A Reason to Respect Sarah.

There I was, sitting absentmindedly on a bench in Uttoxeter and munching quietly on my vegan sausage roll, when I became aware of being stared at by a young woman (young by my standards, that is.) And so I stared back and soon realised that here was a fond memory from my past come back to re-impress itself after all these years.

The person staring at me was none other than the first of the Sarahs to come into my life and set my heart strings vibrating, back in the days when I worked at the theatre. This is she (the one in the blue dress, the one I’ve posted before because it pleases me to see that I once stood this close to a very attractive woman):

  

‘Jeff?’ she queried. ‘Sarah!’ I exclaimed. ‘Have a seat.’ Well you would, wouldn’t you? And so she sat and we had a splendid – for me, that is – 10 or 15 minutes of chat before going our separate ways.

The thing is, you see, Sarah was my manager for a while when I worked at the theatre, and occasionally she would yell at me. But when she did so, she did it without any hint of ill-will. And here’s my theory:

People who yell at you with evident ill-will are trying to hurt your feelings, and are therefore begging a bop on the nose or at least a very sharp retort. Those who don’t yell at you at all are betraying the possibility that they lack emotional security and daren’t risk losing you’re approbation. (It isn’t always the case by any means, but it does encourage the suspicion.) Those who yell at you without any ill-will, however, are simply doing so because, in their considered opinion, you deserve to be yelled at. And that’s fine by me.

And that’s why I not only enjoyed being seen standing next to Sarah O because of her splendid looks, but also enjoyed working for her because I respected her. And maybe one day soon I’ll bump into her again. That would be nice.