Who Else Wants a Piece of Me?

The following story happened to me a few years ago, now. It was the kind of thing that could only happen to me.

~ ~ ~

The email came in first thing in the morning: I was pretty excited to get an interview with such a prestigious company, and I was eager to move onto the next stage in my career. I wasn't unhappy with my current company- I just wanted to move up in the world. I booked a day off from work for the following day, handing the holiday form to my manager.

"Tomorrow's fine, Tash," she said, signing the form. "By the way, could I have a quick chat with you just before lunch in the meeting room? It's nothing to worry about."

I smiled said sure, but- of course- instantly started to worry. Had I done something wrong? Were they onto me?? My brain came up with a list of worst-case scenarios.

Ten minutes to lunchtime I was sat opposite my manager at the table in the small meeting room, door closed. My manager smiled.

"I wanted to tell you how impressed we are with your work attitude and how you've been performing. Since C---- is leaving we think you'd be perfect for the position. I'm really pleased to tell you that we'd like to offer you a promotion."

"... Oh. Oh! Thank you, that's great news!" I beamed.

I also felt like a humongous traitor to all sides. Now that I'd accepted a promotion, it was unlikely that the role at new company I was due to be interviewed at would match my new level (either in terms of responsibility or monetarily). Should I still continue with the interview?

I came out of the meeting room, head spinning. What should I do? Lunch would set me straight, surely. I retrieved my bento box from the fridge, sat down cracked it open. No sooner had I taken my first bite did my phone start buzzing away in my bag. I took it out: one new email. I opened the email.

"Thank you for your interest in our role at X. We'd like to invite you for an interview some time in the next few days."

I nearly dropped my phone (and my chopsticks): another interview with another very prestigious company! What was the universe trying to do to me? I faced the same problem as with the first company, considering my newly promoted status. Would I be wasting their time, and my own, to interview with them anyway? Would I be stupid not to go out there and see what was on offer regardless? Who would benefit the most and the least out of my decision either to go or not go?

How would I benefit from each decision?

~ ~ ~

I decided to go to both, in the end- for all I knew there would be more to lose by not going. In the end I needn't have worried, though: both companies had greatly exaggerated the amount of the sort of work I wanted to do in their initial briefs, and after some amiable interrogation on my part, I discovered that neither place was the place for me anyway. I'm glad I decided to go in the end- both experiences gave me a clearer insight into exactly what I wanted to do with myself.


The reason why I'm only writing about this now, years later, is because I'm moving on from my current job and beginning with a new one very soon. Of course it had to happen in a weird way like the last time, because this is me we're talking about: I was headhunted by a recruiter, and on the same day I got called for a second interview I was also suddenly offered a first interview with a second, very different company: and of course, both interviews would happen on the same day, one after another.

Again I had already made up my mind- this time about going for the first company to contact me- and again I decided to take the interview with the second company that I wasn't so sure about. Needless to say I was a little relieved to not fall in love with the second company, and pretty darn stoked to be offered a job with the first shortly after my second interview. I'm also glad I went to the interview that I wasn't so sure about- it was an area of my profession I'd often been curious about, and sometimes wondered if I'd enjoy. Now I know for sure that I wouldn't, and won't be forever wondering what it would have been like.

So here I am, preparing to leave a job that I've been happy enough in for the past few years, and to say goodbye to my awesome colleagues. Still, you know in your heart when it's time to move on. It's easy to stay in one place simply because it feels familiar and safe, and it takes courage to step into the unfamiliar, but life is nothing if you're unable to challenge yourself to do better.

The Christmas Cake Conundrum

In Japan, there's a rather cruel term for single girls over the age of 25: Christmas cakes.

Why?

Because nobody wants Christmas cake after the 25th of December. But wait, it gets even better: beyond the 25th, those leftover Christmas cakes are left on the shelf, slowly rotting and becoming more undesirable by the minute.

Yeesh...

I quietly turned 27 in October 2014. I say quietly: there was a lot of cake and lots of friends and foam bananas (I can't believe I didn't write about that: long story short, my amazing colleagues bought me a kilo of giant foam banana sweets). I didn't really acknowledge my birthday on this blog though, even though I did document the birthday cake I made on Tashcakes! When I turned 25 I had a mild panic about my existence on this planet and basically had a short existential crisis, and at 26 I legally became a Lady of the Highlands (sort of). 27? A mild bit of panic again, although not as much as when I turned 25- only because it feels like I truly am on the wrong side of 25, now. No going back, of course. Only forwards, forwards, forwards.

I certainly don't feel 27 though, and apparently I don't like it either. I constantly get mistaken for a university student. Or, in the case of two weeks ago at the supermarket, even younger.

I help my mum do the food shop on most Saturday mornings, so the regular checkout ladies and gents will often recognise me with her and say hi. Two weekends ago, however, we were served by a kindly lady we'd never met before. All three of us were chatting about the Christmas and New Year period, when the checkout lady suddenly turned to me and said:

"And what about you, when do you go back to school?"

I blinked, not sure if she was joking.

"Or, er- college, is it?" She ventured. I laughed.

"Actually, I work now- but thank you for thinking I'm young enough to pass as a student!"

This made me feel at least a little better about myself (and also confirmed that people's reactions are of genuine surprise when they find out my age). My slightly inflated ego certainly had a pin put to it this evening though: I visited my regular bubble tea shop after dance class, and chatted a bit to the (cute) guy behind the counter. He handed me my bubble tea- I said thanks and have a nice evening- and then it happened.

"You too, ma'am."

... Ma'am?

Of course it didn't mean anything- what else should he have called me? (Except for nothing at all, grrr...) Alas, my overactive brain was thinking about it all the way down the road to the station. I thought, 'I know I look a bit tired from a long day of work and a bit worn out from dancing for two hours, but I don't look that bad, do I? Oh no, do I actually look older this evening? Have I finally passed my "sell by" date??' I drowned my sorrows in sweet tea and tapioca.

Most of my friends are married or about to be married, and some even have children now. All met their Significant Others at university or just after. The closest I've come to romance after university was being stalked by someone who I thought was a friend and grabbed at by a rickshaw driver. As for online dating, forget it, I'm nowhere near ready for that level of crazy: I have my few single friends to keep me entertained with their horrifying stories for the time being. To be honest though, when I ask myself if I actually need to be in a relationship and it if would improve my life, I have to answer: nah, not really. It's just a bit disorientating when old friends reach new milestones in life and you're, well, not. Then again, one person's progress is another person's stumbling block.

It's not really fair to put a "sell by" date on people, in any case. We are people, after all, not cake. Then again, think about Christmas cakes a little harder: they're steadily fed with alcohol to mature over years, so they just get better and better over time. Perhaps we should be taking this second metaphor a little more seriously than the initial one.

(Possibly including the part about the alcohol.)

Eat. Explore. Adventure. Repeat.

(Notice the lack of "Sleep"?)

I'm super-psyched for an awesome New Year's Eve/ New Year tonight: I have silky soft hair after an at-home treatment, a shiny new camera to play with and a pretty see-through mug of good quality flowering jasmine tea to sip as I tinker. I even managed to squeeze in one last recipe and post for Tashcakes!, and I have freshly washed bedsheets to snuggle into later.

... What, did you think I'd be out there doing something interesting and quirky and Tash-ish?

New Year's Eve has never been a night of Going Out And Doing Stuff for me. I think anyone who knows me can agree that I do more than enough of that on normal days: so NYE is one of the rare times I just let myself do Bugger All. No FOMO for me- just kicking back and relaxing, and giving myself a moment to process all of the stuff I've done in the year (but don't worry, this isn't going to be a "Wot I Did This Year Lol Aren't I Amazing" post). As for tomorrow, the first day of the new year itself, I will think about all the things to come in 2015 (or rather panic mildly at the mad things I've signed up for and the things I need to get organised for).

The great thing at the moment is that lots of my friends are beginning to take on the same mentality as me- so instead of feeling guilty about turning down their events, I get to switch off at home knowing that they're doing the same thing! There is plenty to do in the city on a night like this- but you know what? This is London, and there is always plenty to do, every single day and night of the year. So just once a year- just for tonight- I'd just prefer to drink my tea, try not to break my new toys and look forward to clean sheets.

A happy new year to you all- as I said in Tashcakes!, "go try new foods, experience new things and most importantly: have fun!"

Sleep is for Sissies

My name is Tash and I am a serial sleep-dodger.

Most of the time it's genuine insomnia. Other times it's because I have so many little things to do and so little clue as to when to call it a day, and I just end up keeping on going. And occasionally, for no reason at all, I just seem to zone out and suddenly it's 3am and I have to get up in three hours for work.

Most of the time though it's because there is just far too much to do. Even as I'm writing this I'm pausing and thinking, "Oh yeah, I need to reply to X about this, and confirm with Y about that, and plan on my travel route for Z". This seemingly short blog post will probably take about an hour to write because I'm constantly doing All The Things in one go.

Even after that sentence I disappeared to a new tab because I remembered I needed to reply to a good friend currently travelling in Nepal, and then straight after that I found out that someone from the Geek Girls London meetup group had messaged me two months ago about spotting me at a K-Pop dance class, but I hadn't picked up on it because the notification system was playing up- so I picked that up too.

It has now officially been a full hour since I started writing this blog, at 11:45pm. Still so much to make sure I get done before bedtime...

I don't Like Sarcastic People

"It's food," said the guy (a friend of a friend), seeing me dither at the snacks table. I had already eaten before getting to the party, not knowing that there would be food, so I didn't really need anything- I just wanted to be a gracious guest and accept the host's generosity.

"Awesome, I like food," I said a little foolishly, not knowing what to say in reply to that, but feeling like I should say something under his mildly inquisitive gaze. I put a small handful of chips onto my paper plate and moved away to make room for other party-goers.

"Well that looks filling," said the guy, quirking an eyebrow at my meagre portion.

"Haha," I said weakly, and joined the others.

I love sarcasm. Used at the right times it's hilarious, clever and makes people bond.

However, I do not like sarcastic people. Not people that use sarcasm (or I'd be in trouble with myself)- just people that seem to live in a natural state of constant sarcasm. It's like they live to make try to make others feel uncomfortable or stupid.

One of the things that makes me not get on with sarcastic people is that I'm a very literal person. Puns are often wasted on me- and even though as a writer I can make (apparently good) ones up, I don't really find them laugh-out-loud funny. My friends love teasing me because I apparently become indignant really easily, even though I know they're only teasing. It's not as if I have a thin skin; it's just that it takes me one or two beats longer to pick up on social cues than other people.

"Don't worry," my friend said, "he's always really sarcastic." This was after first being introduced to him as her friend from dance- he asked me very seriously what time I was on, and I looked at my watch (I told you I'm really literal).

It made me think of how I have (had?) this old friend who had a razor-sharp tongue. I used to admire her for how forthright she was and how acidic her humour was- but after a few too many years of her using me as a whetstone every now and again, I decided that she wasn't just naturally talented in the art of sarcasm- she was just a bit of an arsehole.

So with this new revelation, perhaps I'll become more sensitive to the way people might interpret the things I'm saying. I believe that when I'm being sarcastic, I'm being so obvious about it that there is no question that I'm joking about something- but maybe there are times I'm not obvious enough and end up hurting someone's feelings. Perhaps we should all use sarcasm a bit less, especially as a way to cover up our own insecurities. Perhaps we should all be more open with each other, so the world will become a better place.

As if.

A Rare Positive Train Journey Experience

I was sitting next to the cutest family on the train home from a Birmingham visit this weekend. It was quite late at night for the two little girls, and they were a little giggly and quietly hysterical, with the mother warily trying to calm them down. At one point the two girls started making puns out of everything, while I tried to hold it together in my seat.

"We can all enjoy a nice lie-in tomorrow," said the mum.

"I'm a lie-on, raaaaawr!" the youngest girl chipped in without missing a beat. Her older sister burst into laughter, holding her sides.

"Mummy I think I'm having a heart attack," she gasped between giggles. The mother sighed.

What an awesome family.

In other news, I have a shiny new phone! It's bigger than my old one, so I'll be able to blog on the go (so I'll never have an idle waking moment. Ever. Again. Yay?)

Red Lipstick

"Hey, you're beautiful! Gorgeous!"

I didn't realise the rickshaw driver was hollering at me until he cycled past, his hand reaching out to stroke my hair: I had become the unwitting victim of a cycle-by petting. What surprised me more than the unsolicited contact, however, was my instant, knee-jerk reaction as I recoiled away from his touch.

"Eww..!" I said, laughing and scrunching my nose up like I was in primary school and the rickshaw driver was a little boy with cooties. I didn't notice his reaction as I was too busy laughing at the ridiculousness of the driver's grabbiness and the childishness of my reaction.

I hadn't noticed that the driver had been catcalling me because I wasn't expecting it. I usually dress smartly enough when out and about, but I happened to be going to a 1940's style event with a few friends- so my long hair, usually tied back in a braid, was curled in Hollywood-style waves, and I wore a striking red lipstick. The rest of me was pretty much the same- a smart black dress I often wear to work and ankle boots with sensible-ish heels. I don't tend to get catcalled or chatted up, and I didn't think that a bit of red lippy would be enough to turn me from Everyday Tash to someone to be grabbed at like a can of beans at the supermarket.

What makes guys think they can act like that, though? What happened to just saying hello, or chatting? I'm lucky that I haven't had to experience this too often, but I have other friends that get this kind of treatment all the time. And even I have, although not too often- the last time anyone showed any interest in me in that way ended in almost two years of persistent harassment and borderline stalking which has only just recently stopped (I hope). I think if it weren't for my male friends and family I'd have long ago lost faith in men. Thankfully all I have to do is think of them and I realise that there are just quite a few weirdos, creeps and socially awkward people out there- but of course, not everyone is. Saying that all guys are creeps is like saying all women are crazy. This is wrong, of course: everyone is crazy. I suppose life is all about finding the people that are your special brand of crazy to get along with.

All the same, guys- if you're ever riding a rickshaw and pass a pretty girl you don't know, reaching out to stroke their hair as you cycle by is very unlikely to get a positive response.