Amy's List of Regrets: Part One

So there we were, the glamour of the local registry office all around us, waiting to give notice of our intention to marry. Palms sweating, we nervously grinned through our (separate) interviews to check we weren't already married and all that. Ridiculous to worry I know - all they did was ask me his name, my dad's job, and whether my intended was already related to me (I know I come from fairly near Dewsbury, but give me some credit). 

Still, having to answer any kind of formal question fills me with dread, especially the most straightforward ones. At the airport, the bored, usually monotone query "Did you pack your bag yourself?" makes me blink uncontrollably. I think I just exude an air of guilt. My parents still think I stole eight bags of Iced Gems from the kitchen cupboard in 1991 just because I couldn't stop giggling when they waved the empty multipack around accusingly. I did a lot of binge-eating as a kid, but I swear on anyone's life that it wasn't me.

It made me wonder how bigamists manage to get through so many of these interviews, and how the hell someone would get themselves in that situation. So (tenuous link alert) I started thinking about my own regrets. Just minor ones, bloody annoying niggles. Nothing like "I wish I'd never lied about being married before or never dropped those government documents in a bin in a public place or murdered that prostitute," but the ones that when you think about them, you do a little 'grrr' because they're just so irritating. So here are a couple of mine for your enjoyment.

1. Not saying stuff I should have said

When I was a team manager in Boots (I won't mention it in EVERY post) not so very long ago, I had many, many problems with the team I was in charge of. Aside from the total lack of respect stemming mainly from my baby face and non-existent management experience, loads of them were nicking stuff. 

I noticed one employee doing something fairly minor in thievery terms - she wasn't pocketing hundreds from the till but she was giving herself extra discounts or something - and it required a disciplinary. After the ticking off was had, and promises were made not to do it again and all that jazz, I was floating around the counter one day restocking the shelves (I was a helpful mucking in type of manager) she made a few pointed comments along the lines of, "I hope whoever shopped me got what they wanted, they got their promotion to head office. I just hope it was all worth it and they sleep well at night." 

Now, at that point, I was on my way the hell out of there and had just been for interviews at head office, scratching round for any job I could jump to with a remote possibility of getting to write. 

So this person, this middle-aged mother of many who risked her job for an extra 10p off her Gaviscon, who hid sale items until they came down in price, screwed the tills to get extra Advantage Card points, nicked the 'Five Pounds Off No7' vouchers, did pretty much everything short of what she considered "really stealing", thought I'd turned her in for a leg up. I wanted to slap myself in the face when she said it, but I didn't slap myself in the face. I didn't say or do anything.

What I should have said? 

A) You fucking plonker, that is not how it works

B) If it did work like that, don't assume I'd be wrestling with my conscience because you, my dear, are in.the.wrong. 

C) Go home and teach your kids how to steal without crossing your non-sensical moral line

D) All of the above

It really, really bothers me that now and forever, she will wrongly, blithely, potter about her life thinking I screwed her over for a job I didn't even want or get. Gah!

2. Making my little brother think my older brother was dead

We were all young. The three of us were playing on the landing outside my bedroom, which has two steps going down into the hallway. During the rough and tumble, my older brother slipped down a step. He then lay on the floor and didn't move, whereupon an unspoken plan hatched between Brother One and myself. I turned to Brother Two, and in the most serious of tones, informed him that he'd killed Brother One. He didn't believe me at first. We kept it up until he cried.

Wait, there's more. Back of the car, eating sweets. Finished my lolly, put the white stick in the box of candy sticks and offered it to younger brother. He was so happy I'd offered, he just repeatedly bit down on it, still happy, but increasingly confused. His trusting face, oh God, CAN'T SOMEONE TURN BACK TIME? He's in his twenties now, and couldn't care less. That's what I tell myself.

3. Not taking an elderly Welsh lady to court

During my fourth year of university, I moved into Crapdon Villas. The house had bits falling off it, frost on the inside, copious damp. One of our friends had insomnia, but funnily enough, always managed to fall asleep in the lounge. Turned out it was bloody lucky any of us ever woke up, because by Christmas most of the gas fires had big red condemned stickers on them for pumping out carbon monoxide. Mrs Williams took no responsibility, but did send us a strange man who probably wasn't a gas man because he told us to fix the faulty boiler by leaning into it with a naked flame. Once she let herself in with her own key and set the fire alarm off because she wanted to talk to us.

When she finally came round to discuss our grievances - mainly having to make a daily decision between dying of faulty gas fires or dying of the bitter Welsh winter - it didn't go particularly well. In fact, when we said anything, she started moaning that she was ill. When it became clear we weren't going to let the matter drop, she got up to leave and did the best/worst fake fall I've ever seen and laid prostrate on the stairs saying we'd broken her leg. She wouldn't let us call an ambulance because she had a 'special doctor'. 

The regret? She kept all our deposits and I never did a thing about it because I'd left uni and couldn't be arsed. The thought of this 80-year-old deathmonger in her tea cosy hat counting up student loan dollar while eyeing up the next batch of fools just makes me want to scream. Sometimes I do.

So who knows, maybe writing these down will release some of that tension. Here are some of my regrets, dear readers. I'd very much like to hear yours.