She woke with a groan and looked at the litre bottle of whisky and noted that she had managed to dent it considerably during the previous night. Slowly raising her pounding head and glancing at her bedside, to find a gulp of water in a glass, she took the swig, idly contemplating an article she had once read about the last third of a glass or bottle of liquid was generally just a persons own saliva.
Shaking her head and feeling the remnants of her dream of her cutting off all her hair and then dancing a jig in a wonderful Scottish celebration, with which she knew nothing of, seemed to linger. She had never had the pleasure of going to Scotland, had met a man on a blind date once, who was Scottish. He had babbled at her for most of the evening, and she had had to wear a crocodile smile and pretend she understood the mumbled sentences during mouthfuls of food. At the end of the evening she had obviously made a mistake as he had said something and she had laughed then nodded. He became red in the face and after grumbling something in an angry tone, had stomped off. She still had no idea what her faux pas was and often wondered what she had insulted him about. She thought of calling him up and asking him, but the same barrier of being able to understand the mans mumbles remained in her mind.
Taking off the singlet she had slept in and finding an almost insulting realisation that she had lost her pants somewhere in the house as her legs felt a cold burst of morning air. Being in her late thirties she found that having uncovered body parts was a sin better practised by the young. Teens and early twenties could get away with bare patches of skin and walking around half naked, but once you reached thirty five, you had a mature and often worried look at your own body. The sudden questions start to haunt you, “Was that a sag? Am I starting to collapse? Are my eyes no longer functioning? I can’t see in the dark! Wait, could I ever? I’m smelling burnt toast! That’s a sign of a stroke right? Oh wait, no I just made toast and forgot it in the toaster. Oh my goodness, I have dementia!”
Anyway, after dressing and walking the two miles or roughly four kilometres to the office. She swiped her key card at the silly lock and waited for the prehistoric doors to slowly open. The reception desk was bare and she had an insulting instinct to wipe a horrible smell along it to confuse the perky and bright secretary, who seemed to rub her young-ness into all middle aged woman’s faces. She was sweet, but had a vanity that made her want to cause slight harm to the fresh face. She felt every glance the girl made was telling her, that she was unattractive. Often she had felt a very protective nature for young females in the work place, but the audacity and rudeness of the young woman had made her long for her to experience the same chauvinistic attitudes she had been prone to when she began.
Making her way upstairs in the darkness, made her realise the twentieth century had not even entered the little towns heads. A competent union would have said ‘unsafe work practises’. But she knew the weak balding fat man who lead the union, who was prone to flop sweat and she was sure his ability to say more than five words in a row without fainting would eventually catch up to him. He agreed with everyone and everything, which undermined the needed power for the role. She once tested the theory by telling him, they needed to agree that kale tasted better than bacon. No red blooded human would, even vegans ran from the stuff, could agree to the statement. He had nodded his head in assurance. She pushed it even further by suggesting that perhaps the organisation should charge any workers claiming overtime, so it came out of their wages. He again nodded and said he’d bring it up at the next meeting. She waited to see if the murder investigation would be needed or if he would just leave suddenly and never be heard from again. But unfortunately it appeared that he just dismissed her remark to stop her talking. Well played wimp…
Sitting in her seat and turning on the computer in the dark office often made her ponder what a strange place she had found herself in. The people all had hidden backstabbing agendas but like in high school would only show an external ‘good guy’ or best friend image. It was like trying to infiltrate the popular table in the canteen, but these bullies were actually mimicking their own high school experiences, she could assume based on their horrible body types and less than sociable personalities. Revenge of the nerds was not what they were, as many of them could hold an intelligence contest with a wall and come up short. Maybe revenge of the awkward or gross, or simpletons? She wasn’t sure how to describe the horrible people she worked with.
As the lights began to splutter to life and made her eyes wince in pain, the second soreness to vision emerged, shouting a falsely jovial “Good morning!”
“Janet, hi. Shhh the cockerels are still asleep, let them slumber!” She admonished her. She looked at the what she thought of as office nosey aunt, who never understood how much she was detested. She had a bob cut greying hairstyle, which no one had told her had been discontinued in the nineties due to the designers realising they had been making fun of popular women for too long and they needed to pick something people would actually choose not only because icons had made the mistake of picking it. She was a squat woman. Her short figure not suiting the clinging pencil skirts or the trashy sequined covered tops she tried to say were in fashion. Honey, the last time sequins were in fashion was when everyone was hopped up on cocaine and ecstasy in the eighties. The time has past and we need to move on. We hide our drug habits now…
Anyway, this woman was very obviously a snitch to the boss. I had mentioned several gossip points and then somehow was being steered into the mans office every other day to see if he could get me to admit I had absconded with a 500kg printer without the numerous security cameras noticing me or had peed on a car in the parking lot. That one I do admit to, not to him, but honestly the pub across the streets bathrooms were full and I hated him, so peeing on his car seemed to be the best of two needs…
I often told the dim wit things that were so insane that I actually had to keep note of them. When he was obviously targeting me, I continued to get more wacky. The reason for this, was because he forgot that we have a very open floor plan and if he talks within the very small cubicle wall protecting him, did not make it a sound barrier!
He once told them, when they were laughing because he was trying to tell them I was stealing office supplies in my bra of all things! That I was trying to usurp his position. This was a much more serious charge, as it meant I had to be watched like a hawk in the office. We had the ever faithful Janet, then the poor country stooge and finally the car dealership salesman…
I’ll tell you all about them, but first thought I’d let you know why this career choice happened…
I got drunk!
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Stay tuned for Tuesday – Full of Grace – next week
