A day at the office
Ancient Zymergy: Being a summary of the art of brewing as practiced before the Common Era. I looked at the tome that lay on my desk in horror. This was not what I was expecting after only a week in the job. I glanced, as surreptitiously as possible at the other chaps. Every bally one of them was head down and scribbling furiously, like they were shells doing prep under the eye of some steely-eyed beak. None of this lot would know anything about that of course, and if pater hadn’t gambled on the stock-exchange, I would still be a paid up member of the Drones Club. Still, at least I managed to get my sheepskin whilst I was up at Oxford, which, in a roundabout way, led to my current malediction.
Sighing, I picked up my pen, offered a prayer to any saints that might be passing, and, with only a little reticence, carried out my allotted tasks. I will admit to some wandering thoughts towards my Tutor at Oxford, who would have appreciated the irony implicit in the title of the book. All the while, I was sure that I was the butt of some practical joke. It was probably that yaffle of a country bumpkin, that I’d inadvertently bumped into as he was kissing a girl (rather energetically, it must be said), as she was handing him a piece of quiche for his lunch.
I knew I would rue the day I came to this office. If there was a way of telling him that I had no interest in his girl (even if she was uncommonly pretty) or his victuals, I would do so in a heartbeat. Glumly, I moved the book from one pile on my desk to another, and picked up the next title.
I looked at the new title again. I rubbed my eyes and re-read it. Surely someone must be having a joke at my expense: before me lay ‘Converting Xysti, or new uses for unwanted porticos’.
©David Jesson, 2017
The Uncomfortable Whistle-Blower
Mandy walked out of the office with studied care. “It would be just my luck if that big bundle of xeroxed pages stuffed under my tights starts to rustle as I go through security.” Focusing on smiling brightly, she kept her thoughts to herself: “This whistle-blowing malarkey is really not quite my style, but … this latest enfringement … the world simply has to be told”.
Feeling she could expire from fear, Mandy hurried to the the coffee shop rendezvous and headed straight for the ladies. With the door safely shut behind her, she wriggled around until the bundle of papers was out. Bending to rummage in her backpack, she found the yellow ziplock bag Jim had given her last night, shoved the bundle inside, before zipping it tightly shut. Then carefully removing the cistern lid, she placed the yellow bag inside, shut the lid, and breathed. It was done.
“Phew!” Now she just had to wait for the violent shaking to subside and she could go enjoy her cappuccino with Jim.
©Debra Carey, 2017