Phew! Another Monday over. The boss was in a foul mood for most of the morning, which managed to compound my hatred for this day of the week. Doesn’t she realize we’d ALL have rather stayed in bed this morning? Especially with the prospect of working under her permanent PMT-cloud. As if none of us have periods…
I had a particularly annoying client today. Not only did he smell of onions (rotten ones), but he kept staring at my bust in an attempt to have a conversation with it. It completely put me off the whole meeting.
“So, how can you convince me that advertising with your agency will benefit my business?” he asked my left breast. She didn’t feel like talking so I took the initiative.
Restraining myself from reaching across the desk and smacking him, I calmly replied, “I think our large client base speaks for itself. We have carried out many successful campaigns for individuals and companies alike, and we have associate companies all over the world.”
“Yes, I see…” he concurred with my right breast. No response there either.
I ended the meeting as quickly as I could without losing the contract. Thanks to my boobs, safely and decently covered by my shirt, he signed on the dotted line.
Just when I was beginning to think it never would, lunchtime rolled around. Gathering my mobile and my handbag, I started to shut down my computer when a shadow fell across my desk. I looked up. It was the boss.
“Oh, you weren’t about to go for lunch, were you?” she asked innocently, tapping a perfectly manicured nail on the desk.
What did she think I was doing, at that time of the day with my handbag in tow? Moving to sit on the other side of the desk, just for fun? For my health, perhaps?
“Actually, I…” I started. I was not about to lose another lunch break to this woman.
“Because,” she interrupted, twirling a lock of her synthetic hair round a finger, “I wanted you to look through some of the reports our new recruits just handed in. I know you have a very analytical eye, so…” she smiled artificially. I stared at her blankly. She continued.
“Shall I call the messenger? Maybe you can send him for something. Anyway, here are a few of the reports”, she said, dumping a full Lever Arch file on my desk. “I’ll need them back first thing in the morning. Meanwhile I have to run because I’m meeting Mr Katende for lunch to discuss the campaign budget. Enjoy your lunch!” She breezed out of the office, leaving her perfume hanging in the air.
Campaign budget?! Yeah, right. Everyone knew she was sleeping with him. I put down my handbag, took off my jacket, gritted my teeth and got down to work. And for the millionth time, wondered how long I’d spend in jail if I murdered my boss and pleaded insanity due to over-work.
I finished work at 6.30pm. I never did send Robert (the messenger) because, guess what? Like most normal people (i.e those who don’t work for my boss), he too had gone for lunch. My empty stomach had complained noisily for the rest of the day.
I finally reached home at 8.30pm. What with the jam, and the stupid boda-boda guy who broke my mirror, I guess I should be grateful for small mercies. After a quick shower and a sandwich, I fell into bed. My sleep was peppered with weird dreams, one of which involved chasing my boss around the office, whacking her over the head with a giant Lever Arch file.
I woke up with a huge grin on my face, ready to tackle the rest of the week.