We Sailed Down To Ground

Tonight, the lift doors opened to reveal Champagne Sally, the head of HR, or should I say the Director of People & Development, standing inside, with her menopausal henna dye job and her brown smock dress valiantly trying to cover her expanding arse, chatting to who, I can only assume, was a senior lawyer, as Champagne Sally wouldn't be talking to any lesser mortal.

Damn! I thought. I hadn't seen the old political dinosaur since that meeting with the Anorexic Bitch at the end of last year, where she babbled her double talk with ease, no logic or reason to interrupt her. I didn't particularly want to talk to her as I headed home.

I made an open mouth at her, and she did the same to me – fake fake, fake fake – and then I turned my back on her and let her get on with her politics… talking with someone, thankfully, more important than me.

Now, my favourite co-worker just happened to get into the lift too. Funny Beth. She's whack and I love her for it.

I pushed the doors closed button and we sailed off to ground. At that time of night, it is a small miracle that it wasn't stopping all stops.

"You have the magic touch," said Beth.

I gazed at her. She smiled. Oh, please don't make me talk with Cruella Slagfest behind me. I glanced up at the floor indicator impatiently, some may say desperately, but it still wasn't saying "ground." We were still in the "express zone."

"So they say," I replied.

I heard Champagne Sally make a reproachful "oh" behind me, not unlike a Dame Edna accusatory throat clear. She sounds like a drag queen at the best of times, let me tell you. "Oh Christian...” Too many fags. Nasty laugh. Too much time spent on the yacht, drunk. “One person said that!" Laugh.

I assume she meant Beth?

I wanted to say, Why don’t you shut your nasty mouth! Could you imagine? Where would my job be after that? (Dame Edna type laugh) It would, almost, be worth it just to see that momentary look on her over made up gob. But, the lift doors opened and off I sailed, out first ahead of the women – well, we’re all equals now a days, aren’t we? – without a glance back, or a further remark.

Cow! She's looking very Bris-Vegas now a days.

What exactly did she mean? I hit the front doors. I could see them all reflected in various bits of chrome building trim trailing behind me - Picasso'esque nightmare. Was that a professional dig at me? Corporately, I don't have the magic touch? I think that's exactly what she meant.

It was a warm night, I slipped out into it and all of "that" floated from my back.