Or Why I Will Never Ever Be Part Of The Diet Industry Ever Again
One of my colleagues was ill over Christmas and new year, bad enough to have been hospitalised and still unable to return to work two weeks later. Which led to the following conversation.
Colleague 1: She can’t even eat; she’s lost about a stone
Colleague 2: Oh well that’s alright then!
Colleague 1: I know, she must be so happy
Colleague 3: Every cloud and all that
Colleague 4: I’m so jealous
Colleague 1: Aye, me too. I might go for a visit – see if I can catch something!
Me: *silently screaming into my hands*
I’ve heard of people with cancer who lost weight because they were unable to eat without throwing up or their gums were too sore for food, who were then told “cancer really suits you!”. But I didn’t really believe that could have happened, that people could be so phenomenally superficial. That anyone could ever say to another human being, “Yes, you might die, but at least you’ll go out skinny!”.
I believe it now.
This is what our beauty ideal and the diet industry have created. Thin is good, praiseworthy, to be envied, no matter how it’s achieved. Anything that makes us lose weight is automatically good, even if it will kill us.
How did we let this become a thing? How did we get to a point where people can have a conversation like that and not be utterly, utterly horrified? I know I am.
My work laptop keeps locking me out and for IT to fix it, it must be plugged in to the Babcock network (not the Alliance network that this office uses).
The nearest Babcock office is away on the outskirts of Glasgow, and I have a report due last Friday that’s still not finished. I don’t particularly have time for this.
BUT I’m smiling because I choose to see this as an excuse to get out of my chair and into the rare Scottish sunshine. If the wifi works I can keep going with the report on the way, and if not I shall just enjoy the views. The office isn’t hours away, it’s not raining/snowing/hailing outside, and it should get all the wee problems with my laptop sorted out. Things could be so much worse 🙂
As I sat at my desk, basking in the sunlight flooding through the wall of windows, looking onto the view of George Sqare, I realised I have been with Babcock for a year today.
It’s strange to think a whole year has passed already. I remember the terror of my very first day, the few seconds of panic every day of the first week when I thought I wouldn’t find my desk after my break, and the weeks of collapsing in an exhausted heap as soon as I got home.
But now there have been no more incidents, I have a fixed desk with my name on, and I get to practise my sarcasm on a daily basis. Somehow I fit right in.
Obviously I have to work, and today I’m smiling because I’ve never yet found a better place to do so.