I was released from The Tank momentarily today to meet with a customer. Now this gentleman (and he was a gentleman in the olde English sense) was old school. Fine man in his late 40s, who insisted on referring to the “pretty girls” that the young man had brought with him.  Now if I haven’t already mentioned this, I’m in my mid to late 30s, so a girl or pretty are words one would not choose to describe me. At one point he offered to explain to “you girls” the basics of what he did. I mean it didn’t take a genius to figure it out, it was kinda in the name…like asking what type of food does Burger King serve…swiftly followed by gratitude for the manager who had brought two “pretty girls” with him today. What was beyond funny was that I clearly looked about 5 years older than the buck who had brought me along! 

The 40 minute journey back to the office was spent debating, both with my passengers and my own self, what I am. Am I girl? A lady? A woman??  I'm not a girl. A young, naive, slightly innocent, purty l'il thing is the image that's conjured up in my mind when I think "girl".  Rightly or wrongly and with the best will in the world, I shall never be a lady. I mean I think of someone who "holds their counsel", who smiles politely, nods and supports her husband (see I don't even possess the vital accessory!), sips her drink and...I'm more guzzle a glass of red and I'll tell you what I really think, while guffawing, pointing my finger, poking my head and telling some fella exactly what my opinion is!!  Which leaves me with woman.  I'm in mid-30s, fighting every day to maintain a wasitline and work in The Tank. Have I not been cursed with enough in life?  I don't know what it is but for me woman suggests one of de wimmin, a group of females cackling, swilling their vino and talking of babies, men and men. This confuses and concerns me. I love being female, I love everything that goes with it (except the constant need to dehair my body, the gravity drive on our bodies and monthly reminders of the tick-tock of the biological clock), but I struggle to be comfortable when in The Tank and related locations I'm thrown into any collective term for females.  So I've decided, fine gentlemen I meet in my business life, I'd prefer if you did not call me a girl, nor a lady nor a sista nor a mott nor a woman...just call me Nemo!

Today was not a good day in The Tank.  I am losing the will here, the will to get up every morning, to get dressed, to leave the house, you know the one, the will to live!  We were recently served with a schedule of when we are to do certain tasks and in what way.  Now we’re all well experienced, quite well educated people in our 30s, who have been around this and other tanks a few times and know how to pick up a phone, write a letter, draft an email.  So this hot house idea (as it’s called!) made me angry-angry, red HOT angry.  In an effort to locate some of the old focused, driven, motivated Nemo, I decided I’d really try my best and spent some time trying to “get behind my portfolio, really understand the tipping points for my customers” and all that bullshit.  It lasted about 20 minutes and I gave up. I went to the loos and actually hung out there for a while, looking at myself in the mirror. Not admiring myself, no, just staring at m’self, trying to figure out who that was in the mirror, having a mental conversation with self about how I found myself there and all the twists and turns and crossroads that let me there…and was it really all that bad to spend time alone, with self, chillin’ in the ti’lets?  Eventually I left. Well I had to, someone came in.

In case you hadn’t already figured it out, we deal with money in The Tank. Money in all sorts of shapes and forms, types and sizes.  So when you hear of the economy nose diving or some Central Tank meeting to discuss what needs to be done to control this spiral, think of me, at the end of the headset and chain discussing with fellow Tankers what impact this comment or that comment is going to have on various shapes and forms of money. Then the phones hop and it’s acrylic talons at the ready:

*click* “Hello Nemo speaking? What currency? Buying or selling? Is that just one payment or do you have a number of them? Rate there at the moment for you to buy six hundred and fifty thousand GBPeriwinkles is 0.7821. Yes, it is quite strong. It’s difficult to say really, there was no particularly poor data behind yesterday’s weakness it was just a risk off day, a build up of poor sentiment, poor earning results, concerns over Euro debt crisis and signs of slowing growth from China to the US are all now conspiring to deflate confidence. Yes, yes, absolutely. I understand. Will it be better tomorrow? Well I’m not sure Seamus, I reckon if the wind changes direction and moves eastward over the gulfstream in the Atlantic at the same time as Mercury moves into retrograde, but just before the precipitation in the air reaches a level higher than 18^th August 2010 then yes, I do reckon we could see a strengthening of the Euro…but it really is just a view”

*click* “Hello Nemo speaking? What currency? Buying or selling? Is that just one payment or do you have a number of them? Rate there at the moment for you to buy seventy six  thousand USJohn Doreys is 1.2058. Yes it is quite strong. Well the Euro fell below $1.22 to the dollar yesterday for the first time since the middle of 2010. Meanwhile, equities suffered another day of losses with the ISEQ, FTSE, S&P500 and Erustoxx all extending their losses for the week. Yes, yes, absolutely. I understand. Will it be better tomorrow? Well I’m not sure Sile, bear with me there a moment and I’ll flip a coin. Heads or tails? Tails?  OK…aw sorry, it’s heads. No won’t be any better tomorrow. Do you want to go ahead with that? Hello Sile? Sile??”

*click* “Hello Nemo speaking? What currency? Buying or selling? Is that just one payment or do you have a number of them? Rate there at the moment for you to buy one hundred and fifty thousand Ozzy Ozbournes is 1.1755. Ah yeah, you’re fucked. Arse has fallen outta the Euro. Will it be any better tomorrow? Lord Jaysus fucked if I know. I’d quit while I was ahead if I were you…but don’t quote me on that”

The phone rings a lot in The Fish Tank and I tend to be one of those who answers it most.  My preferred position is phone resting on shoulder, chin supporting it to prevent falling and scribbling notes frantically.  After many years of defying everyone, protesting and chanting “No To The Headset” I have succumbed, I’ve been broken, my neck’s in bits, my physical therapist is rich, but finally I've hung my head and sighed. My spirit is shattered. I’m wearing a telephone headset.

It was a bit of a novelty for the first ten minutes, then I realised that not only do I look like Dolly Parton in 9-5, except without the blonde set , 18 inch waist and pert boobs, but this THING now chains me to the desk. I have become a robotic version of my former self who has to release herself from the technology to have a wee.  “The Fish Tank, Nemo speaking....who's calling? Just a second"..."Hello Nemo speaking, One moment please…” AGH!  On the plus side, according to my wizard physical therapist my neck is longer, so if I gain a few millimetres on my fat neck, I’ll stick with the headset for now.