All girls are taught since day one, that a knight in shining armour will one day sweep them off their feet. Thanks a bunch Disney, you anti-semite, womanising, child beater of a twat. Of course, anyone old enough to read this blog, will know that reality flushed this concept down the drain years and years ago.
My background being intensely steeped in the British Army, I was taught even before the aforementioned fairytale, that your average soldier's not suited for any feet-sweeping purposes. Nevertheless, my ability to want EXACTLY what my parents don't want for me has shone through. And after finding I would never be fit enough to serve in the Services myself the only way to stay in the lifestyle I love, is to marry one. This plan was all coming together, until summer 2010. I am not ungrateful for the three happy years I had, but I am more than happy that the end of that relationship has opened my eyes. Very wide, very quickly. An Australian friend of mine, helped me see happiness in the future of my darkest, loneliest days. But I now believe I used him. For all the wrong reasons. I already planned my life with him in my head. The song ' I Wanna Have Your Babies' by Natasha Bedingfield? Sums it up perfectly. I am my own worst enemy in cases like this. I mean, it's fine for me to be the settled type, who doesn't like to have a new man every saturday night, but I shouldn't let myself get too carried away.
So, starting my new job this week has given me a new lease of life. I literally feel like a whole new person. I have met new people, one in particular that I have really connected with, and we are nothing alike. She has already taught me more about love and relationships than I have learnt from any other one person in my life.
So, first week around the terrifying beast that is - The Rupert. Before I started, my opinion was that they fall into three simple categories.
1.Young, fresh out of uni, and loving life - and everyone in it. 2. Young, fresh out of uni, and expecting officer life to fall into their laps - and everyone in it too. 3. Old-school, and boring.
Naturally, this point was squashed within the first shift of working. the Troop Commanders (hereafter Troopies) showed the first glimmer of character I had seen from anyone other than staff. Rowley. A soft featured young man, who noticed I was new straight away, and awarded me a nod of acknowledgment, and a few glances from his seat. Then, a lot of shaking hands and arms as I served my first lunch service around the people I feel innanely below socially. Service ends, and between polishing the silver, I am told that another staff member is in fact marrying an ex-Troopie in a few months time. I think aww, very sweet. She looks like she will fit in perfectly as an officer's wife. She is quick-witted, sure, fresh-faced, and always looks immaculate. However, after a quick facebook rifle, and many tales of drunken antics, and I discover that she isn't from a strange cyborg factory, designing genetic partners for officers. I feel INCREDIBLY shallow.
Next shift. Night shift. Dinner. *raise a silent eyebrow at why it isnt called Supper or suchlike* And in walks the men I recognised at Lunch as being French *silent resentment for France in general* following the froggy group is Pierce Brosnan. Immediate thoughts turn to 'father of my future children approaching' *silent scolding of self* and thoughts turn to burning red cheeks as he smiles and nods at me when he signs his name. Swooning instantly evaporates as I have to go and clean up after, and I remember that the French don't actually know what plates are for >:(
See old frenchieboy for the next few days, and I am pretty damn sure he has seen me making eyes at him, and I am pretty sure he has made eyes back. Even when his comrades have noticed my pillarbox face, and I hear them utter 'rougissant joue' and all face me at once, there is no doubt in my mind he knows it. Most memorable moment of the week - as Francois (what I imagine he MUST be called, as his friend's name is Jean-Claude, so assume he must have the only other french name on the earth) finishes his meal, I get called away from my 'notdoingmuchatall' perch. Holy Crap. Dash through the job faster than a greased gazelle to make it back to the perch to see him disappear behind a curtain. Without thinking I say out loud TO MSELF"Didn't even say goodbye. Asshole." Instantly, he whips back round the corner with another nod and a big smile, and a blush and he is gone. In that moment, I was transported back to about four years old, and I was Briar Rose seeing a handsome stranger I was sure I had met before (In my dreams, perhaps?)
Fuck you Disney. He's married and has a ten year old son.
Friday night is Family's Night. Made myself a silent promise that I would get a bit of banter going with the engaged waitress about how she would be sitting on the other side pretty soon as 'One Of Them'. She insists she will never turn to the dark side, but I have drawn my own conclusion, and some situations have you so pinned in, you can't help but allow it to drastically change your personality. Oh, how glad am I that I didn't open my big mouth. First wife walks in, and I feel the urge to walk right out. Her sickly smile, knotted sweater, and cords weren't making an impression in my mind. It was what came out of her mouth. "OHH DAHRLING, DUZNT IT ORL LOOK WONDERFUL" *silently promise self that she's is just being enthusiastic and will sit, eat, and control her children*. WRONG. Fellow waitress rolls her eyes, and slams her way through to the kitchen. Moronic woman continues her backhanded fawning over poor Bruce, and I decide I can't anymore of her whining. Please God, don't make me turn out to be an officer's wife.
And if I must, don't allow me to call my daughter Izzy.
No comments:
Post a Comment