Behind My Killer Heels [3] | ON HOLD | OLD VERSION | INCOMPLETE

Chapter Five

There were a lot of things I loved about my job, a lot. The exceptional coffee we got, the fast Wi-Fi, hell, even the ridiculous amounts of girl scouts that came in offering us free cookies because we were helping people made me love my job at Bryanston so much.

There was one thing though, one thing that made the job absolute heaven for me and that was the 4:3 Day Policy. It was pretty simple, you went to work for 4 consecutive days and then you had 3 days off. It seemed strange to me at first but then I realised that it eliminated so much admin work. People rarely asked for leave, even maternity leave so all that paperwork was reduced. Nobody ever asked for days off because they had them so often which explains why everyone at work was usually so relaxed and happy because we always got enough resting time because we usually worked 10 to 12 hour shifts.

The one thing though was that if your 4 work days happened to fall on Christmas or New Year's or your birthday, sorry for you, you have to suck it up. But that was literally the only downfall of the 4:3 Day Policy and that was not enough to make me not like the system because I absolutely adored it.

So here I was on a Thursday morning, waking up at 9am after a delightful 8 hours and 15 minutes of sleep. I opted for a bath today instead of a shower because I had all the time in the world to have a bubble, play music and sit in the tub until the water started getting cold.

As I got dressed in my bedroom, I ran through a list in my head of all the errands I had to run today. First I had to restock my fridge with fresh fruits and veggies, all that was left from my fresh produce was a sad looking banana that had retreated to the dark side after a few days of neglect.

I also had to do the laundry, clean the apartment and lastly I knew I had to call someone about something I just couldn't remember who it was. I figured I'd get on with everything else and I'd remember later in the day.

Cleaning the apartment doesn't take long, it usually takes me about two hours max and that's when I'm messing around, dancing with the broom.

I plugged my phone into the speakers in the living room and put it on shuffle. That was probably one of the most exciting and unpredictable things ever, listening to music on shuffle.

With my broom in my hand, clothed in sweatpants and an old t-shirt, I was ready to clean my place up. Two songs later and half way through Twenty One Pilots' Stressed Out, I put the broom away and unleashed my bucket and mop.

Mopping the tiles in the kitchen and bathrooms sucked but not as much as polishing the wooden floors in the living room. On my knees, polishing the crap out of that floor with Blurred Lines blaring from the speakers had me eager to finish all of this..."domestic" work.

My parents had suggested on many occasions that I find myself someone to do the housework for me because I was usually busy and tired but I really didn't see the need because I was perfectly capable of putting on a pair of yellow, rubber gloves and scrubbing the toilet. Despite the fact that I was raised in a home where we had a domestic helper, my parents still have her, I didn't think it was necessary for me to get my own helper.

About an hour and a half later, my floors were sparkling, my furniture polished and the entire apartment smelt like lilies, thanks to the scented furniture polish I used. I switched my music off right in the middle of an old Michael Jackson song to go to my bedroom and collect the laundry.

I was grateful for the laundry room that I had where I was able to wash my clothes with the washing machine, hang them in the same room to dry and iron them later on. Sure hanging my clothes up on the line in the laundry room meant having to leave them over night but that was no problem with me because it was a lot more convenient than going to hang everything outside.