The Office Bitch

I couldn't really see what there was to be offended by. It was just a question. Kate couldn't really explain what it was that she was offended by. She said something about not liking the tone of my email. She said that I should "soften" it. Tone and softening are such nebulous terms to use.

Essentially, she just kept telling me that she was offended, she seemed so determined to be offended.

Some might say, had an eye for it. Others might say, she was making a great ta-do over nothing. I suspect she had been told what to look for. Worded up, one might say. So I was, really, none the wiser, after her call, to what it was that she was offended by.

I know I’ve been spoken to for my emails, I’m blunt, I know. But not since Kate’s been here. She’s been speaking with the white ants, they are still around. Who’s watching you, says the ATM. It’s all true. Still, I wouldn’t have thought Kate could risk lying down with dogs.

After I had apologised twice, I just stopped talking. An embarrassing silence fell between us. That got her off the phone.
Don’t bother me pest.

I did the only thing left for me to do, I made a doll of her and stuck pins in its eyes, as the fire burned and the herbs wafted. I left it hanging from a noose from the rafters, after I had finished.

I saw Kate, this morning, she was complaining of a sore neck. Perhaps it was the way you slept, I said. That's ironic, I thought, usually she is just a pain in mine.

Corn-dollies are best, they burn better than anything. A bit of a problem, granted, if you are not intending to burn your quarry.
I decided on the old see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil, routine. I was tempted to go for the rush-of-thrush incantation, but, quite frankly, thinking about Kate's nether regions gave me pain where I wanted only pleasure. Besides, watching her clutching at her knickers all day may just have been too much for me.
The ice-spike tempted me, but eyeballs suddenly on sharp, crystal prisms, jutting out from the forehead region, is always a shock, even if you are expecting it. Not that discreet. It could have improved her looks.
I decided just to go for the old favourite, in the end. It affects people differently. I was eagerly at my desk in the morning to see how it affected Kate bark-like-a-dog.

Kate was suffering laryngitis, she said she had an ear-ache and I saw her bump into the wall between my office and hers several times. I had to really stymie my laughter when she appeared to knock her shin, on the portable filing cabinet, she does insist on keeping in the most inconvenient place, just outside my office door. I thought I even heard it. (But that may have just been wishful thinking. Always going for the jackpot) Bugger! That's got to hurt, I thought. I tiny yelp of a laugh escaped from me, as she did it, causing her to spin her head around in my direction, squinting noticeably. If it had spun around completely, I wouldn't have been surprised. I mean, I've already watched her spew green bile over employees, when they displease her. Not bad for an HR manager, huh? She's as about as touchy feely as a sea anemone. Busy building castles to their own importance, blinding everyone to their incompetence. The staff are just superfluous.

Getting a strand of hair was easy, as she malts like the dog she is. Getting something that was special to her, was easy too. The only photo she had of her beloved grandmother that she kept on her desk, in my brief case with just a single hand movement, as I left the office.

Rumour has it, that when she works late, she gets down on the floor and rubs her snatch across the carpet like a dog. The only satisfaction she would ever get, I'm sure. Now I can’t vouch for that being true, but I can vouch for myself having spread it around.

She gets loud and inexcusably boring, when she’s had a few drinks and wants to be buddies with everyone and show her mastectomy scar around. She always makes a fool of herself. She always touches me and tells me I’m her best buddy. She calls me Chris, which she knows I hate, in away that comes out all breathy and makes me want to retch. Fond of a hug, is our Kate once she’s had a few. (35, single, plain, still calls herself miss. You get the picture) Now there’s a fucking laugh. After a few. Party girl. Confidant. Jesus!
Let’s just say that her cunt would turn into a baboon's arse the minute any man showed interest in her.
She always manages to forget, when the alcohol has worn off.

It’s sad, we plan Friday night drinks in whispers, so she doesn’t hear. Technically illegal under discrimination law. We design houses, we're not lawyers.

She can’t go tonight, though. Sore throat, blocked ears, you’re coming down with a cold, Kate. Best you go home.