Monday, August 24, 2015

The Texting Queen Makes An Appearance

I got to work just before 8am. Oh, what Days-of-Our-lives saga were we going to enjoy this week? Were the titans of my working world going to make an appearance? Or were they still in their corners licking their wounds?

I almost felt a buzz of excitement as I strode towards the building. It was a glorious morning, he sun always makes a difference, and the velvety green of the grass in the morning sun always edifying.

Kirin came in, although I knew that, she'd text me, she is the texting queen, after all. So am I, of course. It is something we have in common, we let our fingers do the talking. (It is the only way to have an intelligent conversation with some people)

I wondered if Fatty Cake was going to come in, if she did, we'd have no where for Arthur. 


Kirin had an appointment with Fran Di Dio at 8am, the head of HR who floats about the company like all good HR directors do, giving the impression of being an air-head mated with an Ice Queen. The linage is the same, or is that genetics? Am I talking genealogy  or DNA? It certainly takes a certain type, that is for sure. But is it nature, or nurture? Who can say? Kirin was quite nervous beforehand, which is unusual for her, she is usually quite confident, in a bull and china shop kind of style.

I got stuck into the work, I had a lot to do. A mountain still had to be climbed. A Trash Vortex of paperwork had to be dealt with.

Kirin didn’t say anything to me when she got back. I didn’t ask. She was kind of quiet, slipping back to her desk all business as usual. I couldn't read her. Had it gone well? Was she covering up well? I didn't know.
9am. Fatty Cake wasn’t coming in. Still suffering from the flu/gastro/kidney failure/pneumonia, or whatever the truth just happens to be.

I told Kirin that Arthur was an odd little fellow. Her eyes sprang open, she looked worried and asked if his name was (previous problem temp's name)

“No, it is Arthur.” 


She looked relived. "I couldn't have put up with that complication, not today."

A bit later, sometime around 9.30am I hear Kirin chuckle and say,

“Oh, I think your temp is here,” she said, “As here comes an odd little fellow.” She kind of chuckled again.

That will be him, I thought. Arfur. I wanted to say it out loud in a yorky accent. Arfur. I wizened up little hunch back with a combover. He'd have looked more at home ringing bells, I am sure.

He slipped in, muttered something about the morning, I can only assume he meant good, then he got working, in his quiet style. 

Kirin raised her eyebrows. I raised my eyebrows in response. I said to Kirin earlier that he didn't say much. Of course, I'd have been complaining if there'd have been much yap coming from his side of the office too. The poor little bugger couldn't win really.

In the afternoon, when Arfur was off on one of his inordinately long toilet stops - I'm not sure if he had a colostomy bag to attend to, or what - Kirin stood up with her password note book under her arm and said mysteriously, “If anything should happen…”

It was like that (attention seeking) video of Pauline Hanson wrapped in the Australian flag, “If you are watching this, I am dead.” (of course, we wish the idiot red head dead, but let's not get sidetracked) There was a hint of it. I felt nervous energy slide up my spine. I thought she was going to tell me something I didn’t know, some truth, some truth about this morning’s meeting that I didn’t know. She was making some admission? Was she leaving.

“I’d take this, if…,” she said. She tapped the book on the edge as though it was something precious. “Oh, no… never mind.”

What? What? What are you saying?

Nothing. She looked tired, the strain was beginning to show. I reckon she should have gone to the doctor and got more time off. She could have followed it up with a workcover claim. Why not? The new corporate frontier, everybody is out for themselves. It's a truth.

We worked late, the two of us.

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