Ch-ch-ch-changes

Welcome to my new look blog. Blame it on Sanddancer. I have been happy with my blog and how it's looked since I set it up; and then I saw her changes. I thought, hmmm...so I had look in the templates, saw this and liked it much.

I have crawled out of my Pit of Despair and while I'm not exactly feeling on top form, I'm not curled up in the foetal position under my desk either. I've done my 3 poems and I might see if I can do a few more (it always pays to have extra). My prose is finished, but I'm still struggling with the ending. Lacks a bit of punch. At the moment I'm 600 words over my limit and I'm loathe to cut them, especially since I'll probably be adding to them a bit later today. It's all part of the craft. Editing has got to be the most tedious, but most necessary part of the process. As a writer, you have to be prepared to delete your most favourite bits of writing. Not for the faint hearted.

I realised that I hadn't appraised you on my work situation for some time now. I'm still working on a casual basis for the department store and still having fun. I find that selling perfumes and cosmetics is a frivolous and fun way to pay for my coffees and paninnis. The Great British Public are an endless sourse of amusement and material; and I must say I am very fond of them.

On Saturdays, the Perfumery dept discards the black and white uniform in favour of brightly coloured tops and lots of cleavage. Yesterday was a bit of an exception. In support of a local charity, they decided to host some activities which included a raffle, prize draw and the cosmetic houses were doing mini-makeovers. The regular girls were dressed in kaftans, I was dressed in pink. I had lots of fun acosting people and getting them to dip into their pockets for raffle tickets. I don't mean to boast, but towards the end of the day, my bucket was getting very heavy.

I did however, have an interesting encounter, with a very large lady. She had been asked to make a donation on one door and refused, and when she spotted me standing further in store, she pounced.

"Why do you feel it necessary to ask people for donations? I feel really uncomfortable saying 'no'. It put me in a really awkward position."

Whoa.

I explained what we were doing and why. It turns out the lady was also fundraising for the same organisation. At the end of the conversation, I still wasn't sure why she was so unhappy. People who take up a bucket, or leaflets, or samples, or any kind of traffic stopping work, expect rejection. It's nice when whoever approached is polite, or has a smile with the shake of the head; but that's the icing on the cake. The cake itself is people who just walk away, people who put their hand up in your face, people who ignore you. I wasn't worried about the rejection and I didn't think any worse of anyone who did. I myself don't support any particular charity on a regular basis, though I do voluntary work when I can. So I was a bit taken aback by this woman's discomfort.

However, this anecdote does have a happy ending. After quite a lengthy conversation and a few empathetic statements "I'm sorry you felt uncomfortable about saying 'no'", she dipped into her pockets and bought some raffle tickets.