In a word, no. Probably not, due to acquired disabilities.
I worked from 7am to 1pm in a bakers and I absolutely loved it. £5 a shift. Bread was baked on the premises, smelt divine. And who wouldn’t want to be surrounded by cakes all day? Well me after a couple of months. Take any leftovers! No, you’re alright, sick of the sight of doughnuts.
Sadly I did grow to love cakes again whilst pregnant. Then found out I could make a decent Lemon Drizzle and cake addict ever since. Always used a hand mixer but difficult to do now with rubbish wrists. Got my eye on this one…
The baker was a grumpy old git but then so would I be working 6 nights a week. Scared me a bit. He’d be gone by 9am and his much younger, (only 4 years older than me) wife would be in charge, Tina. She was lovely. Every single Saturday for the 2 years I was there she’d be wearing a different top. Every single Saturday. I aspired to having a wardrobe so vast.
I worked there when Live Aid was on and Tina brought in a portable black and white TV. I’ll never forget running the whole way home at 1pm so I could watch the rest.
There was no fancy till and everything was added up in your head or on a notepad. I’d struggle with that these days because of brain injury. I’d forget the order half way through and no chance of multiple figures staying in my head.
The customers were regular, chatty and nice. All the other local shop staff would pop in and it would be gossip central. Few exceptions like the miserable uncle of a bloke who would later go on to rape me. But that’s a whole other blog. Back to the nice customers….
There was a barbers next door and an Italian god called Tony worked there. At 22 he was a bit old for me but every time he’d come in all the others would make themselves scarce so I’d have to serve him & they’d be behind the racks, teasing and making kissing noises the whole time. And he couldn’t have a simple Chelsea Bun could he? No, every week his was the doughnut with the fresh cream so needed a box. How I’d struggle putting the box together with shaking hands!
He had a younger brother whose name I can’t remember(!) who asked me on a date. I say “date” he wanted to meet at the park. He was incredibly good looking and I couldn’t imagine why he was interested in me.
The day arrived, it was a Sunday, pouring with rain. Bear in mind this is pre-mobile phone days when things had to be properly arranged. No chance of firing off a cancellation text. Not another soul in the park. I was so bloody nervous, felt sick. No self confidence whatsoever. I arrived first and hid in the fort in the playground to keep dry.
Then I saw him approach. And I froze. And my legs wouldn’t move. He was looking around, waiting, looking around and waiting. And I stayed hidden. Too scared and insecure to speak to this perfect specimen. No idea how long he waited but eventually he gave up. I came out of my hiding place and walked home kicking myself the entire way.
Since the day Sophie was born I’ve constantly told her she’s beautiful. It gets right on her nerves “You’re only saying that because you’re my mum!”. No, I’m saying it because its true and I want you to grow up with a damn sight more self confidence & belief than I ever had. No one needs to grow up being told they’re ugly & worthless and will end up a lonely old spinster. Thanks ‘mum’
Back to the bakers: I wouldn’t be able to stand for 6 hours in a row now (Fibromyalgia) and also wouldn’t be able to make boxes or reach things (CRPS/slipped neck discs).
But if I could, I would!
Tell me about yours in comments? Need someone to write something in there so I don’t look like a lonely old spinster! 🙂