Day Fiftyfive

I walk with Jez to Starbucks. We buy a Venti green tea frappacino. We walk to the bus stop. We still debate over whether or not we should buy a new laptop tonight. We're fickle. Last night we said yes. This morning we said no. We bump into Felix and Jez blurts out a "maybe". Then we say yes again. Then we feel uneasy. I think it's a horrible idea and at the same time I think it's an excellent idea.

Jez gets on the bus. I forget about it temporarily and go to work. I entertain the thought of what would happen to Kirribilli and Greenwood if I suddenly quit. I suppose it's sort of flattering that I'm always needed in two places at once.

Renata's away today. Sally arranged for me to work at Kirribilli from 12:00 to 6:30. I call Mirjana to let her know I won't be in North Sydney. She panics and makes me call Sally to ask whether I could help her with scripts during lunch time and go down to Kirribilli in the afternoon. Sally says okay. I stay on the train and go to Greenwood.

Before I make it to the shop I bump into Eric, who as usual is delighted by this happy coincidence. He tells me he wants to buy a jacket and would like me to help him choose. I have 20 minutes to spare. Why not, I say. He looks so excited that I laugh. He sticks out his arm and I hold it. Bay Swiss guy passes by and turns his head around 180 degrees. I want to laugh again. This guy cranes his neck to stare at me every time I pass the deli, and whispers "looking good, Miss" whenever I'm within earshot, and I've never as much as looked at him. Now he's must be figuring out that I'm into tall, blond, brain-damaged Frenchmen.

Eric takes me to a men's clothing store on the second level, where he tries on three hideous blazers. One of them is an orangey sort of brown, which makes him look like a giant carrot. I recommend the one I detest the least with phony enthusiasm.

I arrive to find Mirjana swimming in used labels, repeat forms and unpacked stock. Everyone is irritable because it's Monday. Before I get much done I have to leave.

Kirribilli has a different atmosphere. Sally is either never stressed or very good at hiding it, and as a result we could have ten people lined up with their hands out demanding their pills and feel no pressure at all.

Serving Kirribilli customers is always amusing for me. They consist mainly of elderly regular customers who are on first-name basis with everyone in the store except me, who most of them have never met. Despite this, they often expect me to know their names anyway. Logic fail.

"Hi, I need my Tritace and Lipitor."

"Yes, and your name is?"

...

"I want Efexor, Xalatan and Avapro."

"Sorry, what was your last name?"

...

"I need my pills."

" ... Who ARE you?!?"

I don't think my future customers are going to love me the way Sally and Mirjana's customers love them. I'm terrible with names. I forget a name sooner than I hear it. Unless I'm happy (like, manic-state happy) I'm not big on small-talk (ha! Oh that was clever). And if you forget to mention you wanted a specific brand after I finish dispensing your medication in its default label, I will yell at you. And discreetly replace your tablets with sennoside.

In the afternoon I develop the mother of all cramps. I suspect my ovaries have sprouted thorns. I nibble on a bit of dark chocolate, and for once it doesn't help at all. I SMS Jez and ask him to bring me something hot and chocolatey. A couple of hours later he brings me hot chocolate. The clever boy. My eyes light up when I spot a Krispy Kreme bag in his other hand, but before I make a snatch for it he announces that it's for Sally. I'm surprised for a second, and then I fight against giggles. Poor Mirjana, Harsha, Ismat, Freda, Glenda and Ting, none of whom are pretty enough for Jez's Krispy Kremes.

I pout all evening because Jez is going to play Warhammer and I'm not. To cheer me up he takes me to Prego. We eat a mediterranean mix plate made for ogres.