WHY I CAN'T WORK IN A PHONE SHOP

I want to write about how annoyed I am.

The trouble is, I can't do that. And that's annoying me even more.

Well, what do you when you spiral into a chain-reaction of annoyedness? You pull yourself out of it, that's what you do. You go up the down escalator, buddy; you scrabble out of the anger hole and gulp in the good clean fresh air of thankfulness... and you certainly don't take it out on people who can't defend themselves by writing about them on a blog they never read - oh no, don't even think of doing that. And don't try to be cryptic about it either! Don't go round looking like you're in a huff, even if you're so in a huff that you're making hu and ff sounds while you type.

Um...

So, I had a good day today. I finally upgraded my phone. No more charging it up by wrapping a rubber band around the charger - no more bashing it on the corner of the desk when the button wouldn't work and no more accidental text messages. This one actually works (though I haven't transferred everything over yet).

I stood in the hottest, smallest shop in the world while the guy punched in my numbers to a computer. He had the air of a master in his field - completely in control, able to leap contract negotiations in a single bound and faster than a 4G connection when it came to the contents of the stock cupboard. He twizzled a biro in his fingers while he typed, like Boris in Goldeneye.

I'm gonna try that tomorrow, I thought to myself, secretly knowing that I wouldn't.

I don't think I could ever work in a phone shop. For a start, my metabolism wouldn't cope with the heat. I'd melt like a waxwork Father Christmas. Then there's the pressure of dealing with other people's finances. It was bad enough last week when I had to raise a purchase order for localisation - and the finance guys were expecting that one! I don't know that I'd have the necessary confidence to bamboozle wide-eyed customers into terrible deals with quick-talking contract speak - that's kind of required isn't it?

I refused to upsell at my last job. Well, I didn't refuse exactly - I just didn't do it. I worked for a large advertising company as a copywriter. We would have to build confidence with the small business owners we talked to, as we worked through their websites. Towards the end of my time there, the worried-looking managers made us try to upsell a useless product on every call. It was so useless. In order to sell it, we had to cut the truth so thinly that it might as well have been an outright lie. I wasn't going to do it - so I didn't.

The other thing is the confidence act. I think I'd find it draining to have to pretend to be competent and confident for seven hours a day, to portray that I know what I'm talking about like some sort of expert. As my colleagues will tell you, incompetence suits me much better. It carries a certain... authenticity.

After a while, standing behind one of those sticky computers, I would certainly break down into sweaty tears, rip off my plastic name badge and hand back that green polyester t-shirt with a sigh of utter freedom and relief.

That's why I couldn't work in a mobile phone shop. It would be difficult and annoying.

And I mustn't let myself get annoyed.