Love Is for Losers Page 4

  Me: And make money for your shareholders.

  I only said it because it’s true, but Silly Sandra did not appreciate my insightful comment at all, and her face contorted into the most ridiculous grimace yet, her fake grin forever expanding outwards. She didn’t say anything, though, just clapped her hands together twice. Then she pulled a purple Easter Bunny on roller skates out from behind the till. She gave the leash to Terrific Tiffany, who tottered off outside in her six-inch heels.

  I was temporarily positioned at the fluff-stuffing station, and my brain was like: Okay, you’ve been here thirty minutes, and already you want to kill yourself. But it could be worse; you could be Terrific Tiffany, looking like an absolute tit out there, interacting with a toy on roller skates, whilst people from school are walking past.

  Next thing I know, Silly Sandra has called Terrific Tiffany back in and goes: “Your turn, Pointless Phoebe.”

  I looked at Tiffany, at the leash, at the Easter Bunny, at Silly Sandra, and I was just like: “I don’t think so.”

  Then I walked out.

  Terrific Tiffany let out an outraged, high-pitched yelp, but I knew that deep down, she wanted to be me right then.

  I left the shop quite casually, but as soon as I passed the juice bar, I ran. I ran out of the shopping center, down Broadway, and back to the thrift shop, where I collapsed into the flea-infested armchair.

  Emma was in the process of tidying the mess I’d made earlier, when I’d emptied ten donation bags onto the floor looking for an outfit, and she looked at me like: What the hell have you come as? And I was just like: “This isn’t my shirt.”

  Kate (totally in my face): Phoebe. Explain to me, precisely, what possessed you to apply for a job there in the first place, because I can’t think of a single place on Earth that’s less like you. Except, perhaps, Mothercare.

  Me: It’s just a job.

  Kate: But you do realize that once you get a job, you will actually have to do that job?

  Me: Yes.

  Kate: And you saw yourself stuffing teddy bears?

  Me: Not really.

  Kate: And what can you see yourself doing?

  Me: Something where I don’t have to talk to people.

  Kate: And this is why retail was your obvious choice? You think those people get paid just to stand around? You think this is a joke?

  Me: The woman’s name was Silly Sandra.

  Kate: And you think Silly Sandra has got nothing better to do than to conduct group interviews on the busiest shopping day of the week for people who don’t want to be there? The woman has a shop to run, sales targets to meet, bills to pay. You wasted her time today, and that’s not okay.

  Why is everything so hard?

  I changed back into my hoodie, and because I had nowhere to go, I stayed at the thrift shop all day and alphabetized the book donations in the stockroom.

  Now, that’s something I can see myself doing. Menial, mundane, mindless. And I didn’t have to speak to anyone. Except for Emma. I still can’t get over the color of her eyes. They are the palest blue; it’s insane.

  Tomorrow I’m going to make a new plan regarding the job situation.

  It cannot be this difficult!!!

  Sunday, February 11 #JobSearchTake345219

  Here are jobs I found in the Wimbledon Gazette that don’t involve talking to the general public:

  Nanny. But I don’t like children.

  Paper route. But I don’t want to get up at 4 A.M.

  Dog walker. But I don’t want to pick up shit for a living.

  I also looked if there were any jobs at the library, but the only “jobs” they’re advertising are voluntary, and let’s face it, a job you’re not getting paid for isn’t a job. It’s a hobby.

  Maybe I should work my connections. Tyler Johnson works at that crap café by the train station, and I could ask him if they’re looking for anyone. I went in there once, and the woman literally didn’t even acknowledge my presence when I paid for a Coke. I can do that.

  Matilda Hollingsworth works at Hollister, but there’s no point in me even asking, because you have to be proper fit to work there. Like Matilda, oh, and Jason Goodman. I swear if those two had children, they’d be, like, the next master race (not in a Nazi way, though).

  Monday, February 12 #CardlessLoserAlert

  The Valentine’s countdown is getting real.

  Last year I got a card from Polly, but since she still hasn’t even wished me a happy new year, I reckon I’ll be cardless this year.

  I really hate that it bothers me, because you’re not a better or worthier person just because someone felt pressured into buying you some meaningless crap.

  5:43 P.M.

  Should I make a card for Polly just in case she’s got one for me?

  I could use watercolors, but instead of water, I’ll use my own tears. LOL.

  Tuesday, February 13 #Cringe.com

  Annie asked Polly if she and Tristan have had proper sex yet (i.e., intercourse).

  Luckily, Polly did the classy thing of saying: “I’m sorry, Annie, but I don’t discuss my sex life in public.”

  Miriam Patel cut in immediately and was like: “Oh, I know, it’s so tacky, neither do I.”

  How is she missing the irony?

  Wednesday, February 14 #Blech!

  Kate’s such a weirdo. She gave me a massive handmade Valentine’s card from the designer cats, including actual pictures of each one. She made the writing all different and crooked, so it looks like the cats actually wrote it. (She’s so insane.)

  Dear Phoebe,

  Will you be our Valentine?

  Lots of love, Mama Mimi and Sassy

  When I got to school, Miriam Patel already looked like Miss Universe, holding bunches of flowers and three million cards.

  And to think it’s all because of one pube …

  I didn’t get anything from Polly. Lucky, too, because the card I made her last night looks horrendous. I put it in the recycling when I got home. Maybe it can be a shiny new card this time next year, and the person getting it may even give a shit.

  Tristan got Polly a gigantic teddy bear holding a heart that reads GIRLFRIEND, I LOVE YOU TO THE MOON AND BACK. Surprisingly, instead of actually dying of

  a) laughter or

  b) embarrassment,

  Polly grinned like an idiot all day.

  I have thought about her reaction long and hard, and I’ve concluded that it must be the hunter-gatherer instinct that’s somehow ingrained in our DNA.

  So Polly, in a very cavewomanish way, thinks that Training Wheels has hunted and gathered this huge love token (possibly also symbolizing a giant penis) and is thus worthy of her love and fathering the next generation.

  FYI, when I say “our DNA,” I mean Polly’s DNA, because I have actually come out of the cave, crossed the valley, discovered fire, and invented the wheel, etc., etc.

  6:54 P.M.

  Looks like I’m going to spend tonight with a crazy Scottish woman.

  Kate and I are going to the Goat Tavern for dinner, because they’ve got a special Valentine’s Day 2-4-1 curry night. I don’t really fancy it, and it’s clearly for couples, but Kate was like: “You listen to me now, Phoebe. I’m not going to be punished for not having found love, and neither will you, so put on a frock, chin up, shoulders back, and let’s go.”

  I don’t have a frock, so I’m wearing black skinny jeans as usual.

  PS: According to my research, Valentine’s Day actually had nothing to do with love until love came into fashion in the eighteenth century, when lovers (not friends or distant relations) sent each other cards and maybe flowers. What this basically means is that the human race hasn’t evolved since then. Nothing ever stays in fashion that long, except maybe God.

  Seriously, everyone needs to calm down about love.

  Besides, tomorrow all Valentine’s merch will be one pound and in the bargain bin. If nothing else, that should really put things into perspective.

  Thursd
ay, February 15 #Gastroporn

  The Goat has got to be in the bottom three of romantic eating establishments in SW19, coming in just ahead of Pizza Hut and KFC. Weirdly, though, everyone dressed like they were on Love Island.

  When our waiter brought the food, he was all like: “Hi, I like your T-shirt. I’m a huge fan of the Stones.”

  I honestly only wear it because it’s a tongue that’s constantly sticking out at people. It’s the socially acceptable way of holding up your middle finger all day long. But I was like: “Yeah, yay them.”

  Kate was all: “Wish I was wearing a Stones T-shirt. That boy is beautiful,” and I was like: “Ew,” because he’s, like, twenty-five, and his biceps were bursting out of their short sleeves, and Kate’s almost forty, and she was wearing a jumper that literally read: “I Heart Cats.”

  When he came to collect the plates, Kate was squinting so badly trying to read his name badge that her eyes disappeared, and then she was like: “James, this is my friend Phoebe, Phoebe this is James.” He was like: “Nice to meet you,” and then shook my hand.

  He also shook Kate’s hand, and she took it as an invitation to tell him her entire life story: how she manages the thrift shop, how I often come to help out (total lie, FYI), blah blah blah.

  When we were leaving, James was like: “See ya, Phoebe, bye, Kate,” and outside Kate was just like: “Gosh! Beautiful people like that serving food is pure gastroporn.”

  Gastroporn.

  Oh my God.

  She clearly fancied him.

  Friday, February 16 #ComputerSaysNo

  This afternoon I failed the online application test for Boots. What a total joke. Like, an actual joke, because the questions were all like:

  A customer walks into the store. Do you:

  a) Welcome them.

  b) Ignore them.

  c) Immediately inundate them with questions and shove the latest No7 wrinkle cream in their face.

  I clicked on a, obviously, because I’m not an idiot, and I’m ticking boxes, but guess what? Computer says no, thank you.

  And to think that Miriam Patel did her work experience at Boots.

  I’m never shopping there again.

  It’s half term next week, and Kate was like: “Any plans, Phoebe?”

  I told her I’m going to have another go at handing out CVs, because you never know; someone somewhere somehow may have croaked it.

  Saturday, February 17 #EffRightOff

  Kate’s been discussing my life with Mum, who started an intervention WhatsApp conversation with me at six in the morning.

  Mum: Sorry!!!! I know it’s early where you are, but I missed you. (Lie.)

  Me: Hi.

  Mum: How’s the job hunt going?

  Me: Not great.

  Mum: How do you feel about that?

  Me (thinking: What does it matter how I feel about it?): Sucks.

  Mum: I know you feel responsible for what happened with the cat, but it sounds to me like it was an accident, and I’m sure Kate doesn’t expect you to reimburse her for it.

  Me: I know.

  Mum: I think you should concentrate on school, darling. GCSEs are going to be full-on, and they are rather important. Why don’t you wait and get a summer job instead?

  Me: I don’t need to concentrate on school, school’s fine.

  Mum: I believe you, I’m just saying, you don’t need to get a job.

  Me: Fine.

  Mum: How’s Polly?

  Me: Still in love.

  Mum: Kate says she hasn’t been around at all. That’s not like Polly.

  Me: She’s in love with Tristan, so she’s probably at his house.

  Mum: Why don’t you ask her to come over for a few days in half term?

  Me: Because I don’t want to.

  Mum: She’s your best friend, sweetheart.

  Me: Was.

  Mum: I know it’s hard when relationships change, but make sure you don’t cut her off now. I know what you can be like, Phoebe, and just don’t, okay?!

  Me: Okay.

  I only said okay because I needed her to go away, because how dare she be all “I know what you’re like” when she’s not even here?

  She decided to not spend this time of my life with me.

  She decided there were more important things.

  She decided that it is acceptable she may be killed on the job, just like Dad, and that I may end up on my own.

  And that’s fine, it’s her life, I get it, but don’t WhatsApp me at six in the morning under false pretenses with a load of textbook advice just so you can tick the Mum box and sleep at night.

  Today is one of those days I wish that I never have to see her again, because what’s actually the point?

  Sunday, February 18 #Mothers

  I told Kate to never gossip to Mum behind my back again, and we had this super-weird moment where we just stood in the kitchen looking at each other, and then Kate went all parenty on me and said: “I know you’re not happy, Phoebe, and I thought Amelia should know. She’s your mother.”

  I think mothers are overrated. Mine certainly is. She does nothing apart from caring about other people and making me absolutely furious.

  Monday, February 19 #HalfTerm

  I remembered that Polly did her work experience at Toni & Guy, and all she had to do was sweep up hair and make cups of tea. That’s a job I can imagine myself doing. It’s not like being one of the actual hairdressers, all like: Blah blah blah, and where are you going on holiday this year?

  10:41 A.M.

  I’ve decided to categorically never like a picture of anyone on social media who poses pretty much in the nude.

  I’m happy that Chloe Brenton is #simplyloving her new @MacCosmetics Highlighting Set, but why does she have to have her tits hanging out?

  What’s wrong with everyone? Why are they so obsessed with being photographed nearly naked? Because do you really want to attract people into your life who like you purely for the way you look? Because Chloe is actually a nice person.

  1:41 P.M.

  I can’t believe I’m printing off CVs so I can apply to sweep hair off the floor.

  7:45 P.M.

  I went into the thrift shop this afternoon on my way back from every hairdressing place in Wimbledon.

  When I walked in, Alex and Emma were behind the till, and Kate and an old lady with a massively long white ponytail were standing in front of it, and they were all laughing so hard they were literally dying.

  When Kate saw me, she was like: “Oh, Phoebe, perfect timing. Come here, you’ll love this.”

  Turned out someone had donated picture frames, but with their pictures still in them. They were all family snapshots, like at Chessington, in front of the Eiffel Tower, by the seaside, but the man’s head had been cut out of all of them and replaced by the head of Mickey Mouse.

  The old lady with the ponytail was wiping her eyes, going: “I should threaten Bill to replace his head with that of Harrison Ford if he doesn’t behave.”

  “Or someone really cool like Barack Obama,” Emma said, and Pat went: “Hmm, or George Clooney. I’ve always had a thing for George Clooney.” And then Alex went: “Or Batman,” and they all lost it again.

  Kate then introduced me to Ponytail Lady, whose name is Melanie. Apparently she and her husband volunteer at the shop when they’re not traveling the world, but he wasn’t there today because he had an eye appointment.

  Instead of shaking my hand like any other old person would have done, Melanie kissed me on both cheeks and then hugged me. She was like: “I’m so pleased we’re finally meeting. I feel like I know you already from hearing so much about you from Kate.” I was just like: “Oh.” Because TBH, I don’t think anybody actually really knows me.

  Emma was like: “You’ve got half term as well, then?”

  Me: Yes.

  Emma: Are you doing anything exciting?

  Me: I’m trying to get a job.

  Emma: Why don’t you just work here?

&nbs
p; Me: No, I mean an actual job.

  OMG, why do I say these things? I didn’t even mean it in a derogatory way or anything. All I meant was: I need to actually earn money. I can’t work for free.

  Tuesday, February 20 #BirthdayDate

  Kate asked if me and Emma would mind taking Alex out for his birthday on Thursday as it’s half term.

  Apparently Kate usually takes him to Sprinkles, because ice cream is his favorite thing ever, but she was thinking that maybe he could socialize with people his own age for a change, which is obviously bullshit, because he’s actually turning twenty-one. Apparently Emma was all for it, and I said okay as well.

  I’ve never been out with anyone with Down syndrome.

  Wednesday, February 21 #JobSearchTake341

  I’ve heard nothing from the hairdressing places. How depressing is all that?

  When Kate got home, I was reading up on Down syndrome in preparation for tomorrow’s activities, and she was like: “Phoebe. It’s Alex. It’s ice cream.” But I’m so glad I read up on it, because I knew nothing.

  According to www.downwithfriends.org.uk: Down syndrome is not a disease, and therefore people don’t “suffer” from Down syndrome. A person who has Down syndrome may be referred to as “Linda is twenty-four, and she has Down syndrome.” People with Down syndrome are all individuals, and Down syndrome is only one part of the person.

  One in one thousand people can have Down syndrome, and the really interesting thing is that at the moment of conception, the very instant of sperm meeting egg, an extra chromosome joins the mix, and no one knows where it comes from.

  Thursday, February 22 #HBDAlex

  Emma is everything neither Miriam Patel, nor I, nor anyone will ever be: entirely effortless perfection.

  She had on a fake-fur coat, skinny jeans, and red high-top Converse. She’d done nothing to her hair, apart from maybe brush it, and she wore zero makeup. I swear, I almost didn’t recognize her, but she was walking up with Alex, and you can’t miss him in his long military coat. I must have looked like such a tramp in comparison.

  When we sat down, Emma was like: “Alex, what should I order?”

  Turns out Alex knows the whole menu off by heart, including prices.