Awkward, definition: difficult to manage, uncomfortable.
If the dictionary defines it thus, I don’t really stand a chance do I?
Take todays example. Let me give you some background. I used to have a work mobile. I used it for work and home and was allowed to do what I would with it (within reason). I lived in a village with ex-boyfriend that wasn’t on the radar to Orange (don’t get me started in an Orange rant) and therefore the only place I could get signal out of work hours was at the train station; a five-minute walk from the house. As if I was going to head up there to check if my mother had text every half an hour (as she is the only person that regularly does!). So when given a Vodaphone, I was excited. Contact with the outside world out of work hours! Hurrah!
So as you do, for a year, I gave out my mobile number to people I knew; friends, family members, new acquaintances and people who would need my number, like the doctor’s surgery (diabetic – a lot of medical professionals seem to feel the need to contact me directly).
And then a year later, I got a personal phone, and surrendered the work mobile. This has caused me nothing but problems. I suppose the issue is that when you get a new number you don’t realise that people are still contacting you on the old one, because you don’t have it any more. Ignorance is bliss. But with a work mobile, someone often inherits it. In my case, a bloke in the office. Oh joy.
The poor guy got a lot of Christmas text messages from people who I clearly chose not to update with my new number (I’m not a hoarder in life, and nor am I a people hoarder). He got a call from an ex asking me if I wanted to go for a drink and a call from the opticians ranting at me about the safety of my eyes (they are safe, no worries). But the worst ones were my friends who I had informed of the change, but who own evil iPhones that let you store more than one number. My friend Jess sent me an interesting text about seeing some hot guy at the gym. Went to colleague. My granddad called to speak to me and got confused. Spoke to colleague. On more than one occasion.
But the worst was this morning. I walked to my desk and found a post it note (yay!! I love post its. Its its not a crime!) with the message.
“Ann Parks. 01459 684724. Cileste Tablets.”
From my colleague. I froze. Why was a bloke at work leaving me cryptic notes about my birth control pill? Oh god what the hell? I mooched over. “Oh” he said “from the doctors. Can you call her back?”
When calling a person about birth control pills and reaching a man, oh receptionist in office, I would advise hanging up. She had carried on a full conversation with a guy in my office about my birth control pills and how I had to come in and see the midwife. So not only is my gynaecologist conversing with my colleague, but now everyone at work thinks I’m pregnant. Not that the midwife fills in when someone is sick.
Maybe they will have more faith in the idea of the immaculate conception.