Come and laugh at me with me.
“HAVE YOU GOT A CHILD UNDER 8 YEARS OF AGE??”
This was the desperate phrase I repeated to crowds of rugby fans as they entered the stadium.
Everyone poured through the gates while I faced upstream like the panic-stricken woman in a movie who has lost her child. Or, in this case, wanted to barter for someone else’s.
One particular agency insisted I always wore a pencil skirt, tight blazer and high-heels to my shift.
Wherever that shift was.
And one of the places you really don’t need to be dressed like a budget sexy secretary, is Boots.
The louder you shouted “WIN YOURSELF A TASTY LITTLE HANDBAG”, the less they would bother you with the request to be more vocal please.
The phrase didn’t sit naturally with my persona.
So I had to adopt a weird cheeky-cockney-market-trader character. Which still didn’t sit naturally with my face or my voice. (My natural aura is Colin Firth).
I’d exaggerated my ability to style hair.
But the pay was good because the shifts were 14 hours long, so I was determined to Have A Good Go…
This job was not only tedious, but painfully cold. There was snow on the ground, it was -12C and the public did not want to engage with me, the abominable snowman with a confusing offer.
Average Brunette