Friday afternoons in the office are like one of those sci fi films where a mysterious illness (in this case called seniority) has stuck down the rest of the population, but left some unwitting survivors toiling away at their desks who missed the bolt of lightening, or the toxic rain, or whatever... The place is deserted. No cats, fat or otherwise (unless you count me, and though I rank pretty high both on the scales and in terms of service, in terms of authority, I'm pretty slim) and several mice. And you know what mice are supposed to do when the cat's away? That's right, poop all over the desks and sprinkle incontinently wherever they roam. In fact the real mice do that in the office whether the Boss Cats are here or not. We worker mice, however, well we're a tad more fastidious. We do a lot of slow strolling between one office and the others. Generally some communal food appears. There is a surge in tea and coffee making activity, and 'what are you doing at the weekends?' crop up as the question du jour. There are late starts, and early coffee breaks, there are little jaunts to the coffee shop to buy the lattes which we have to work about the twenty minutes it takes to get them, to earn enough to buy them. There are long lunches and I believe the wine often comes out at around 4, though by then I'm long gone, on my 'early' finish.
Currently there is not a sound in the office. Not a tap on a keyboard, just the whirring of the fan which is bringing me home from the Island of Menopause to the City of Normal. With everyone but me gone for lunch I'm beginning to wonder if everyone is dead, and I'm the only one left. Just think. I could wear trackies all the time and eat bread again, get stupendously fat. It actually doesn't sound like such a bad result. End of civilization? - bring on the buttered toast. And annihilation would surely be only a fitting result for all those who are mysteriously and continuously busy 'working' at home on the days the rest of us carry on without them. That's what I'd call Karma.
As well as my sister in law. Well, because that's her name.
Currently there is not a sound in the office. Not a tap on a keyboard, just the whirring of the fan which is bringing me home from the Island of Menopause to the City of Normal. With everyone but me gone for lunch I'm beginning to wonder if everyone is dead, and I'm the only one left. Just think. I could wear trackies all the time and eat bread again, get stupendously fat. It actually doesn't sound like such a bad result. End of civilization? - bring on the buttered toast. And annihilation would surely be only a fitting result for all those who are mysteriously and continuously busy 'working' at home on the days the rest of us carry on without them. That's what I'd call Karma.
As well as my sister in law. Well, because that's her name.
