A woman asked me for directions today. I was on my way back from the job centre, when I saw her drive up beside me and pull down her car window. My heart began to thud, “Oh God!” I silently screamed; the word tore itself through my conscience the way that word so often does, “she’s going to ask me for –directions!” I peered into her confused and yet hopeful face. “You poor, poor fool,” I thought to myself, “you have no idea how much of a mistake you’ve made.” I thought of all the other poor souls I’d sent on their merry ways, oblivious to the fact that I had less of an idea about which way to go than a shopping bag floating in the wind. I imagined them now, trapped in some Purgatory-like land, driving around and around, shrieking and weeping, “why, oh why did I ask that girl, that small but extremely attractive girl, for directions?” Perhaps they were plotting against me. Perhaps, in the way they so naively do, they’d pulled down their windows to ask each other for directions only to conclude that they’d all been sent here by the same small, yet extremely attractive, girl. Perhaps they were coming for me now. “Perhaps it’s lucky my directions were so confusing,” I thought to myself,” they’ll never be able to find their way back to me.” I sniggered. “Hello?” my victim stammered. “Do you know where the Heathway is?”
“I know of the Heathway…” It’s true, I do.
“Do you know how I get there?”
“Shit!”I hissed to myself, for a glorious moment I had hoped her initial enquiry was just to make sure I knew where it was. “Perhaps you are already here,” I volunteered helpfully.
“Do you have any clue where it is?”
“It is close…”
“But, at the same time, it is also very far…”
“Perhaps one must question, not where the Heathway is, but what the Heathway is…”
She began to steer back onto the main road, when it occurred to me. All these years, I had been offering people useful, and occasionally entertaining, directions and yet never myself, albeit because generally I never understood them, had received any. It was time to change all that. “Wait!” I cried and I began jogging alongside the car. “Where am I going?”
“Where am I going in my life?”
“Stop clinging onto my window!”
“But I need direction!”
“Get off of my car!”
“These are all very short term directions!”
“It’s 11 o’clock on a Tuesday morning, get off of my car and go and get yourself a bloody job you scrounging lunatic!”
“That’s it!” I cried. I relinquished my grip on the car window immediately. “Thank you my good woman! Good luck on your quest for the Heathway!”
The woman sped away, rather quickly I thought, but that needn’t matter, she had given me what I needed. Direction. Indeed, rather than pretend I was looking for a job, I knew now that I should actually find a job. I skipped merrily off home, and, after many hours of Come Dine With Me, followed of course by many hours of Come Dine With Me Extra Portions, I got out my laptop and began looking for jobs. Real ones. Where people have actual desks and everything. Who knows what magical adventures and strange experiences I shall have on my quest for employment? Oh what larks and japes we shall have dear readers, as I keep you updated on each wondrous job I take, whether it be as a waitress, a shop assistant, oh who knows where I’ll end up each week? Find out on the next instalment of, Rebecca Hussein gets a job (but not right now, but soon) to be continued when I have time/ when I can be bothered/ of course if I get a real job, I’ll have no time for you commoners as I’ll be whizzing around in my convertible drinking cup upon cup of Starbucks so you’ll just have to use your imaginations now, won’t you?