When I first started my job in GEM (Global Email Company for those who do not know what GEM stands for)(oh, which is a call centre type place in Belfast where there is a great deal of purple) I noticed many a sad face skulking around the corridors, sitting in the toilets and loitering in the smoking areas. Tears careering down cheeks, anguish darkening the atmosphere like a cloud of dirty spiders. A stench of dankness blistering the very nostrils of all that came near-by. I may have been imagining it but I doubt it. I had always worked in the Agony Aunt industry and so I decided that I would see if I could sort out a few of these problems for people. There was certainly no ulterior motive for my plan. It wasn’t and isn’t even a plan. I just wanted to help the poor lost souls that got in my way.
At first I thought I would just go around and ask people, right at their face, what was wrong. I would go over to them and take hold of one of their delicate little mandibles and say, “Oh, you look sad, what’s the problem?” and they would weep and the problem would fall out of them and I would say, “Orr, that’s pretty bad *insert advice* ok?” and then they would leave, beaming and content. I would be a little more satisfied.
Problem with this method was that I was only able to deal with one person at a time and seeing as was doing this in work it meant that it had a detrimental effect on my work stats. My manager, who will remain nameless for a number of reasons, began to get a little angry, pissed off even, and so I needed to find another method of reaching out to the lovely, delicious members of GEM. That was when I happened upon the WIG, which was being run by a lovely hunky Danish man named Michael Jensen (possibly got the spelling of the name wrong here but what’s in a name?) and Seana McGuire. I had a meeting with the two of them, told them their fortune, did some random predictions for them and began my work with the staff of GEM via the WIG. The WIG is an internally distributed magazine that arrives via email every Friday into the inbox of all of the staff in the company. It was through this that I began to collect and harvest the problems that came my way. Through the WIG I could deal with more than one problem at a time as the emails came flooding in. I could even look at them in the comfort of my own home. My husband at the time ‘Simply’ Gary (you will learn more about him as I add stuff to this blog) used to get a little frustrated because it interfered with his magic tricks, but I never let that get in the way of my work with the lovely delicious people in GEM.
So, without further ado here is the very first GEM/WIG published problem that I dealt with all those years ago in March 2006. It’s a much smaller text compared to the epic stuff that is published these days in the WIG but like a friend of mine once said, “size is important, small things tend to be disappointing. Disappointment is soul destroying. It can leave you with heartburn and can also make you feel desperate to draw attention to something which is bigger. That is why I have had breast implants on the side of my face and pectoral implants on the palms of my hands. Shit, this was a really bad idea. I am in pain every time I just try to lift something. Seriously, just lifting something like a pot is sheer agony. I wish I didn’t have small hands or a small head, and then I would never have got these implants. I was a fool. I guess it is best to just settle with what you got and wait until the inevitable happens and just hope you come back as a really big head and handed creature.” And how right she was.
Dear Zelda,
Two months ago I was sent home from work early because I had forgotten to wear shoes and had injured the bottoms of both feet quite badly. My boyfriend is a milkman and, as he starts very early in the morning, had finished his shift by the time I got home. I knew there was something not quite right because there was jam on the stairs and a pair of boxer shorts. I could hear a noise coming from upstairs so headed up and in the direction of the sound. I began to get more and more suspicious as I stepped over a further four pairs of boxer shorts and even more pastry. When I reached the top step I noticed the noise was coming from my bedroom. The bedroom door was slightly open so I peered inside. My heart sank immediately. My boyfriend was laying on the bed, topless and was kissing a cherry bakewell. There was icing all over his face and a little bit of jam on his nose. I opened the door and he jumped up immediately. He assured me that it was nothing serious and that it was the first time he had done anything like this.
It took me a few weeks our relationship was soon back on track, better than ever in fact. However, last week, while I was changing the pillow cases of our bed I found crumbs under my boyfriends pillow and I swear I could smell some cherry too.
I just don’t know what to do. Should I confront my boyfriend and ask him about it or am I being paranoid.
“Mary “
Mary,
First of all, let me say every week letters come flooding in from not only women but also men whose relationships are being threatened by cakes and desserts. You are not alone. You need to talk to your boyfriend and tell him about he crumbs you discovered. You may find that it is simply dandruff or some other scalp problem.
If the cake is still the factor ruining this relationship, how about forcing your boyfriend into eating bakewells every single meal time? Eventually, he will not be able to look at a bakewell without feeling nauseous. Then you will just have to pray he doesn’t fall for the very attractive trifles you can get in most large supermarkets.
Love Zelda
x
At first I thought I would just go around and ask people, right at their face, what was wrong. I would go over to them and take hold of one of their delicate little mandibles and say, “Oh, you look sad, what’s the problem?” and they would weep and the problem would fall out of them and I would say, “Orr, that’s pretty bad *insert advice* ok?” and then they would leave, beaming and content. I would be a little more satisfied.
Problem with this method was that I was only able to deal with one person at a time and seeing as was doing this in work it meant that it had a detrimental effect on my work stats. My manager, who will remain nameless for a number of reasons, began to get a little angry, pissed off even, and so I needed to find another method of reaching out to the lovely, delicious members of GEM. That was when I happened upon the WIG, which was being run by a lovely hunky Danish man named Michael Jensen (possibly got the spelling of the name wrong here but what’s in a name?) and Seana McGuire. I had a meeting with the two of them, told them their fortune, did some random predictions for them and began my work with the staff of GEM via the WIG. The WIG is an internally distributed magazine that arrives via email every Friday into the inbox of all of the staff in the company. It was through this that I began to collect and harvest the problems that came my way. Through the WIG I could deal with more than one problem at a time as the emails came flooding in. I could even look at them in the comfort of my own home. My husband at the time ‘Simply’ Gary (you will learn more about him as I add stuff to this blog) used to get a little frustrated because it interfered with his magic tricks, but I never let that get in the way of my work with the lovely delicious people in GEM.
So, without further ado here is the very first GEM/WIG published problem that I dealt with all those years ago in March 2006. It’s a much smaller text compared to the epic stuff that is published these days in the WIG but like a friend of mine once said, “size is important, small things tend to be disappointing. Disappointment is soul destroying. It can leave you with heartburn and can also make you feel desperate to draw attention to something which is bigger. That is why I have had breast implants on the side of my face and pectoral implants on the palms of my hands. Shit, this was a really bad idea. I am in pain every time I just try to lift something. Seriously, just lifting something like a pot is sheer agony. I wish I didn’t have small hands or a small head, and then I would never have got these implants. I was a fool. I guess it is best to just settle with what you got and wait until the inevitable happens and just hope you come back as a really big head and handed creature.” And how right she was.
Dear Zelda,
Two months ago I was sent home from work early because I had forgotten to wear shoes and had injured the bottoms of both feet quite badly. My boyfriend is a milkman and, as he starts very early in the morning, had finished his shift by the time I got home. I knew there was something not quite right because there was jam on the stairs and a pair of boxer shorts. I could hear a noise coming from upstairs so headed up and in the direction of the sound. I began to get more and more suspicious as I stepped over a further four pairs of boxer shorts and even more pastry. When I reached the top step I noticed the noise was coming from my bedroom. The bedroom door was slightly open so I peered inside. My heart sank immediately. My boyfriend was laying on the bed, topless and was kissing a cherry bakewell. There was icing all over his face and a little bit of jam on his nose. I opened the door and he jumped up immediately. He assured me that it was nothing serious and that it was the first time he had done anything like this.
It took me a few weeks our relationship was soon back on track, better than ever in fact. However, last week, while I was changing the pillow cases of our bed I found crumbs under my boyfriends pillow and I swear I could smell some cherry too.
I just don’t know what to do. Should I confront my boyfriend and ask him about it or am I being paranoid.
“Mary “
Mary,
First of all, let me say every week letters come flooding in from not only women but also men whose relationships are being threatened by cakes and desserts. You are not alone. You need to talk to your boyfriend and tell him about he crumbs you discovered. You may find that it is simply dandruff or some other scalp problem.
If the cake is still the factor ruining this relationship, how about forcing your boyfriend into eating bakewells every single meal time? Eventually, he will not be able to look at a bakewell without feeling nauseous. Then you will just have to pray he doesn’t fall for the very attractive trifles you can get in most large supermarkets.
Love Zelda
x
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