I have never liked coleslaw. Ever. Maybe it's the cabbage, maybe it's the fact that my dad used to put sultanas in it. Why? Who mixes something tasty, like sultanas, with cabbage?

This afternoon I worked late. I wouldn't have been there if Tara hadn't quit, leaving a ten hour gap in the roster. I would have gone home in a good mood at two o'clock. I wouldn't have fallen prey to either of the people who yelled at me. One wanted a bigger diet coke, and one wanted...yes, you guessed it...coleslaw.

Not sure for how long. I got cold. I cried. It's the second time I've gone nuts at work. I sort of stormed to the staff room at the back determined not to look anyone in the eye, changed my shirt and went out the back way without clocking out or telling anyone I was leaving. I ran home like a child and sat under a scalding shower until I stopped crying.

See, children, this is what happens when you bottle emotions up, whether consciously or not. Eventually something lances the wound and the infected mass you tried to hide comes flooding out at the most inopportune time. Like when you're at work in a job where you have to deal with harassment from customers and management alike. Now my manager is going to look at me strangely when I next share a shift with him. I will be the object of speculation - is it safe to approach her? - and of gossip. Oh well. At least no-one will be gossipping about Dave any more.

I dislike losing control.