Numbers and the Boys

Sometimes it really is terrifying - working with all these numbers and the boys. I'm the only female in an office filled to the brim with boys (I call them boys - because none of them have really grown up) They drive expensive, beautiful cars, live in the most affluent suburbs in Johannesburg, swear like sailors and consume copious amounts of alcohol on a weekly basis. I have been a part of this eclectic team for 12 years and I can not - quite literally - work anywhere else. I have been groomed and taught to listen with both ears. Imagine yourself dining at a restaurant with family and friends, being able to hear the conversations from the 4 tables that surround yours, whilst still being able to converse with those around your own table. It is not a skill that is easily taught, neither is it one that you can ever unlearn. Switch if off at times, maybe, but my hubby calls that "selective hearing".

It quite literally is all just a mess of numbers, and there are no room for mistakes. Mistakes costs money, and only leads to more shouting and swearing.

But. . . . . I love my job. Our job titles are those you do not find on the drop down menu. We fight like cats and dogs, but within 5 minutes after the fall out, our job demands of us to "get over it" Suits me like a glove, because life really is too short, to sweat the small stuff.