I turned up at the doorstep feeling distinctly uncomfortable about my choice of clothing. The recruitment agency had told me to arrive for the temp job in a look that was dressy, but as it was a design company not overly corporate. My backpack of travel gear didn’t afford much choice in the way of work clothes, so I appeared in a bright tangerine skirt, fat stripe mint coloured shirt, mock Chanel style jacket from Zara and gold flats.

I was hoping this arrangement came close, although I suspected from the saturation of toned down navy, greys, black and browns of the corporate Londoners on board the train, I had way too much colour going on. But as it was a design company surely I was allowed a bit of leeway.

My heart sank when I saw that my fellow desk sailor was dressed in casual jeans, top and sneakers. I hurriedly stuffed the jacket into my bag.

My first afternoon of office work had been the Friday just gone with a different design company (in both cases just filling in for the day for someone who was sick), and the day had passed without incident. It wasn’t difficult once you learn your way around the switchboard and perfected your phone greeting.

My first call for today’s company was a non-starter. I picked it up and smoothly mimicked the other receptionist,

“[insert company name], [insert my name] speaking.”

There was beeping in mock-reply. Shit, had I pressed a button incorrectly? Or maybe the beeping meant something. I said “hello?” a few times before putting the phone down. “All there was was beeping,” I muttered. “Beeping?” the other receptionist asked. I could tell from her face this wasn’t a common occurrence.

The next call that came through actually had someone on the line. I put them on hold to transfer them over, calling the staff member whose call it was,

“Hi Sarah, you have a…”

My mind went blank. Fuck. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember who called you. Sorry, so sorry -”

I transferred the call over. A moment later Sarah called to to say I had not correctly put the call through and had, in fact, hung up on them. Double fuck.

From then onwards I was nothing but a bag of jitters. Stuttering on the phone, pressing buttons in a fluster, nervous as a startled deer. Like the sportsman unable to salvage a poor start my confidence was shattered and I was unable to get a grip on this work which was really easy as pie (and the fact that it’s ease is glaringly obvious makes the whole thing worse).

Alright, it wasn’t that bad, I was OK in the end. Still nervy sounding. But eventually I settled into the work (pick up phone, transfer or take a message, pick up phone, transfer or take a message, pick up phone etc.).

Thing is, as I watched the other staff members at their desks, designers, engineers, executives, managers, accountants – holding meetings about strategies and ideas, drawing, creating, building, minds geared towards projects and decisions that would affect the business world and world at large, I vied them enviously. They were doing real work. They were creative, talented, valued workers. They were making a unique contribution.

I was a monkey answering phones, and poorly at that.