A proper gust of wind can really send a day wayward. It can also send one’s mind so quickly to a precipice on which it teeters until the dramatic topple down the metaphorical cliffside of inclement-weather-induced mental illness undoubtably occurs. To be fair, this is quite the doubtable scenario (and a long sentence). But not if you are me!

Wind makes people crazy. In the lovely realm of customer service, I feel this is particularly apparent. If you ask anybody to walk more than 15 metres in a truly gusty tunnel of wind, it is a safe bet to assume that a portion of their day has been ruined. A discrete slice of the force that willed them to get out of bed today is stolen, cut out haphazardly like the first slice of a 6-year old’s birthday cake when they have seven cousins that don’t yet grasp the concept of who irrefutably deserves said first slice privileges. Yet, it is often hard to recall a day where wind has solely subverted all fun-having plans. We’ve all been rained out or sat down feeling too lethargic to achieve anything because the sun just had to shine a little bit too much. Despite this, wind remains the worst. Your hair becomes irreversibly knotted. The outfit you thought looked so fly is now bedraggled and dull (this is because your hair now looks knotted). When you sit down across from your friend at the coffee shop, you find yourself both out of breath and uncomfortably aware of the sheen of sweat you can feel on your lower back. In the summer you blow your nose into a tissue to the jarring shock of grey-black snot. In the winter your nose is weirdly both red and slightly sore, and when you blink it stings.

I work in a place with no daylight that also happens to be a refuge from the wind. This is because it happens to be a giant monolithic building. Monolith aside, a patron’s brain short circuits when they take themselves out of the unforgiving element (wind) and into the unforgiving artificial light and temperature-controlled clime. This transition from activity to stillness is unnatural. I know this because the frowns to which I kindly smile and the throwing of 50-dollar notes onto my counter feel even more unnaturally shitty on windy days. If I’m ever a text-book bitch to anyone, it’s probably windy outside.

Everyday billions of people wake up fighting internal and external battles that no-one else will understand. And to the people that wake up in places that are windy, I feel sorry for you. These customers bring their wind-induced irritability into the sacred retail space and disrupt the peace with the spirit of that which blew them there in the first place. Why must you touch everything? Who taught you that it's okay to open sealed packaging to “make sure it’s all in there”? Brush your hair, you mangy shit!

I wonder what you, the reader, must think of this inaugural piece of writing. I hope the train of thought is somewhat along the lines of

“That was strange. Maybe it’s a good thing we have forced all platforms for sharing ideas to have an inbuilt interactional function. I wish I could tell Cat that her writing is quite bad!”

And to that I would say, stuff you, Ava made my website so that you cannot comment on anything I post. Tuff!!