2012: Since I finished school and started working, I had never left the service line. From fast-food restaurants to Irish bar, from coffeehouse to serviced residence to bookstore, I had always been the front line in dealing with customers, and part and parcel of having such jobs is to work on shift.
The first time I deviated from that pattern was when I got a temporary job as a receptionist to cover for someone who was on maternity leave. I enjoyed the glamour of wearing pencil skirts and crisp button-downs and high heels. It was also a welcome change to have my rest days on weekends and finish work at 6 on the dot. The company I worked for was an international oil & gas company, and we are talking big bucks. Even though I was just a receptionist, and a temporary one at that, it still made me feel rich by proxy.
All I had to do was filing, answering and transferring phonecalls, typing, entertaining visitors, handling incoming and outgoing mails, shredding confidential documents, and my favorite: taking care of the pantry. Oh, I took care of it all right. The pantry was just a few steps away from my desk, providing easy access, and none of my superiors could see me or keep track of how many trips I made to the pantry in one day, so that was where I spent most of my time.
