Since living in Sydney I have managed to achieve one of my childhood dreams of working in a sweet shop. Its magnificent. Now all I need to do is work as a lollipop lady and I will be a success in child Amy’s eyes.
It may sound glamorous and fun but I assure you it is not all it seems. When you hear the words “sweet shop” immediately images of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and the awesome Umpalumpas spring to mind. I assure you that there are no tiny orange helpers backstage at my sweet shop. The store room is not in fact a mystical garden filled with lollipop trees and chocolate milkshake rivers it’s a tiny little room that smells like pickled onion monster much. And, unfortunately my boss is not a purple suited, top hat wearing funny man. He is Australian and his name is Peter.
I think that basically I am doing the same job as a Christmas elf. I pack sweets, fill jars and have to deal with children all frickin day long. Now, I appreciate a cute kid and sometimes you have seriously cute kids who say please and thankyou and smile at you but it seems to me that the majority of children are little fuckers! I have become completely tyrannical about children having good manners. If a child doesn’t say please I have to stop my self from snapping “what’s the magic word?’. What has this job done to me? It has turned me into a miserable school teacher.
In this job I should be bringing children and adults alike happiness like no other but instead I stare kids down if they ask for more than one free sample. I am like a sweet shop Nazi. Oh dear me. As I write this I realise what I have become. I need to get out before I start hurting the children!
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