The one with the mug... (with gifs!)

In life, certain things hold sentimental value to us. Some things do not require an explanation while some others do. 

One of such things for me is my mug. Now, much like Ross' sandwich in that one episode in Season 5 of Friends, this mug is more significant than people care to understand. This mug is important because it represents many things to me: it will always remind me of my debut in the corporate world, for soon after graduation I began work as a PR Coordinator in Leicester. It was given to me as a bold symbol of inclusion, I became a significant member of a team. Although I hated the job it reminds me of one success- my first real job.

As such, I hold this mug very close to my heart. As I started my job in London this mug followed me. It sat at my desk when it wasn’t in use, clean, white and pure. When I got a bit more trusting and comfortable with the new work folk, I let it sit in the cupboard fully aware that everyone would respect it.

Everyone did. Until one day... Someone, did not! 

Let me just point out here, that my mug is not just any old mug. It is my mug; it has my avatar on it, a cartoon version of myself and a darn pretty avatar, she is. And just in case that isn’t enough to convince people that it is my mug, it also has my name, written in bold letters on the other side of it! Right there in a gorgeous font.

So this temp, who is covering for my boss’ executive assistant started working with us two weeks ago. In that time, she had been introduced to us all, all nine of us. Not that many names to remember. So we introduce ourselves, help her remember our names, etc.

Last week, having searched and searched for my mug for two whole days, drinking coffee out of a stranger’s mug and fearing the worst had happened to my beloved souvenir, I was alerted to my mug on the desk where the temp resides... 

Could she have mistaken the black, female cartoon character on the mug for any of the Caucasian people who worked there? Could she have assumed that the name on the mug was code for –communal? I pondered... I didn’t know how to go about reclaiming my mug, and really didn’t want to flip out a la Ross because we all know how that went...

So I sat there, zen on the outside... 

but  inside....

I waited for the perfect opportunity to take back what was rightfully mine, what I had literally worked hard (-ish) to earn but no such opportunity arose. With each passing day, my mug was a prisoner to this woman, unwashed (yes, unwashed yet refilled everyday with more coffee, the horror!). I was overwhelmed, muttering curses under my breath and blowing them in her direction.

Finally, there was a breakthrough. On Friday evening, she was the first to leave the office. My mug, sitting there with coffee still in it (which would have been abandoned all weekend and returned to the following Monday...) I swooped in and grabbed it, took it straight to the sink and bleached the living day light out of it. I scrubbed and scrubbed until it was white as snow again. At long last, following a week of torment, my mug was back in my possession and I was able to be calm again.

It is back on my desk until I can trust again...

Moral of the story? THOU SHALT NOT USE THY NEIGHBOUR'S MUG!!!