Today I am having a slight rant, lets face it – it’s been a while! Our topic of the day is TEA… I realise this sounds like a fairly innocuous subject and ergo unable to cause much offence … there my friends you are wrong. The problem is - I do not DO tea. I do not drink it, I do not appreciate it and I detest having to make it. To say I am not a tea person is to trivialise my repugnance.
Unfortunately, on occasion, I have to lower my standards and put the kettle on. I must admit that there are times when I don’t mind (that much). For instance, if I am feeling particularly enchanted with my husband I may offer, or when we have guests for dinner. Then there are the other times… The office times…
I suppose I should back up a little and explain how this revulsion came about.
It all started one bright African morning when I was a little girl of about 5. Our family tradition was that the housekeeper would bring in the tea tray at 6 and the family would all pile into my parents bed for their ‘cuppa’ before we had to get ready for the day. I remember that for some reason I was alone with Mom and Dad - I think Tanya and Julian were at boarding school. Anyway, Mom poured the tea and, in my youthful excitement of the morning, I took a huge gulp. Oh the HORROR! Yuck, yuck, YUCK. The milk was sour and the tea was disgusting. The rest, as they say, is history - I have never drunk tea again and over time it has become at mild phobia.
Back to the office; my aversion to tea is so ubiquitous the mere mention of having this as part of my job description has seen me racing for the door. On occasion however I have been known to be charitable at work. When I meet clients, I manage to dredge up some empathy and produce a cup of tea. I do not however make tea for just anyone, either you are a paying Member of the Wealth Club or you are just another pleb who can get their own damn tea!
Last year due to a rift in the company partnership the business was downsized. It was decided that in order to ‘stream line’ the cash flow redundancies would be made, with one of the casualties being our receptionist. With our new ‘slim line’ staffing arrangements the idea is for everyone to all pull together in ensuring when a Member is due there is someone available for a meet and greet. Unfortunately some pull together more than others and, for the most part, mine is a fairly regular face in reception.
This morning I had barely sat down when the door bell rang, thankfully one of my colleagues jumped to attention and I made to prepare myself for the day ahead. About two seconds later one of the advisors (hmmmm) came and said to me;
“So.. what happens when there is someone in reception, do YOU just go and make tea?” (seriously??)
He should have known better especially since I do not make my dislike of mornings a secret. The first sign should have been it is 9 o’clock, followed swiftly by the realisation that there was no can of coke in sight. However he ignored all the signals and barged on…
With raised I brows I regarded him, eventually answering his request with as much civility as I could muster;
“Do I look like the tea lady?”
Unfortunately, on occasion, I have to lower my standards and put the kettle on. I must admit that there are times when I don’t mind (that much). For instance, if I am feeling particularly enchanted with my husband I may offer, or when we have guests for dinner. Then there are the other times… The office times…
I suppose I should back up a little and explain how this revulsion came about.
It all started one bright African morning when I was a little girl of about 5. Our family tradition was that the housekeeper would bring in the tea tray at 6 and the family would all pile into my parents bed for their ‘cuppa’ before we had to get ready for the day. I remember that for some reason I was alone with Mom and Dad - I think Tanya and Julian were at boarding school. Anyway, Mom poured the tea and, in my youthful excitement of the morning, I took a huge gulp. Oh the HORROR! Yuck, yuck, YUCK. The milk was sour and the tea was disgusting. The rest, as they say, is history - I have never drunk tea again and over time it has become at mild phobia.
Back to the office; my aversion to tea is so ubiquitous the mere mention of having this as part of my job description has seen me racing for the door. On occasion however I have been known to be charitable at work. When I meet clients, I manage to dredge up some empathy and produce a cup of tea. I do not however make tea for just anyone, either you are a paying Member of the Wealth Club or you are just another pleb who can get their own damn tea!
Last year due to a rift in the company partnership the business was downsized. It was decided that in order to ‘stream line’ the cash flow redundancies would be made, with one of the casualties being our receptionist. With our new ‘slim line’ staffing arrangements the idea is for everyone to all pull together in ensuring when a Member is due there is someone available for a meet and greet. Unfortunately some pull together more than others and, for the most part, mine is a fairly regular face in reception.
This morning I had barely sat down when the door bell rang, thankfully one of my colleagues jumped to attention and I made to prepare myself for the day ahead. About two seconds later one of the advisors (hmmmm) came and said to me;
“So.. what happens when there is someone in reception, do YOU just go and make tea?” (seriously??)
He should have known better especially since I do not make my dislike of mornings a secret. The first sign should have been it is 9 o’clock, followed swiftly by the realisation that there was no can of coke in sight. However he ignored all the signals and barged on…
With raised I brows I regarded him, eventually answering his request with as much civility as I could muster;
“Do I look like the tea lady?”
It was cold, it was brutal but is he likely to pose such a stupid question to me again?
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