So, here’s what I did: I waited. Until lunch, when I sat down at Miriam Patel’s table.

Miriam: Oh, hi, Phoebe.

Me: Oh, hi, Miriam. Just FYI, Alex isn’t my boyfriend.

Miriam (clearly regretting her life choices):…

Me: He’s a friend I know from Kate’s thrift shop. And also, people don’t “suffer” (I actually drew speech marks in the air at that point) from Down syndrome, they have Down syndrome, which basically means they have an extra chromosome. The only thing they suffer are ignorant fuckwits like yourself.

God, she’s such a dick.

Tuesday, February 27 #TheNewestRecruit

Tonight when Kate asked me to sit down with her in the kitchen, I was like: “Who died?”

Kate: No one died, don’t be daft. It’s about your job hunt.

Me: I know it’s not going well, but—

Kate: No, no, I’m not having a go. I wanted to make a suggestion.

Me:…

Kate: Your mother told me that you think you need to get a job because of me.

Me: Not because of you, but because of me. Because the cat is pregnant with illegitimate kittens, and my research has shown this means a financial loss of up to £2,000 for you.

Kate (super Scottish): Och, don’t be ridiculous. I’d never expect you to pay me anything because the bloody cat got out.

Me:…

Kate: But, if you feel like you need to make it up to me, which you really don’t, and besides, you need to be focusing on your GCSEs, why don’t you come and volunteer at the shop? I can’t pay you, but I suppose we could always pretend.

Me:…

Kate: Look. You want a job, and I’m short-staffed.

Me: How many days would you need me?

Kate: Six, of course.

Me:…

Kate: Joking, you idiot. One or two afternoons. But only if it doesn’t interfere with school.

Me: What days?

Kate: Any days you like. You can do Thursdays and Saturdays, if you want to hang out with Emma and Alex.

Me:…

Kate: We can even pretend I give you £10 an hour.

Me: If I work every Thursday afternoon and Saturday all day, that would mean, like, twelve hours a week.

Kate (clutching her chest): Which would be tremendously helpful.

Me: That means I have to work for you for 16.7 weeks in order to make up the money I owe you.

Kate: Is that a rough estimate, or did you just work that out?

Me:…

Kate: All right, clever clogs, but please don’t think you owe me money.

Me: But I do.

Kate: Phoebe, you owe me nothing. Look, it’s just an idea. You really don’t—

Me: I’m not doing the till.

Kate (snapping to attention): Back of house only.

Me: I don’t want to talk to customers.

Kate: Naturally.

Me: Or Pat.

Kate:…

Me: Or any of the other old people.

Kate: What’s wrong with talking to old people? You’ve met Melanie. She’s a hoot.

Me (because, let’s face it, I’m proper out of options): Okay.

Kate (clapping her hands, then kissing my face): I love you! I love you! I love you!

Me: Get off.