I want my life to include a personal cheer squad
and I may need to get over my hatred of Master Chef

Years ago, I remember seeing a nicotine commercial where, every time the guy wanted to reach for his cigarettes but chose not to, a posse in bad tracksuits would form around him and cheer. This is what I would like — a personal cheer squad. And I want it now. Think of it like a personal flash mob. I want that. With pom poms. And a chant that my personal flash mob would pull out at chant-appropriate moment, (make that several different chants as I would like my personal flash mob to be specific about the occasion that they/we would be chanting about — I feel a omnibus chant would get tiring).
Here is a non-exhaustive list of what I want the cheer squad to rally around me on: just when I get the kids to school on time; (extra chants required if children are dressed and have had their hair brushed); the rare times I successfully park the car without crashing it; the even rarer times that I remember to get the milk on the way home; and especially during the many, many times I empty the dishwasher, hang up the laundry and sweep the floor. But that’s not all. I want them to also give me positive affirmations regarding my creative outputs, especially including my choice in clothing (because who doesn’t want congratulations when they leave the house dressed as a ninja?). I want them to pep me up as I write another job application and I really need them to cheer and chant, loudly, when I receive rejections, enthusiastically crying, (them, not me), that something better will come long soon. (If they could also add into the chant that whatever it is that does turn up really will be the right thing just for me and that JK Rowling did receive 100 rejections (is this really true?) before her first acceptance so keep on truckin’, that would be very welcome.)
Would I pay for the cheerleader squad or would they be performing more of a voluntary, community service type role? I did kind of pay for it the other day when I got my morning coffee. I have a coffee guy. And he pepped me up on Thursday by kindly telling me that I was doing OK. I can’t remember now whether I went in there for counselling. I am pretty sure it was just for a cappuccino but he sensed my mood, as all good baristas do, and asked me how my morning was. To which I replied that it was not good, that I had yelled at the kids, that I was feeling flustered and generally not happy and that this coffee needed to deliver me more than just a hit of caffeine — I was relying on it to provide me with some solace and the strength to carry on (or just drop the kids at school and get to work). It was a lot to put on one cup of coffee. But my coffee man tried. All for the price of $3.50.
And I have to say that the $3.50 pick me up was a little better that the free pep up advice from the department store sales assistant who accosted me with far too much enthusiasm than was warranted for a Friday lunchtime. I was in the store waiting for a friend who was looking at a winter jacket to buy and had asked for my style guidance. (I’m not entirely sure why, especially as I had warned her that I dress like a ninja and so I would only like things that were black. At one point, she tried on a red coat and we almost came to blows as I unsuccessfully tried to hide my disdain. She did not buy it. Thankfully.) As I was waiting in the coat section for friend to arrive, the sales assistant eagerly approached and inquired if she could help. I explained that I was waiting for a friend, and she replied, with a friendly pat on my arm, “Good luck with that. I sure hope it all works out for you.” I may have stuck my tongue out at her as she walked off. Patronising pep up is not what I am aiming for here.
The bus driver, however, did a much better job of providing free pep up. I was singing (yelling) very, very loudly to a Vance Joy song on the way home the other day. It is a bitter winter here so the windows of my car were up, and one would think that, therefore, there was, no sound escaping. Perhaps not but the windows still function as windows, even in winter, and I may have had some special car seat moves going on that were accompanying my yelling. I happened to glance to my right before merging left and noticed the very happy bus driver in the lane next to me. With a broad grin, he gave me the thumb up and an air clap or two. That was good and I wanted more of it. In fact, it was that interaction that started this whole idea of wanting a personal cheer squad. That and the fact that I hate Master Chef.
I used to really like Master Chef but now I hate it. I was trying to work out why that was the other day, after I spewed positive vitriol at a work colleague who was attempting to talk to me about the merits of the most recent episode. He didn’t deserve my rant. No-one in my cubicle did but I couldn’t help it. Master Chef irks me. I endeavoured to unpack the reasons why which meant I had to watch an episode (or the entire series — for research purposes only). It turns out that every time the judges praised a contestant’s ability, which is like all the time, or every time a contestant tears up, explaining how much food means to them and to their family, and every time the camera cut to other contestants talking up the abilities of other contestants, I became just a little jealous. According to Yahoo answers, (which I just discovered is a thing), jealousy breeds hate so that is why I hate the show — because all the contestants have their own personal cheer squad and I don’t. In my day job, no-one is watching, ready to jump in with a “ooh, great choice of word there in that brief you are writing”, or a “excellent typing”, or even a “perfect 10 for filing that document correctly.” No cameras are following me as I walk to the printer and successfully master copying double sided to double sided, or manage to email myself a document or change the toner cartridge, (sometimes even managing to do that without spilling any ink on my dress). How good would it be if they were though?
Practicalities could make impromptu appearances of a personal cheer squad an impossible dream: I don’t think work would give my squad a security clearance to enter the building; they could take up a lot of room in my house; and driving around with them constantly could get a little weird. So I have come up with an alternative. It does not involve counting Facebook likes, or other similar internet affirmations, (I discounted this as a method of pepping as the whole point of a personal cheer squad is that it breaks out into spontaneous and instant, yet completely unprovoked, reactions of happiness for your everyday stuff). It also does not involve praise from Husband, (I mistakenly once thought that unbridled, constant gratefulness for your spouse was the whole point of getting married), or my kids, (they are obliged to be nice to me). Instead, it involves harnessing the robots. I’m appealing to all Artificial Intelligence makers and those responsible for the Internet of Things: can you please fix it so that some of the household appliances you are now working on to take over the world shout out encouraging messages to their owner? All I want is the occasional cheer, like “You go, girlfriend” when I put on another load of washing, empty the dishwasher or take out a carrot from the fridge instead of the chocolate. Install an automated clap track or a 90s sit com laugh track into the robotic vacuum cleaner. Make the driverless cars congratulate you on how well you look when you hop on in. Any of this will make for a much happier world. Or at least a happier me, (and, maybe, I will chill out a bit and learn to like Master Chef again).
