06;
Elizabeth
Work is tragic. I turn up late today. Again. I cannot focus. My Mobile keeps vibrating empty messages. Pauline, the temp girl, on the desk opposite, is irritatingly snappy this morning. She’s waving the latte sachet whilst humming show tunes - the telephone headset still on her neatly tied hair. I watch her pull a Minnie mouse mug out of her drawer and tap the contents of the packet into the mug.
Something must be wrong with my service provider, I’ll have to ring them later tonight, I think whilst slapping the keyboard with my hands frustrated. Pauline pours the hot water into the mug, and I pray for it to miss and scald her thin, delicate wrist. I cough in the hope it would make her jump. She’s only been here two weeks out of six, and already I want to chuck sharp objects at her head.
She’s that rare breed of person that enters your life far too often. As if God had put her here specifically to make you doubt yourself. Young, beautiful, always armed with an opinion or two. She worked in the office with Sam once or twice. He didn’t speak about her much - only that she creates a vacuum wherever she goes. She’s never held down a career, just temps continually around London, gossiping and insulting people - like a social parasite.
I can hear her tights rubbing between her knees as she walks over, fighting against her small pencil skirt.
“Hi Liz-” she smiles like she’s building up to a well prepared and rehearsed put down. “That’s a nasty cough you’ve got there” smiling wider. “Come to think of it, your eyes are quite sullen aren’t they? And you do look a bit grey. Bless…Sam been keeping you awake!?” Ouch. Right on the nose. I try and think of a witty response, while she stares at me expectantly.
“No no, I think I’m allergic to mornings” I laugh trying to hide my frustration.
“Right” she doesn’t laugh back, only elongate the word into a achingly loud silence. “That reminds me, your boss wants to see you in the office, hope it’s nothing too bad”. Smiling again, sickly sweet and full of spite, she walks off towards the main telesales office - I assume to go and insult more colleagues. Opening the door, a surge of noise and apathy fills our little office, and then is gone. I look through the small lengths of sound proof glass on the door and watch the employees, all expressionless and tired.
My phone sounds again. I watch it rattle across the desk in front of me and tumble into a pile of paperwork I’ve been trying to ignore. I need to sort out my phone tonight. 2 missed calls - withheld number. 3 messages. All blank.
I pray for it to miss and scald her thin, delicate wrist.
Work is tragic. I turn up late today. Again. I cannot focus. My Mobile keeps vibrating empty messages. Pauline, the temp girl, on the desk opposite, is irritatingly snappy this morning. She’s waving the latte sachet whilst humming show tunes - the telephone headset still on her neatly tied hair. I watch her pull a Minnie mouse mug out of her drawer and tap the contents of the packet into the mug.
Something must be wrong with my service provider, I’ll have to ring them later tonight, I think whilst slapping the keyboard with my hands frustrated. Pauline pours the hot water into the mug, and I pray for it to miss and scald her thin, delicate wrist. I cough in the hope it would make her jump. She’s only been here two weeks out of six, and already I want to chuck sharp objects at her head.
She’s that rare breed of person that enters your life far too often. As if God had put her here specifically to make you doubt yourself. Young, beautiful, always armed with an opinion or two. She worked in the office with Sam once or twice. He didn’t speak about her much - only that she creates a vacuum wherever she goes. She’s never held down a career, just temps continually around London, gossiping and insulting people - like a social parasite.
I can hear her tights rubbing between her knees as she walks over, fighting against her small pencil skirt.
“Hi Liz-” she smiles like she’s building up to a well prepared and rehearsed put down. “That’s a nasty cough you’ve got there” smiling wider. “Come to think of it, your eyes are quite sullen aren’t they? And you do look a bit grey. Bless…Sam been keeping you awake!?” Ouch. Right on the nose. I try and think of a witty response, while she stares at me expectantly.
“No no, I think I’m allergic to mornings” I laugh trying to hide my frustration.
“Right” she doesn’t laugh back, only elongate the word into a achingly loud silence. “That reminds me, your boss wants to see you in the office, hope it’s nothing too bad”. Smiling again, sickly sweet and full of spite, she walks off towards the main telesales office - I assume to go and insult more colleagues. Opening the door, a surge of noise and apathy fills our little office, and then is gone. I look through the small lengths of sound proof glass on the door and watch the employees, all expressionless and tired.
My phone sounds again. I watch it rattle across the desk in front of me and tumble into a pile of paperwork I’ve been trying to ignore. I need to sort out my phone tonight. 2 missed calls - withheld number. 3 messages. All blank.
I pray for it to miss and scald her thin, delicate wrist.