’s worth all the trouble and strife,
to get another shot at this thing they call life.