A PA's work is never done

I think my multi-tasking abilites are what makes me a (seemingly) efficient PA, but I do occasionally feel like the modern world is just far too complicated, and want to get back into bed and under the duvet.

This Tuesday morning I packed myself onto the usual heaving tube carriage on the Northern line, doing my best to avoiding being crushed, sneezed on or opportunistically groped, and then my bus from the tube to work drove straight past the bus stop without stopping, for no apparent reason. Determined not assume my usual victim of Transport for London status, I tried to beat the bus and run to the next bus stop, failing, (impeded by a ridiculously impractical but gorgeous pair of blow-your-bonus Jimmy Choos) and then feeling that commuting, working, indeed living, was totally futile. A temper tantrum and tears to rival that of the toddler also at the bus stop were narrowly avoided.

Following the obligatory trip to Starbucks for the boss’s latte, I arrived sulkily at work and sat at my desk. My boss was in fits of jealous ecstasy over my shoes, and asked where they were from. My usual tactic is to pretend that my Rimmel eyeshadow/River Island jeans/New Look belt are actually MAC/Rock & Republic/Gucci and watch with glee as she subtly flounces in the following week with crass designer versions of my shrewd buys and a sizeable credit card bill to boot. However my mood made me a little more spiteful this morning…I’ll look out for her rummaging through Tooting Primark this weekend.

Things hadn’t even begun it seems, for sneaking a quick look at Facebook (yes, I’m addicted) revealed that my boyfriend had listed himself as single, a fact fed into the newsfeed of all his 127 friends, including 23 of our mutual ones. It seemed I had been cyber-dumped, and all before 9.30am. The humiliation! Hasn’t a girl enough to worry and obsess about in every aspect of a relationship, without having to keep an eye on the virtual aspect of her relationship too?!

I could not think of a single reason why this could have transpired, but before my mind could be drawn into frenzied paranoid analysis, my boss’s array of demands drew my attention away from this online catastrophe for most of the morning. By lunchtime, a Facebook status update revealed with a grovelling public apology that this had actually been down to the wrong click of a button, and I actually wasn’t dumped. Aside from the issue of how my boyfriend as a programmer could be such a technobimbo, how could such major damage be effected with a simple mouse-click? These things should surely be safeguarded against more carefully, there are real people’s emotions involved! Not to mention the delicacy of having to deal with various ensuing emails from friends offering a shoulder to cry on, giving my their real opinion on my boyfriend's egotistical conversation/attempt to pull off skinny jeans/band that he's far too old to be in which is painfully crap anyway...

Anyway I’ve decided revenge is a much better outlet for my frustrated humiliation. I think the photos from my summer as a club rep in Ibiza a few years ago might find their way onto Facebook next week…