Today started the way most Mondays do at the bank, with that familiar little knot in my stomach as I walked through the doors and clocked the under-25s already gathered round the coffee machine. I love my job, I really do, but sometimes those kids test every last bit of patience I have left. They are bright enough, most of them, but the attitude can be something else. This morning one of the girls, the one with the permanent scowl and the habit of rolling her eyes whenever I open my mouth, decided to push it further than usual.
She had left a whole stack of client files half-finished on Friday and then waltzed in late with a takeaway coffee like nothing was wrong. When I asked her about it she gave me this little shrug and said something about how the system had been slow. I felt that competitive spark light up straight away. I am not the sort to shout and make a scene, but I can go very quiet and very clear when I need to. I pulled her into the side office, closed the door, and laid it out properly. No raised voice, just the facts and the expectation that it would never happen again. Her face went pink and she muttered an apology that barely counted as one, but I could see she got the message. The rest of the team went silent for a good half hour after that. I suppose that is what they mean when they call me harsh. I do not mind. Someone has to keep the standards up or the whole place would fall apart.
The funny thing is, walking out at the end of the day I still felt that little buzz. It is strange how being the stern one can leave you feeling oddly light. The streets of East London were damp and grey, the kind of January evening that makes you want to hurry home, but I took my time. I kept replaying the look on her face and feeling this quiet satisfaction. At work I have to be the version of me that does not smile too much or let things slide. It is a front, really. Outside those doors I am soft as anything, the sort of girl who dreams about Sunday roasts and tall men with kind eyes. But inside the bank I lock that part away. The team needs someone who will not put up with nonsense, and I am good at it. Sometimes I wonder if they know how much effort it takes to stay that way all day.
By the time I reached my flat the buzz had settled into something warmer. I kicked off my shoes, pulled on the baggy hoodie that always makes me feel safe, and stood barefoot in the kitchen while the kettle boiled. I thought about texting one of the girls from the tight circle, the ones who know the real me, but decided against it. Some days are better left to yourself. Instead I made a cup of tea and curled up on the sofa with the telly on low. Reality rubbish as usual, the kind that needs full running commentary, but tonight I just watched quietly. My mind kept drifting back to the office and that small moment of control. It is not that I enjoy making people uncomfortable. I just cannot stand seeing work done half-heartedly. Numbers matter to me. Order matters. And if that makes me the one they fear a little, then so be it.
I know deep down that the soft version of me is still there, the one who hopes for someone who will take the sternness out of my hands at the end of the day and replace it with foot massages and proper cuddles. But until that man turns up I will keep showing up at the bank ready to shut things down when they need shutting down. Walking home tonight with that quiet buzz still in my chest felt almost like a small victory. Not the dramatic kind, just the steady sort that reminds me I can handle whatever the under-25s throw at me. Tomorrow will probably bring another little test, and I will meet it the same way. For now though, the hoodie is warm, the tea is hot, and the flat is peaceful. That is enough.
