CHAPTER SEVEN
The Hindi word for queen is rani.
At the start of my last year of high school I was sent on a work experience course one day a week at a veterinary clinic. I always loved animals and knew in some way I would end up working with them, this course easily set my career path on track. At the end of that year as I finished school forever, I already had employment at the clinic as a vet nurse student. I began studying theory in conjunction with being employed and all going well, I was to be a qualified vet nurse in two years.
I loved my job and my junior role was so exciting. It was a busy clinic with three vet’s and four nurses, five including me – one senior and three trained. The senior nurse ran a tight ship, she was a trifle scary and I avoided her as much as possible. She was a buxom woman with exceptionally large breasts that sat on her waist and her hair was pulled back so tight her eyebrows stretched across her forehead. The other staff behind her back called her Mrs T, you know from The A Team – and just like B.A. Baracus, she showed a tough exterior but in fact she had a heart of gold. She barked orders at everyone including the veterinarians - who were also scared of her but when it came to the animals, she had the Midas touch, even the most aggressive dog was putty in her hands.
As I arrived at the clinic each morning, I assisted the other three nurses, steering well clear of Mrs T, cleaned cages, answered the phone, made appointments and ensured the animals were comfortable.
But the following year, soon after my eighteenth birthday, something changed within me. For an unknown reason I began to have doubts about becoming a vet nurse. I kept telling myself not to be silly, I loved my job and it was the career I had always wanted. True, I was constantly scratching my red, itchy hands - I had discovered I had a reaction to the cleaning chemicals used in the clinic. The other nurses assured me my skin would become immune to the chemicals, as the same thing had happened to them when they first started but I knew something else was not right.
Sarah and Brett had recently married and had just returned from their honeymoon in Sydney. They were full of exciting stories about their trip and I was secretly jealous. I thought maybe my desire for change could be a yearning to travel. Finally, I bit the bullet and resigned, forging some lame excuse to my boss, muttering something about needing to spread my wings. Although this was true I knew in my heart it was not enough of a reason to leave the career I loved, what I thought was my destiny. With no job prospects in the pipeline, I reluctantly said goodbye to the clinic and the friends I had made while working there, even Mrs T.
Over the coming weeks I regarded my next career move. To be honest with myself I wasn’t ready to travel and certainly didn’t want to go overseas alone. On the other hand, I hated being idle, I had gone straight from finishing school to working at the clinic so I was bored sitting at home doing nothing. I had absolutely no idea what to do next, knowing only I wanted to do something exciting and different. I even thought about joining the army, that wasn’t boring, would take me out of my comfort zone and would turn my life around.
As another week went by I became increasingly anxious, I had to do something drastic to change the course of where I was heading. Then as often happens in these situations, a friend of a friend happened to mention she knew of a vacancy at Office Supply Warehouse or O.S.W .(everybody knew the jingle from the radio and TV advertisements – O.S.W…O.S.W. – your stationery needs are no trouble, at…O.S.W!) They were looking for a person to take inventory and supply office products to companies.
I put the phone down, I had got myself an interview and after a short meeting they offered me the job. I decided then and there to take it. Working at O.S.W. would be a good fill-in position until something better came along. My job description was to visit the workplaces on the company’s database, inventory their stock and take orders for their stationery requirements. This included paper, paperclips, envelopes, staplers, staples and even post–it notes. The clincher of the deal for me was any additional sales above usual orders would result in me getting a commission.
A few weeks after starting work, I wondered why I had accepted the role in the first place. It wasn’t, in reality, my ideal job. But, with a clenched smile I carried on, biding my time, waiting to be shown the yellow brick road…the next path in my life.