Today is a great day. I have begun my descent (why not ascent? Because it's my story) into adulthood, and all that it entails. The day started of great when, in a clumsy fashion that I am famous for, instead of renaming my Boss, who is on MSN for easy reference, as "Big Boss-Man" for fun, I opened up his window and wrote this phrase and pressed enter. Brilliant, I think to myself, you have called a shareef person "Big Boss-Man". He shall now think you are a screw up and immature and unworthy of employment and you shall have a black dhabba on your CV forever. Apparently, big boss is cooler than one would have thought, and takes it all in stride.

Next up, Big Boss-Man explains the whole setup, how to go about doing everything that needs doing and some standard answers to questions that will pop up now and again. "You sure you've got all that?" he concernedly asks before disappearing someone where MSN cannot follow. "Indeed I am." I state confidently, a few seconds before wondering who, besides stuff old British women use the phrase "indeed" anymore. Ah well, Big Boss-Man should realize that he has hired someone who,when tired, speaks before thinking and he should get used to it.

What's next? We start working. Three important rules: be courteous at all times, be as helpful as possible and end by asking customer to contact you again if they should need help doing anything.

After working for about an hour, a jubilant Misha says what is possibly the most stupid thing to come out of her mouth (or in this case, fingers, since we're typing) today, which is saying something: "Don't worry, I'll finish up all these e-mails before I stop working today." Six hours and about fifty e-mails later, Misha is wondering how to go about having a lobotomy to either remove the idiot part of her brain that makes her say such things or the part that realises what was said was stupid and makes her feel like an ass. A further two hours and a determined Misha, aided by a good deal of music and a trusty cook who rustles up "energy food" aka fettuccini, Misha has managed to complete a good chunk of work and prepares to retire.

Soon after, as she sits typing some more after typing all day, Misha wonders why it is that she is blogging about this when she is sick of typing. That is when she stops typing and clicks on "publish post".