Monday, 12 July 2010

Bigmouth Strikes Again

So the hiring out of my flat for a filming location turned out to be less lucrative than I had anticipated, leaving me, after repairs with approximately £51.61 pence to my name.

Its back to the drawing board.

I call Fellow Actress

"Temp?" I offer up

"Can you actually use a computer?" she asks

"Yes of course I can" I say indignantly

"No, I don't mean Facebook, I mean can you do spreadsheets and what's your WPM?"

"My what?" I thought that was that Gym class I always avoided

"Words Per Minute"

"Oh" I say and shrug , " I Dunno..ten?"

"My point exactly.They aren't going to want to employ someone who will actually add to their daily workload" she tuts. I've never seen this condescending side to her before

Anyway, all is not lost, as she then goes on to tell me there is a lady called Mavis Beacon who does an online typing course and within 24 hours I have trained myself  to type up to 40 words per minute.Bravo!

 I sign up with a temp agency and as luck would have it they have a position for me at a Hedge fund company in Mayfair which starts the next day

"Thats pretty quick" I say, somewhat impressed at their efficiency

"Well, actually the temp who was going to do the job dropped out at the last minute. She got a part in Eastenders"

Lucky Bitch.

So I am officially a receptionist as of Friday.

However, I realise, whilst flicking through my wardrobe that my range of Office Attire is very limited. In fact I only have one suit, and that was in case I ever got an audition to play an "Office Type Person". I put it on and it dawns on me that I can't have had an audition for that type of part since about 1990, when pinstripe was still a fashion statement.

For my feet I need, black, shiny and high. I've seen Melanie Griffiths in Working Girl. Again, the only footwear I posess of this description is akin to a dominatrix lapdancer's shoe that I had bought for my Saturday Nights out clubbing with the girls.

Oh Well, my feet will be hidden under the table most of the time.I think to myself. Its fine. Its all FINE.

So on Friday morning I squeeze myself in with the other commuters , an experience akin to Hell on Earth, hop off at Piccadilly and stride jauntily down from Green Park, admiring the wildlife, and the men in their Saville Row suits (phoar!)

I get to the door of my office and bend over to change from my flip flops into my "work shoes" and  as I do the door opens and a man walks up behind me.

"Morning" he barks

I jump up. "Hello" I say red faced and see a rather dashing Mr Big-alike, but in his late thirties, standing before me.

He puts out his hand " I'm Nick. The CEO here"

He's cute. I check for wedding rings. Nope. Bring it on.

"Nice to meet you", I say, You've just seen my arse I think to myself, My new, handsome, single boss has seen my knickers. Great.

"You must be our new receptionist" he smiles, and stares down at my pole dancing shoes. Probably having flashbacks of his last time at Spearmint Rhino's.

"Yeh. I'm Harriett" I say trying to lift his gaze, "What is it exactly you guys do here?" I say sounding blonder than Blondie.

"Invest hedge funds?" he say. And before I can stop the word from falling from my mouth I flutter my lashes and say



He gives me an amused look and mumbles something about needing to do an aquisition and runs off.

Great. There goes my chance of marrying a rich man and being able to not work for the rest of my life.

Three hours later and I'm well and truly settled in at my desk. I'm queen of the office. Surrounded by all the Nespresso cappucions I can drink. All the Facebook and email access I could ever dream of. World Cup playing on the Big Screen . Maybe I could even start writing my book. Okay, it's only £8 an hour but I Am In Heaven.

The Office Manager comes up to me with a pen and paper

" Can I have your autograph please? Ive never met anyone off the telly before". She says

"Of course" I gush as I sign the paper with a flourish.

 "Oh and can you make sure the Board room gets fresh tea and coffee?" she adds

"Sure." I say , coughing and shuffling some papers ingratiatingly.

 I leave at 5.30 with a senmse of satisfaction.

"This is what working people do". I say to myself with  a curious feeling of satisfaction and I make my way to Green park tube to join my fellow Commuters again.

 It's only when I get to the tube that I realise I am being followed by a paparazzi. Apparently he’d been waiting around the corner for Peter and Katie at the Mayfair hotel and recognised me.

" You won’t get much for your pics, I assure him. I’m not exactly famous anymore."

"You'd be surprised" he says and although I feign annoyance at his snapping I am secretly pleased I still have worth. In celebrity land.

Its only when I get the phone call from Fellow Actress this morning as I sit at my desk watching Homes Under The Hammer and drinking a Nespresso Espresso that I understand .

"Have you seen the pic of you in Heat mag?" she screams.

I smile to myself smugly. This will really get on her nerves as she has never achieved the level of fame that I have and obviously the cachet I still have.

 "You're In the What is She Wearing section???" she cackles." Pinstripe!! Oh my God, Babe!? WHAT were you thinking!? "

Thanks. Friend

"Nice shoes though" she adds

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