The accidental banker

-
I didn’t want my first proper blog to be about work, but sometimes life doesn’t turn out how you plan, which is sort of what this blog is about. Stupid, annoying irony!

I’m 31 years of age and I still don’t know what I want to do when I grow up. When I was actually growing up I wanted to be a shopkeeper, so I could eat all the strawberry jam; a doctor, choosing biology and chemistry for the Leaving to assist; a psychologist, but my uncle convinced me there was no money in it; a teacher.

After two years (both first year mind) studying French and Irish, the teaching idea long forgotten, I changed course and decided on a degree in Business Studies.

During college I got a part time job, as you do, which involved telephones, typing, numbing of mind, having a laugh, going to the pub and generally flittering away my brain cells and whatever I was paid for my 16 hours a week.

Then suddenly, college was over and I was going to have to get a real job. I figured September or October would be a good time to start looking, being the start of the year and all. By December I had a job, in a real company, earning real money, which involved telephones, typing, numbing of mind and well you can see where this is going.

Luckily after two and a half years, and during Celtic Tiger years I did consider it lucky, I was made redundant. So I escaped a job that gave me some of the best friends I’ve ever made, but little else. Times were good, jobs were plentiful and I tested the water a bit with a job in recruitment before landing back in Financial Services.

Some five years later, here I am, still. I've moved offices, changed roles, but after a few months it's the same thing. I described it best, to a friend a few months ago, by saying ‘I’m not a suit, in here’, while holding my hand to my heart.

I’m 31 years of age and I still don’t know what I want to do when I grow up. I dream of a lotto win or some miraculous end to this recession. Or even an idea?

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Four years.

-
He's four years gone today and I still remember the call, and I'm still not right for it. My mother rang me Wednesday just gone, 19 minutes before I was due over for dinner.  She wanted me to bring gravy, she'd run out and we were having beef. Every time my parents ring unexpectedly, or pause before speaking, I expect bad news.  More will come, and it has, though none like that day, thank God. Gradually I stopped writing for fear someone else would go. As if this blog, had some sort of strange, dark power. I told the story, of that day, to a friend only last Sunday and she started to cry.  She'd never met my Granddad but when I told her that when my Granny heard the news she stood up and asked to be brought to him, at the bridge, where he lay, my friend cried for them. On the day of his funeral Granny said that things would never be the same, and they're not. For a man who said very little, his presence is missed. There's a ho
Read more

There’s nothing worse

-
I work with a guy, who no matter what you say is wrong with you (including, today, having ‘The Fields of Athenry’ stuck in your head) says ‘there’s nothing worse’. So leaving broken limbs and falling off heads aside, here’s a countdown of my current top ten of ‘there’s nothing worse’. 10. Having a song stuck in your head – This really depends on the song and what you associate with it. If it’s a four word loop of something by the Cheeky Girls, Whigfield or, to be more current, Jedward, then that’s seriously head wrecking. However, if it’s a song that reminds you of something or someone good or if it’s along the lines of ‘We Are the Champions’ then it’s fantastic! 9. Getting to the phone as it stops ringing – This is made worse when you then go to call the person straight back and you can’t get them because they’re leaving you a voicemail, are ringing someone else or have just dropped the phone and ran away, as some stand up comedian once said.  8. Banged knee – I us
Read more

Last Sunday

-
Last Sunday my Granddad got up and went to 9 o'clock Mass in his local church. Last Sunday I got up and brought my mother to brunch at 11.30am in Odessa. Later my Granddad had a roast goose dinner, followed by trifle and cream. I had smoked salmon eggs benedict, freshly squeezed orange juice and coffee. After dinner, my Granddad (aged 90 and almost a half) went fishing. After brunch, I (aged 31 and almost three-quarters) went shopping. After fishing, my Granddad walked from the river, through the fields, to the bridge to wait for his lift. After shopping, I went to lie on the couch in my boyfriend's house, tired from a night out and early start. Last Sunday, my Granddad sat on the bridge, hands on the stone either side and bowed his head. Last Sunday, as I started to open an ice-cream and sit on a bench, I got a call from my mother, sobbing. Never sick, we never expected him to go. His first admittance to hospital was for his post mortem. He went they way he should, a
Read more