Thoroughly Modern Manners October 16, 2006
Posted by Jen in : A215 stuff, Writing Bits , 3 commentsAs I walked along Broad Street towards the dental surgery, I felt more nervous than I had on my first day there three months ago. Today, though, I wasn’t wearing my stiff blue nurse’s outfit that conveyed my identity all week. Today was the scariest day so far: the Christmas party. I’d been fretting for weeks about what to wear and, as I caught sight of my reflection in a vast shop window, I still wasn’t sure I’d got it right. I felt like a sixteen-year-old impostor on the set of Dallas. I looked ridiculous all dressed up on a rainy Saturday lunchtime, despite having spent almost a whole month’s wages on a cream fitted jacket with silver buttons and a long beige skirt. Was I wearing too much make-up? Were my shoulder pads too big? Did I look common? My mother didn’t seem to have a lot of faith in me.
‘Mind your Ps and Qs,’ she’d said as she dropped me into town. God, how old did she think I was? What did ‘Ps and Qs’ even mean anyway?
Appearing common was my biggest fear. I was also nauseatingly worried about going to the restaurant – I had no idea what would be on the menu, whether there would be rows and rows of cutlery to choose from and even whether anyone would talk to me. I had nothing interesting to say to any of them, how could I? I opened the door and walked, jelly-legged, up the three narrow flights of stairs, aware of the cloying smell of cleanness and mouthwash that hung in the air and seemed to become a part of me more and more every day.
I could hear chatter and laughter as I opened the door. I was the last to arrive.
‘Jennifer, there you are! Come and have a glass of champagne - we’re just getting warmed up,’ brayed Anne Forbes. She had the poshest voice of anyone I’d ever met in real life, like Penelope Keith in To the Manor Born but less like warmed honey gliding off a silver spoon. Anne was the hygienist and married to one of the two dentists in the practice. Her husband Tony was quiet, mumbling in his indecipherable South African accent and smiling that smug ‘look, they’re all my own’ kind of way that dentists always seem to have.
I took the glass of champagne. I probably shouldn’t have, I was only 16 after all, but I thought it would have sounded immature to ask for a glass of water instead. The slender stemmed glass in my hand made me feel even more awkward. Sip or swig? I sneaked a look at Kelly, the other dental nurse, and copied her healthy mouthful. I felt it fizzling down towards my tummy. The second gulp strangely found its way to my cheeks, making me warm and rosy-cheeked. I couldn’t remember the consumption of illicit cider during a school trip in August making me feel so tingly. I felt a different person as I drank champagne with all those grown ups.
The slow taxi ride through the narrow lanes to the Bistro Frère didn’t last nearly long enough. I had no idea what to expect but knew from listening to the conversations of our rich patients that ‘the Frère’ was something special. (more…)
Stuff and Nonsense
Posted by Jen in : Journal, Writing Bits , add a commentI do worry about Number 2 Son… but I wish my own head worked in the ferociously outlandish way that produces such gems as:
“Can you imagine what it would be like to be a Siamese twin? Your other half might do funny things with your knees. And what if you shared a stomach and your other half was a vegetarian? You’d be wanting a burger and your other half would be saying ‘no, dude, it’s cow bums…”
Now, what can possibly go on in a small boy’s mind to produce such stuff? Whatever it is, I hope he never loses it.
