SASSY TOWN FOLLIES by Felicity Appleton no.4, January 29

The New Guy

It feels like life’s back to normal now. Work is routine and it doesn’t feel as if we’ve just started any more: it feels like we’ve been back ages. The back to school-style blues have worn off, which is a good thing, as it’s not much fun to be moping around wishing you were somewhere else, but it’s also a bad thing, as you realise how quickly you can adapt to a situation which can never compete with beach, parties, sleeping late, seeing the sunrise and doing whatever you want whenever you want to do it.

Who sounds like Little Miss Mopey, eh? That came out a bit strong. I love my job. Public relations is the industry where I feel most at home (I’ve felt quite at home wherever I’ve worked, actually). Sparky People is a great place to work and I love my colleagues to death. Jonesy is a generous boss, when you get to know him, and I can see myself in a few years in the boss’ chair at an agency like this one. (Or possibly at this one – you never know!)

I’m a lucky girl.

But I still live for the weekends. For Friday night drinks, with friends, and for Saturday lunch, maybe yum cha or tapas, with friends, and going out on Saturday night, with friends, and Sunday brunch, with friends, and maybe an early dinner on Sunday night at the Mouth & Trousers (the name of that pub always makes me laugh), with Heather and maybe Henry from work, then home to watch MasterChef in my Peter Alexander jammies, or, let’s be honest, going out again occasionally, as Sunday night is still the weekend and I hate to think my weekend is being taken away from me.

Last week a new guy started at Sparky People and I was given the task of showing him around. Most of the staff at Sparky are ladies, so it’s always an event when a guy joins us. Sure there are a few men, but most of them, like Henry, are more interested in critiquing your designer ensemble than they are in having a perv, if you get me. The new guy, Ali, was very quiet, very conservative. So I did my best to entertain him. I told him stories as we walked around, introducing him to people. Henry was fascinated by the new boy with the non-PR name and spent the whole morning lurking nearby, making cutting comments about whatever took his fancy.

I told Ali a bit about me. How I had a journalism background. How I used to work for Marie Claire. Henry added that I spent work experience there, making coffee, which is true I suppose. But it got me interested in people and their stories and the way the media cycle works. And I pursued that interest, finding myself on another magazine, which deals with women’s issues – Dolly magazine, Henry reminded me – rising to quite a senior role: social media manager. And yes, that did mean I read and wrote comments on the Facebook page (there was no Twitter in those days), but it gave me a real passion for the work that I do now.

That’s what I was trying to tell Ali. That your dream starts here. That you can be anything, especially if you dress a bit more funky. What I told Henry was to piss off. He can be a real bitch sometimes.

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Published in: on January 29, 2013 at 7:26 pm  Comments (2)  

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2 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. Tapas!

    • It’s what the kids eat these days, or so they tell me. (Whatever it is.)


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