I've always said that, working in a restaurant, it's weird being a customer there. That said, the last time I tested out this theory was a bit special. My family and I went on a busy evening, and we were served by my new boyfriend at the time. I think anyone would've felt a touch weird at that. Or maybe just late teenagers, who are prime for overreacting to all social occasions and taking embarassment where it's not necessary.
Tonight I am going to my work as a customer again. Just with a solitary friend, as we are bored. I am more concerned this time with not getting too inebriated by accident and breaking things. Keeping a low profile, as to make sure I don't get reprimanded by management figures. I'm even taking a voucher. I'm such a fucking bastard. I hate those vouchers gits. Smash and grab cheapskates, we are.
It's also part of the art of procrastination. Though I am no longer in meltdown mode over the essay I am trying to write, I certainly don't want to sit and stare at my laptop screen with anything relevant on it. I feel a bit guilty about being a student and not enjoying it. I am told it's an easy life, and it is. But the thought of returning to my cold house in Yorkshire so I can spend my time in the library and in the chest freezer that is our living room is not an enticing prospect. That said, I am keen on not living with my parents until I am 30. Must go to university, must earn degree that employers will not giggle at...must get...some...sort of job? I can be discerning later, when I have a mortgage.
I've been thinking about this. Rather a lot. I have been having conversations with my boyfriend. I am sure he won't mind my writing about this, as no one reads this blog except me and occasionally one or two unfortunate strays (this means you Ken). He is facing one of those moments where you have to seriously contemplate his job and home. Does one move to further a career? Do you need to make decisions quickly or let events take their own route, etc. Anyway, while it is not an urgent problem, it's a crossroads I wouldn't like to be stood at.
He is 24, boys and girls. I am 20. For all my jokes about his zimmer frames and free bus passes, I do not consider our ages to be different. He knows a lot about life and shit that I do not. He's got a lot more life experience and day-to-day life nous than I have. But at the end of the day, the idea of having to make it on my own in a few short months is kinda scary. I draw some comfort from my brother. He is 27 and I have endless respect for the man. I value his advice and friendship above anyone else's, but I don't think of him as nearly 30. He's just one of those people a bit older than me.
This said, I've always thought of him as older. Our fraternal relationship was defined by age. He was bigger than me. That's why we've never really had to be competitive or had real rivarly. It's a proper brother relationship where you value each other without having a strange complex about having to prove yourself. But there are people, who I consider basically my age, having real lives. In my daydream moments, I imagine myself with a flat, a job, a car even (OK let's not go crazy) and it's not scary in my imagination. But in my imagination I have more guts than I have in real life!
I'm hoping age ain't nothin' but a number.