Life Changing!

Regular readers will be scratching their heads, looking at their calendars, and thinking “Surely, it can’t be two weeks since she last blogged? I know she’s always saying how quickly time flies, but still…” and you’re right. It was only last week that I blogged, but I have so much to tell you and secrets I can finally share, that I couldn’t wait another week.

This blog is going to be part news and part rant as things are afoot that have excited me and frustrated the arse off me, in equal measures.

Okay, where to start?

As you know, I started my new job at the beginning of June. Almost straight away I wondered if I’d made a mistake. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I loved my new colleagues. A fabulous all-women team, they are funny, strong, and kind. A complete contrast to the toxic masculinity I was used to.

There was also a reduction in stress levels, which was good. But, I had not been prepared for the level of physicality that the job would entail. Daily, we were lifting very heavy packs of tiles and even heavier bags of grout and adhesive. Each evening I would drag my sorry carcass home – bruised, battered, filthy, and drenched in sweat – and it was straight into the shower for me with my whole uniform going into the wash.

This wasn’t the worst of it though, I found that standing on my feet all day in heavy work boots was demanding a high price of my knees, ankles, and feet. My knees were swollen and painful, my feet were on fire, and my ankles kept turning underneath me. Not good. The work itself was repetitive and, dare I say it, boring. Despite the companionship of my colleagues, I found every day dragged unremittingly.

There was also the issue of the weekends. At the interview, I had been completely upfront and honest about needing six or seven weekends a year off. No problem, the manager promised me. So long as I have enough notice you can do your days during the week and have those weekends off. However, it quickly became apparent that it was going to be a problem and I was told I would have to use up all my annual leave to get that time off. Hmm, not ideal.

I wondered what to do. I acquired this job through Indeed and as anyone else who has ever had any dealings with them will know, for months afterward they bombard you with emails proudly proclaiming that you will be a perfect fit for ever increasingly inappropriate jobs.

We think your three months of experience at ASDA would make you an ideal candidate for the position of a brain surgeon.

Or – we see you’re applying for part-time admin jobs so here are the details of a full-time job in Barnsley as a mig welder.

You get the drift. I have been deleting these messages as they come in but last week, one dropped into my inbox that made me pause and take a second look. Part-time admin and receptionist in the town centre. Hmm, interesting.

Shall we send them your CV? Indeed piped up, perhaps sensing me lingering over the inbox.

Oh, go on then, I replied. Why not?

I clicked on send CV and noticed that 45 other people had also applied for the job. Okaaay, so I’m never going to hear from them again, I thought.

The next evening – Friday – I dragged myself home from work feeling very sorry for myself. A bag of grout had split all over me, so I was covered in white powder that had the consistency of flour. I climbed into the shower to de-grunge, then wandered about the house wrapped in a towel and wondering what to have for dinner. My lodger was out for the evening, so I was a bit down in the dumps, to be honest. My mobile rang. I assumed it was a cold caller, but answered it, only to be shocked rigid when a lady’s voice informed me she was calling from the job I had applied for the previous day.

They weren’t normally open on a Saturday; she informed me, but they were very keen to interview me as soon as possible. Was I available Saturday morning? Was I? Heck yes.

The next morning, I pulled on smart interview clothes and made the six-minute walk to the practice. And what can I say? Well, not too much for privacy and respect reasons, but the interview went very well. So well, they practically offered me the job there and then, but wanted me to go in for a trial session one morning. Unfortunately, the only time that worked for all of us was the morning of my birthday, but hey ho.

For the next week, I hugged the information to myself, telling hardly anyone in case it all went wrong. It seemed too good to be true. My normal hours would usually only be 17 hours a week on Monday and Tuesday, leaving me five days off in a row, including weekends. Occasionally, though, I would be covering for the lady I would be job-sharing with when she was away on holiday. The practice doesn’t open on Wednesdays, or at the weekends, so not only could I do any book sale, fair, or Comic-Con I liked, but I would also be able to arrange dental, hospital, doctor, and hairdresser appointments for a Wednesday knowing I would have the day off so be able to attend them.

The work was non-physical, I could wear pretty clothes, I would not be going home needing a shower, the practice was air-conditioned and had adequate heating, it was a six-minute walk from home so no more horrible commute in rush hour traffic, I could go home in my lunch break or pop into town. There was even a lovely dopey practice dog to pet whilst working.

Literally, perfect.

Of course, nothing is ever perfect and there is a drawback to this job. It’s freelance, which means I would be self-employed. This is a scary thought, although I have been guaranteed at least 17 hours a week I would not have the safety net of sick or holiday pay or a month’s notice. I would be working three hours a week less than I currently am, but the hourly rate is slightly higher plus I would be picking up a lot of extra days as the other lady seems to have a lot of holidays booked. That, plus the fact I would be saving money on car expenses, and the water and energy saved by not having to shower as soon as I get home from work, would hopefully make up the difference.

I would also have to figure out my own tax, National Insurance, and pension, but I could throw myself at the mercy of my old employer from my days of working in an accountancy practice. Hopefully, he would be able to give me some advice and set me on the right path from the get-go.

It was still a slightly scary thought though and was a gamble. But the thought of the job and the five days off in a row made me giddy with anticipation.

Time. So much time.

Yes, I’ve worked three days a week for the past twenty years so technically this is only one day more, but it is how the shifts are arranged that will make such a difference. Five days off in a row is so much better than four days off split around three unpredictable days of shifts. And having the weekends off guaranteed is everything I ever dreamt of.

Regular readers of this blog and my followers on Instagram will know how tough this past year has been for me. It all began in June 2022, when my car died up north when collecting Franki from university. There were endless months of car shenanigans. I had major renovation work done on the bathroom, and the boiler was replaced. I spent ages stripping out and decorating the dining room. I had the whole stress of leaving one job and starting at another. I’m decorating two bedrooms ready for when Franki comes home this summer. It has been non-stop.

During that time, I did manage to write one book, Mage Quest, but that was only because I took annual leave and deliberately shut myself away to write. I haven’t written a word since. Promoting my books has stopped, and I have been struggling to stay on top of day-to-day author-related things such as social media.

I took on a lodger and this meant a huge upheaval in my house. Plans to start an Airbnb were scrapped, as I realised that whilst I worked unpredictable shifts it was unrealistic. This meant the massive hotel-style king-size bed I’d bought had to be removed from the basement and sold, and my daughter’s bed put there in its place. This has left Franki with no bedroom and no bed. This is why I have been working every spare moment I had to turn the small boxroom into a beautiful new room for her, and the narrow middle bedroom into a cosy sitting room/library/spare room for them to use.

More on how this is going later.

I have been chasing my tail and firefighting for a year. I’m tired. So tired. It hasn’t helped that I’ve had health issues as well. Stress, Menopause, and a recently diagnosed Underactive Thyroid Gland have all added to my general exhaustion and sense of being utterly and completely overwhelmed by LIFE.

So yes, I understood there were risks involved with this job. Big, fat, scary ones. But if there was a chance of making my life happier, less stressful, and more productive from a writing point of view, then I felt it was a chance I needed to take.

The week passed and I went for my trial session on the morning of my birthday. How did it go? Very well. The work is interesting, and I will be interacting with clients all day. I will be constantly busy so time will fly. I was particularly touched when at the end of the morning they told me I definitely had the job, and then produced an envelope of cash as payment for the morning – which I didn’t expect – and a beautiful birthday card – which I really didn’t expect. It made me realise that I did not receive a card from my current job and that I worked for over five years for Dreams and never received a birthday card from any of my colleagues.

I left there on cloud nine, met my friend to go for lunch to celebrate my birthday, and bounced into the restaurant with a huge smile on my face.

Gosh, you look happy, said the hostess.

I am, I replied. It’s my birthday today and I’ve just been offered a fantastic new job.

She squeaked and hugged me, then showed us to our table, and scurried off. She returned moments later with two big glasses of prosecco for us, which was wonderful. My friend had a card for me, so I put that and the card from the job, on the table and we had an amazing lunch. My good mood wasn’t even spoilt when the heavens opened as we left the restaurant and we got soaked to the skin on the walk home.

I went to work the next day dreading handing in my notice. I hate confrontation and don’t like letting people down. I felt so guilty about leaving so soon, especially when I knew how long they had advertised the job before I came along. The manager wasn’t there so I spoke to the deputy manager, and she was absolutely fine about it. They had wondered if I was coping physically, so it came as no surprise, and they were genuinely happy for me that I’d found what appears to be such a good fit. To say I was relieved is an understatement. I didn’t want any unpleasantness over my last few days, so it was nice they were so understanding.

When I went back to work on Thursday I had no idea how many more days I had to work. I knew I was still on probation so only had to give a week’s notice, but I had said I didn’t mind working out the month as it was only one more week. I also had no idea how much holiday I was owed, if any. It turned out I was owed two days, so I was told that Thursday would be my last day as my next two shifts – Friday and Tuesday, were the holiday owed to me. So that was it. I walked out of work Thursday afternoon with very mixed emotions. No, the job hadn’t been a good fit for me, but I did like my colleagues very much and I will miss them. I have promised to go back and see them, and I am going to make good on my promise to donate a copy of each of my books to the staff room so they can read them – because unlike my colleagues at Dreams – these ladies are readers and are very interested in my writing.

So, that is that. An end of an era. I have worked in retail for six years, but I can’t say I’m going to miss it. No more targets or pressure to achieve them. No more being controlled by the counter over the door and being held accountable if too many people came into the store without being sold to. No more working weekends, bank holidays, or Christmas. I can take a holiday whenever I choose, I just won’t be paid for it. No more performance reviews or being taken to task for perceived failures due to circumstances beyond my control. No more customers snapping “I’m just looking”.

No, I will not miss retail at all. This new job could be life-changing for me as it will give me the time I need to really work on my writing career.

I commence my new job on the 7^th of August and for the first two weeks will work four days each week so I can be trained. As it is now only the 21^st of July, that means I have 17 glorious days off work to rest and recuperate. Franki and Rys arrive on the 31^st so we will have a week of relaxation together before I start my new job, which is wonderful.

What will I do with myself? Well, tomorrow my official birthday shenanigans take place, and I am anxiously watching the weather forecast because the whole day will be mostly outdoor activities and after weeks of lovely weather it is set to break, and heavy rain is forecast for … yep, you’ve guessed it … tomorrow! Yesterday, the forecast was that it would rain at 1pm on Saturday, but today so far has been a lot nicer than forecast and when I checked the forecast again, the rain tomorrow has been pushed back to begin at 7pm, so we might get away with it. We will need to pack raincoats, suncream, and an umbrella. Well, we Brits are used to preparing for any kind of weather.

The fun will commence with a lovely lunch with five of my friends in the fab garden of a local gastropub, then we’ll trot down to the Abbey Gardens with our garden chairs and hampers, for dessert, drinks, and nibbles whilst watching a performance of The Taming of the Shrew. Really, really hope it stays dry for that. The gastropub garden is all under cover with heaters, so that bit is fine, but there is nothing worse than huddling in layers under an umbrella watching drenched actors trying to emote as the rain hammers down and dilutes your prosecco.

Although the decorating is now all finished in the two rooms, I am still trying to furnish the boxroom and that is proving problematic. Because space (and money) is tight, I have had to research thoroughly which bedroom furniture will fit and it has to come from Argos because I have a store card with them, and they will give me a long interest-free period if I put everything onto one order.

Which I have tried to do.

Oh lordy, have I tried!

Almost everything I wanted was out of stock when I tried to order it all earlier this week.

Would you like us to email you when it comes back in? Argos asked.

Yes, that would be helpful.

Yesterday, at work, my inbox pinged and some of the stuff I wanted was back in stock. Brilliant, I thought, soon as I get home I’ll order everything.

Nope.

All were out of stock again.

I thought about it, had another look, and substituted the bedroom furniture with different furniture that was in stock. Tried to order it. Nope. Half the stuff could be delivered, the other half had to be picked up in-store. Okay, fine, Argos. Have it your way. Let’s split the order. Deliver the heavy stuff and I will go and collect the lighter stuff from the store.

I tried to use my store card.

Nope.

This order must be paid for upfront via PayPal.

What the heck…?!

I tried again, and again, and again. Nope, Nope, and Bugger Off. I tried phoning the customer helpline. It was gone six, so no one was there.

I looked at the order. The bookcases apparently were at my local store, even though they weren’t available for home delivery. Fine. I took down the numbers of the bookcases and all the lighter stuff like the blinds, bedding, etc. I checked stock at my local store. Yes, they were all there ready for me to collect any time from 8am onwards.

Friday morning, the first day of my time off, I was up and out the door by 8am. I drove to the big supermarket that houses Argos. All the tills were shut. We don’t open until 8:30am the signs announced. Then why the bloody hell did your website say 8am, I thought.

I drove to the next retail park and parked. I needed a sheet set for the bed so thought I might as well pop into Dunelm Mill whilst I was at this end of town. I waited until 8:30am when I thought the shop opened. I went to the doors. Nope. They didn’t open until 9am.  I was not hanging around another thirty minutes just to get caught in rush hour traffic.

I drove back to Sainsbury’s and by now Argos was open. Containing how frustrated I was, I spoke to the young assistant, and she punched in the first item number – the bookcases – that the website had confidently assured me were available at my local store.

These are out of stock, she said, and I stared at her in hopeless frustration.

But it said on the website you had them.

Ah, did it say that, or did it say order and collect them from here?

What’s the difference?

The difference is we won’t have them in stock until you order them. Did you try home delivery?

Yes, I replied through gritted teeth. They were out of stock, which is why I’m here.

Oh, well, I can order them to be delivered to this store for you.

So, let me get this straight. I can order them to be delivered from the warehouse to the store, but not to my home a mile away.

Yes. Oh, it does sound odd when you put it like that.

It does, doesn’t it? Very odd.

Was there the teensiest tiniest trace of sarcasm in my voice? Maybe.

So, if I order them – and everything else – to be delivered to the store when would I be able to collect them?

Sunday or Monday.

Right, let’s do that then.

So, I came home empty handed but at least the bookcases, blinds, and all the bedding are on their way and hopefully, I will be able to collect them on Sunday.

Once back home, I took the items I had ordered in-store out of my online Argos basket. This left the bed, mattress, wardrobe, chest of drawers, and two bedside units still in there. I tried again to order them, and it let me select a delivery day, but when I got to the payment page I hit the same problem. I couldn’t use my card. It’s crazy, I used it only a few weeks ago to buy my new barbecue and I’ve had an Argos store card for twenty years. I ordered a lot of things over the years and not once have I had this problem.

You have to pay upfront by PayPal, it kept saying.

No, I bloody well don’t.

I phoned Argos customer services.

Please enter your order number, the automated response ordered me.

I don’t have an order number, I growled, because you won’t let me place the order.

I tried all the options I could. Nope. Without an order number, I couldn’t make it through the first line of defence of the automated system. It used to be that when you called the phone was answered by a real live person who spoke to you and everything. So, if you had a question about a product you wanted to buy, or had problems placing an order, they were on hand to help you.

Now, it’s a stupid automaton that won’t let you in unless you have an order number.

I tried phoning the helpline number on the card. This sounded more hopeful. I picked my way through all the options.

Please wait whilst we connect you to an assistant.

I waited.

We’re sorry, it’s not possible to connect you. Goodbye.

And the f*****g machine hung up on me.

I tried again.

And again.

And Again.

AND AGAIN…..

Nope, the same response every time. I’d get almost to the point of First Contact with a human being when AI would disconnect the call.

I tried the live chat option on the website.

An AI-generated response asked me for my order number.

I very politely told it I didn’t have one because I was having problems placing the order.

It asked me again for my order number.

I again explained the problem.

It said it didn’t understand but did I know that I could find most of the answers to any queries I might have on the website?

It told me again to type in my order number.

I politely told it to get stuffed.

I called the card number again. The same thing happened.

I tried again.

Please be aware, a voice told me, that all our calls are recorded for monitoring and training purposes.

I told it to f**k off.

After much googling, I eventually found an email address for Argos customer services. I wrote an email. Read it through. Deleted all the bits telling them what a shit company they are, and that Sweeney Todd had a better approach to customer service than they did, and instead just explained what was happening and asked for their help. Moments later I had a reply. An automated response told me how important I was to them and that they promised to get back to me within 24 hours.

Well, I’m not that bloody bollickingly important to you, am I?

At this point, I gave up and made a giant bacon and egg sandwich for brunch because I hadn’t had anything to eat yet, and quite frankly, only bacon would do.

If I haven’t heard anything by the time I go to collect the other half of the order from the store, I will ask the help of the very nice assistant. Maybe I can place an order for home delivery there and pay with my card.

Honestly, we are talking about a lot of money so you’d think Argos would be falling over themselves to take my order. But right now, there is nothing else I can do, so I am going to put it on the back boiler, finish writing this, then tidy myself up and open a bottle of fruity cider to drink with my neighbours during happy hour. The lodger and I have a standing arrangement to drink wine, eat pizza, and watch a film this evening but we’re going to be restrained this Friday because we don’t want anything to spoil tomorrow – the weather will probably do that all by itself without us adding a hangover and dodgy tummy to proceedings. It’s nice because it’s my lodger’s birthday tomorrow as well as it’s a double celebration.

I had an appointment with the lovely if rather improbably named Doctor Silk on Wednesday. The good news is that my thyroid situation seems to be under control. The bad news is my blood pressure is sky-high.

Is there anything stressful happening in your life right now? Dr Silk asked.

Well, Doc, how long have you got…

Cheers everyone. See you in two weeks.

Julia Blake