Two months in and life in London is panning out to be nothing like I had expected. Despite the setbacks, it hasn’t been at all bad so far. Bar the fact that I am (still) (mostly) unemployed and living in a place called Tooting, things could be far worse. I am settled and have forged a routine out of the chaos and although there is no proper 9-5 on the horizon I’m not yet in panic mode. I always have the dole to fall back on and although the welfare queue is by no means a pretty place to be, when the times are tough it’s a lifeline to many. Hell, it may even save me.
Some weeks back I wrote my post about the job market in London and just how difficult it is to break into. And then something interesting happened - I got offered a job.
Unlike normal scenarios where job offers are met with delight, my reaction was the opposite. I heard waves crashing in my ears and felt a dull thud in the pit of my stomach as I realised that this was where my education and work experience had got me - a weekend spot in a shop selling… wait for it…. cheese. Awesome!
Needless to say, I needed (and still do need) the money really badly, so with feigned pleasure I accepted the position and then went out and got very drunk. What else was there to do? Getting a job was one thing but one in a cheese shop… oh god!
The interesting thing about this little job of mine is that it has been my salvation; my sanity amidst a sea of uncertainty. Apart from the obvious fact that it earns me some money, it has also helped me restore some faith in myself. Arriving here proved more difficult than I had expected and the result of that was a crisis of confidence. What my job has done for me is that it has allowed me to re-realise my potential and my merit. I may not be worth a million dollars, but my value is definitely worth something.
Better still, I’m rather good at selling cheese. Whoever knew? By the week I am learning about the subtle nuisances of flavours, about things like pate and affinage. In time I may even become an insufferable cheese bore: to cheese what the sommelier is to wine. You never can tell.
I’ll admit that it has taken me a while to post this. For a woman like me who has the dreams that I do, admitting that I am not a high-powered business woman or lady of the state, involves some pride swallowing. Like I said, this is not at all what I had in mind career-wise. Worse still is that in S.A. we are raised as ‘job snobs’ and therefore anything without some sort of a professional edge to it is met with a curled upper lip. I therefore understand if those of you reading this are stifling a giggle or coming up with ‘cheesy comments’ to send my way. Ja well no fine. Bring it on. These times are hard but I am harder than them and this is just the beginning.
The point is, that as my mom always likes to say: ‘when one door closes, another always opens’ and I think that this may be the case here. Someone threw me a lifeline and it may not have been the one that I had wanted, but I’m damn glad it’s here. It has made me feel worthy and I’m ready to try and take this place on all over again - and that’s a pretty good way to feel. Whoever would have thought that my knight was not in shining armour at all, but rather the driver of a cheese van?
L
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