Post by incredibleminx on Jan 3, 2016 10:54:18 GMT -5
"Great," I rolled my eyes as I finally put my neatly arranged scruffy kashmir scarf around my neck, leather briefcase in hand, "Gonna be a long day," I thought as the gentle snap of the rusty door handle invited a stiff blast of frigid air into my porch. "Car keys, wallet....yep, house keys...yep," quietly does it, I don't want the neighbours thinking anything is untoward, "Ahh!" I belted out, "Bloody last month's reports!" I muttered angrily as I made my way back into my living room, still stinking of that half bottle of white I spilled last night craftily mixed with the pungency of a diet of takeaway pizza and kebabs, grabbed whatever bits of paper I could see on my desk in the corner and began to neatly stuff them into the case, making my way to the still-open door. "Right, double check," I ran my hands through my pockets and realised I was a about to be late.
The journey to work isn't really anything to talk about, a few hills to climb, nothing my trusty Mercedes couldn't manage. Last year's bonus I often wondered was the moment I finally got on top of this business, I could get rid of that rusty piece of Japanese crap and finally afford something with a bit of pizazz. There's always something that I notice though, the gearbox has always made strange noises since I had that drag race on Coombes Road about a month after buying it. "Another few corners to go," I thought as I changed the radio station from Magic FM to Radio 4, appearing intellectually engaged is what it's all about to my boss, who sometimes pulls up at the bank at the same time I do, he has to think I really care about anything but myself and all those ladies. It's all a big lie, my lifestyle is one of sloth and selfishness, those liberating Saturday nights up the Road in Newcastle being all I give a damn about. Nobody knows this at the bank, though, I think they're all in on it, just as lonely and bored as the rest of us just trying to make a quick buck along the way.
It always starts with the greetings, "Morning!" Darren chirped at Jamie, who in turn smiled and turned to Sandra "Hiya, looking forward to tonight?" She'd seen it all had Sandra, probably my only real friend in this branch, ever since I got transferred from the Leeds branch 15 years back. Three ex-husbands and still the time to study to be a the best auditor north of Birmingham. "Morning Mr. Johnson," I said firmly to the boss, "I see the situation in Lebanon isn't getting any better from what Naughtie was saying on the radio," confidently assuming he was listening to the last few minutes on Radio 4, "Why yes, young Bertie," he started, the lies often begin this early in the day - he knows I'm in my 50s, Johnson getting the appointment from his father at the tender age of 23, "I know what you mean, what a terrible world we live in - would you like to sponsor my trek to Peru and my skydiving marathon to raise money for that Polio charity in the Middle East, yeah?" A certain assertive coercion laced his every word "It is the season for giving after all!" "Yes, of course!" I always appear to lap up his every self-serving word, it's easier that way. I heard he sacked the old cleaner Mr. Baron over a "clash of personalities", when I know it was because he had had enough of his nonsense.
The clock ticks along merrily at its own lazy pace, my eyes meeting with Sandra's, a kind of yearning for togetherness and that 10:30AM coffee break, the click of Johnson's Italian leather shoes on the wood laminate floor break the rhythm, we all know we have to at least look like we're working at this point, the intensity of the tapping on keyboards momentarily increases...he's gone, phew, back to slowly putting the numbers in and taking the occasional phone call from a client, seldom calling any ourselves unless someone knew they had a bite. I felt a tap on my shoulder, I jumped up out of my chair, it was Johnson looking at me with an intense glare, "If I could have a moment?" he whispered, my heart began to race. "Yes sir," I said, striding confidently after him, feeling as though my entire stomach were about to burst with anxiety. The door clicked, the muffled leather soles making a faint impression on the carpet of Johnson's office, "Please, sit down," he beckoned with a smirk on his face. I pulled the Chesterfield back and planted myself, trying to not make my emotional maelstrom known, "I know you're been working on that sale of the old Barnes farmhouse over the other side of town for a fortnight now and are pretty close to sealing the deal, commission on the sale for the agent lucky enough to get that name on the dotted line," trying hard to read his face, I could only guess where this was going, "I want you to give a bit of a helping hand to the new boy Johnny, show him the ropes," he began to rise, stand behind his chair and look through the Venetian blinds overlooking the main street "Certainly sir," I proceeded with caution, "What would you have me do?", "I want you to introduce him to the Jennings pair who are looking to buy, hand over your case to him," I could barely believe what I was hearing, 2 months of my life were hanging on that case, a commission at just over £5,000 if the sale went through at the asking price, "Okay sir, do you think he's capable of dealing with that old curmudgeon?" I asked defensively, casting doubt on the new boy's ability, "It's not him I'm interested in," he paused, "It's her," "Sir?" I enquired, wringing my eyebrows half scornfully, "A little birdie tells me she's come into an inheritance, and we need an all out charm offensive here, no offence young Bertie," those words branding my very existence with the word "failure", "I just think we need a fresh approach on the rich oldies," I couldn't believe my ears. Months of trust between various rental and mortgage clients gone in an instant, all because little daddy's boy wants to play Napoloen with his ex-schoolmates, "Johnny's just got a certain way with...ladies, and believe you me he'll do anything to up a price." I was dumbfounded, I think my body just went into polite autopilot as I concluded the formalities and sat down at my desk. Luckily it was time for the coffee break and the ten minute retreat from this personal insult, a chance to flirt and catch-up with Sandra.
"So here it is, the day office Christmas party," I sighed at Sandra, the long-suffering co-worker, she looked at me with an understanding glint in her eye and realisation washing over that something wasn't right about the brief meeting with the boss, "Everything okay hun?" she smiled, she always knows how to cheer me up. "I just don't think I'm cut out for this game much longer," I said remorsefully, "It's all about looks these days, so you don't need to worry about your future here," I winked at her, “Well, thanks for the compliment,” she laughed, leaving behind her trademark red lipstick stain on her coffee cup. We began to dissipate back to our desks, taking our tepid, half drank coffees back to our desks.
“I really couldn’t care what that little shit wants to do with this place,” I ruminated, grinding my teeth as I updated the customer portfolio from today’s single measly sale of a collapsed barn, “This is it, it’s the long slide to alcoholism and a lonely death,” my face began to crease up, looking down at my keyboard as I did last night with that Riesling. “It’s okay, just get through today, keep going,” my face returning to normal, “I can’t let these fools really know how I feel,” a measured calm was restored, forcing myself to appear as though concentration on the job was all I cared about. I looked up at Sandra, our eyes briefly met, I chuckled a bit as my insides felt momentarily scrambled. “Flash car, no responsibilities, those brilliant weekends being what I should be,” a look of deep contentment started, a smirk. “I hope she thinks I look cool when I do that,” I worried to myself.
That’s how most of my days go at the office, just the hum-drum mixed with an emotional rollercoaster of wanting to get with Sandra, accounts executive who sits at the other end of the office, but today was that most hated day of all - the day of the office Christmas party. I had, in my meagre lunchbreak nipped outside to the second closest off-license to grab a few bottles of white to chill in the staff fridge, knowing from experience that 2 hours is usually long enough to chill a full bottle sufficiently. I had to get in there before that annoying Johnny character and his fake chum, my boss, had filled the fridge with crap alcopops.
Being the day of the office party, we finished at about 3PM instead of the usual 5:30PM, an extra 2 and a half hours to forget who I am, and to become what I *really* am. The manager’s door opened early, he clapped his hands with a great bang and started rubbing his uncalloused, smooth skin “Right, you lot! Down your tools and let’s get this party started!”, he never ceases to find ways to annoy me, this time yelling with all the cocksure arrogance of a narcissist. “My moment to shine, Mr Johnson!” I started first with the jubilations, the others soon followed. I made my way through the seven other bodies to make a beeline for Sandra, “Sandra, are you staying?” I looked her in the eye, gleaming with impish jocularity, “No, I’ve got to go take care of my neighbour’s cat tonight, she’s going out to the cinema,” she said with remorse. “Okay then, take care Sandra,” I leaned forward for our customary peck on the cheek before parting. “What a woman,” I thought as she packed what was left of her paperwork into her satchel, “Bye Bertie,” she whispered softly as she left.
Now, the stage was set for the great office prank that had seen me banished from the Leeds branch those 15 years ago and the very act that brings out the real me on all those boozy weekends with the others. “Won’t be staying tonight, chaps, got a few things to take care of before leaving though,” I beckoned towards the crowd, being virtually ignored “I left two bottles of vino in the fridge,” Mandy, the receptionist and Mr Johnson both waved and said goodbye. I left the office and raced towards Sandra in the car park, “We’re not all that different, you and me, Sandra,” I winked at her, “Bertie, we’re just friends, you know that,” she replied sternly, “Yes, yes I know all that, but please come and check this out,” I pointed at the boot of my car with an outstretched arm. As we approached, I said “Don’t be alarmed, it’s just a prank to get that little shit,” “What are you talking about now, Bertie?” she asked with a bright smile. I reached for the boot of the car, clunking open the mechanism, lifting the boot to reveal my penchant for dowdy dresses, long black wigs and stilettos “I’m sure you can leave the cat for a few more minutes, just help me get this on,” I said with a degree of urgency “Time is not on our side,” “Are you planning on...seducing and embarrassing the little twat?” she asked, chuckling quite loudly, “Bingo.”
“Just tell him that you’ll met him in his office in 20 minutes,” I made the plan clear to Sandra, “I need you to distract the others with a bit of horseplay after you flirt with him a bit,” “Okay, I really hope you know what you’re doing,” Sandra said apprehensively. I needn’t bore you with the details of the party, I have gotten the horrible image of what Sandra did as a distraction after half a bottle of wine out of my mind, all you needed to know was that I was ready and waiting in the manager’s office, poor little Johnson thought he was going to get his end away with the inebriated cougar herself.
The door opened, I placed my stilettoes on the desk and slinked one of them off, slowly crawling my toes up the silk deniers “Mr manager,” I purred in a husky, feminine voice, taking my shoes from the desk and slowly standing up, wiggling my hips as I rasped my fake nails along the desk “Little Sandy-wandy wants Mr Big Johnson, soon,” I was nearly by his side of the desk, “Just close the door and come in,” I put my chest out as much as possible, enticing the unsuspecting fool to his fall, “Yes ma’am,” the little cretin going more and more red by the moment, beads of sweat rolling across his brow. “I just need to...turn the lights off and lock the door, sugar,” I whispered in his ear, satisfyingly latching the door, “Did anybody see you come here?” I giggled, as though the thrill of getting caught were the intention, “No ma’am,” said the little boy shaking with nervous excitement, “I sent them all to the pub, we’re alone,” I clicked the light off and guided him to his chair, slowly undressing the young manager and tying him to his solid, red and supple Chesterfield chair with his own clothes and the handcuffs I had stashed in my bag. “Well, where should I start with a strong, young man like yourself?” I asked, a voluptuous lust in my voice washing over him like smoke rings billowing from a fine Cuban cigar. Silence. He had passed out. I think it was all too much for the preening little wanker. I made my escape and quickly rubbed all traces of the black lipstick from my mouth and any errant hairs that may have stuck to my person. Luckily I left some glue de-bonder in my desk, planned a week in advance. I knew there was no need to lock the door, he wasn’t going anywhere in the next 30 minutes.
As I got dressed and got ready to make my way to the King’s Head, the pub he often sends clients and staff alike to, I asked the party “Where’s Mr Johnson?” “No idea, maybe he’s still at the office?” chirped Mandy, evidently only speaking to me because I already provided half her drinking for free, “Maybe I should go and check if he’s still there?” she continued, “No, no! Don’t worry, I’ve still got my coat on, I’ll go see.” I said, as I pointed at her freshly made cocktail “It’s time to enjoy that,” I said, smiling.
I walked back to the bank, full of glee knowing that he would surely keep the good cases coming my way, with him believing Sandra left him in an embarrassing position, and that I would be the one to hold the “discovery” over him for the rest of his days.
Opening the door to his office and flicking on the light switch, I couldn’t help but laugh at the poor boy flailing around trying to shake loose his cuffs, he was crying by this point, knowing that he would likely be stuck there for the rest of the weekend had I not arrived “BERTIE!” he shrieked, going red in the face, “What are you doing here?! Don’t tell anyone!” he barked at me, finally whimpering, welling up as he commanded me to keep schtum. In fact it wasn’t a command, it was more of a plea. I knew at that point I had won the 2 year war of attrition, of being ground down, and the sweetest thing of all, he didn’t know it was me! I untied him and turned away as he got dressed, “Not a word to anyone, I promise,” I shook his hand firmly and looked at the pitiful distress in his eyes, “Not a word,” he choked back.
We made our way to the King’s Head, half in silence, and half me trying to cheer the now-blackmailed boss up, “Come on, don’t let on to anybody that I found you….in your delicates,” I said, almost churlishly, “Just say some bad family news story, people always believe those,” I sagely offered him the advice, trying to hide my deep satisfaction at the outcome. “Bertie, thank you,” he said, as we stopped at the threshold of the pub.
Lies and deceptions, just another day at the bank.
The journey to work isn't really anything to talk about, a few hills to climb, nothing my trusty Mercedes couldn't manage. Last year's bonus I often wondered was the moment I finally got on top of this business, I could get rid of that rusty piece of Japanese crap and finally afford something with a bit of pizazz. There's always something that I notice though, the gearbox has always made strange noises since I had that drag race on Coombes Road about a month after buying it. "Another few corners to go," I thought as I changed the radio station from Magic FM to Radio 4, appearing intellectually engaged is what it's all about to my boss, who sometimes pulls up at the bank at the same time I do, he has to think I really care about anything but myself and all those ladies. It's all a big lie, my lifestyle is one of sloth and selfishness, those liberating Saturday nights up the Road in Newcastle being all I give a damn about. Nobody knows this at the bank, though, I think they're all in on it, just as lonely and bored as the rest of us just trying to make a quick buck along the way.
It always starts with the greetings, "Morning!" Darren chirped at Jamie, who in turn smiled and turned to Sandra "Hiya, looking forward to tonight?" She'd seen it all had Sandra, probably my only real friend in this branch, ever since I got transferred from the Leeds branch 15 years back. Three ex-husbands and still the time to study to be a the best auditor north of Birmingham. "Morning Mr. Johnson," I said firmly to the boss, "I see the situation in Lebanon isn't getting any better from what Naughtie was saying on the radio," confidently assuming he was listening to the last few minutes on Radio 4, "Why yes, young Bertie," he started, the lies often begin this early in the day - he knows I'm in my 50s, Johnson getting the appointment from his father at the tender age of 23, "I know what you mean, what a terrible world we live in - would you like to sponsor my trek to Peru and my skydiving marathon to raise money for that Polio charity in the Middle East, yeah?" A certain assertive coercion laced his every word "It is the season for giving after all!" "Yes, of course!" I always appear to lap up his every self-serving word, it's easier that way. I heard he sacked the old cleaner Mr. Baron over a "clash of personalities", when I know it was because he had had enough of his nonsense.
The clock ticks along merrily at its own lazy pace, my eyes meeting with Sandra's, a kind of yearning for togetherness and that 10:30AM coffee break, the click of Johnson's Italian leather shoes on the wood laminate floor break the rhythm, we all know we have to at least look like we're working at this point, the intensity of the tapping on keyboards momentarily increases...he's gone, phew, back to slowly putting the numbers in and taking the occasional phone call from a client, seldom calling any ourselves unless someone knew they had a bite. I felt a tap on my shoulder, I jumped up out of my chair, it was Johnson looking at me with an intense glare, "If I could have a moment?" he whispered, my heart began to race. "Yes sir," I said, striding confidently after him, feeling as though my entire stomach were about to burst with anxiety. The door clicked, the muffled leather soles making a faint impression on the carpet of Johnson's office, "Please, sit down," he beckoned with a smirk on his face. I pulled the Chesterfield back and planted myself, trying to not make my emotional maelstrom known, "I know you're been working on that sale of the old Barnes farmhouse over the other side of town for a fortnight now and are pretty close to sealing the deal, commission on the sale for the agent lucky enough to get that name on the dotted line," trying hard to read his face, I could only guess where this was going, "I want you to give a bit of a helping hand to the new boy Johnny, show him the ropes," he began to rise, stand behind his chair and look through the Venetian blinds overlooking the main street "Certainly sir," I proceeded with caution, "What would you have me do?", "I want you to introduce him to the Jennings pair who are looking to buy, hand over your case to him," I could barely believe what I was hearing, 2 months of my life were hanging on that case, a commission at just over £5,000 if the sale went through at the asking price, "Okay sir, do you think he's capable of dealing with that old curmudgeon?" I asked defensively, casting doubt on the new boy's ability, "It's not him I'm interested in," he paused, "It's her," "Sir?" I enquired, wringing my eyebrows half scornfully, "A little birdie tells me she's come into an inheritance, and we need an all out charm offensive here, no offence young Bertie," those words branding my very existence with the word "failure", "I just think we need a fresh approach on the rich oldies," I couldn't believe my ears. Months of trust between various rental and mortgage clients gone in an instant, all because little daddy's boy wants to play Napoloen with his ex-schoolmates, "Johnny's just got a certain way with...ladies, and believe you me he'll do anything to up a price." I was dumbfounded, I think my body just went into polite autopilot as I concluded the formalities and sat down at my desk. Luckily it was time for the coffee break and the ten minute retreat from this personal insult, a chance to flirt and catch-up with Sandra.
"So here it is, the day office Christmas party," I sighed at Sandra, the long-suffering co-worker, she looked at me with an understanding glint in her eye and realisation washing over that something wasn't right about the brief meeting with the boss, "Everything okay hun?" she smiled, she always knows how to cheer me up. "I just don't think I'm cut out for this game much longer," I said remorsefully, "It's all about looks these days, so you don't need to worry about your future here," I winked at her, “Well, thanks for the compliment,” she laughed, leaving behind her trademark red lipstick stain on her coffee cup. We began to dissipate back to our desks, taking our tepid, half drank coffees back to our desks.
“I really couldn’t care what that little shit wants to do with this place,” I ruminated, grinding my teeth as I updated the customer portfolio from today’s single measly sale of a collapsed barn, “This is it, it’s the long slide to alcoholism and a lonely death,” my face began to crease up, looking down at my keyboard as I did last night with that Riesling. “It’s okay, just get through today, keep going,” my face returning to normal, “I can’t let these fools really know how I feel,” a measured calm was restored, forcing myself to appear as though concentration on the job was all I cared about. I looked up at Sandra, our eyes briefly met, I chuckled a bit as my insides felt momentarily scrambled. “Flash car, no responsibilities, those brilliant weekends being what I should be,” a look of deep contentment started, a smirk. “I hope she thinks I look cool when I do that,” I worried to myself.
That’s how most of my days go at the office, just the hum-drum mixed with an emotional rollercoaster of wanting to get with Sandra, accounts executive who sits at the other end of the office, but today was that most hated day of all - the day of the office Christmas party. I had, in my meagre lunchbreak nipped outside to the second closest off-license to grab a few bottles of white to chill in the staff fridge, knowing from experience that 2 hours is usually long enough to chill a full bottle sufficiently. I had to get in there before that annoying Johnny character and his fake chum, my boss, had filled the fridge with crap alcopops.
Being the day of the office party, we finished at about 3PM instead of the usual 5:30PM, an extra 2 and a half hours to forget who I am, and to become what I *really* am. The manager’s door opened early, he clapped his hands with a great bang and started rubbing his uncalloused, smooth skin “Right, you lot! Down your tools and let’s get this party started!”, he never ceases to find ways to annoy me, this time yelling with all the cocksure arrogance of a narcissist. “My moment to shine, Mr Johnson!” I started first with the jubilations, the others soon followed. I made my way through the seven other bodies to make a beeline for Sandra, “Sandra, are you staying?” I looked her in the eye, gleaming with impish jocularity, “No, I’ve got to go take care of my neighbour’s cat tonight, she’s going out to the cinema,” she said with remorse. “Okay then, take care Sandra,” I leaned forward for our customary peck on the cheek before parting. “What a woman,” I thought as she packed what was left of her paperwork into her satchel, “Bye Bertie,” she whispered softly as she left.
Now, the stage was set for the great office prank that had seen me banished from the Leeds branch those 15 years ago and the very act that brings out the real me on all those boozy weekends with the others. “Won’t be staying tonight, chaps, got a few things to take care of before leaving though,” I beckoned towards the crowd, being virtually ignored “I left two bottles of vino in the fridge,” Mandy, the receptionist and Mr Johnson both waved and said goodbye. I left the office and raced towards Sandra in the car park, “We’re not all that different, you and me, Sandra,” I winked at her, “Bertie, we’re just friends, you know that,” she replied sternly, “Yes, yes I know all that, but please come and check this out,” I pointed at the boot of my car with an outstretched arm. As we approached, I said “Don’t be alarmed, it’s just a prank to get that little shit,” “What are you talking about now, Bertie?” she asked with a bright smile. I reached for the boot of the car, clunking open the mechanism, lifting the boot to reveal my penchant for dowdy dresses, long black wigs and stilettos “I’m sure you can leave the cat for a few more minutes, just help me get this on,” I said with a degree of urgency “Time is not on our side,” “Are you planning on...seducing and embarrassing the little twat?” she asked, chuckling quite loudly, “Bingo.”
“Just tell him that you’ll met him in his office in 20 minutes,” I made the plan clear to Sandra, “I need you to distract the others with a bit of horseplay after you flirt with him a bit,” “Okay, I really hope you know what you’re doing,” Sandra said apprehensively. I needn’t bore you with the details of the party, I have gotten the horrible image of what Sandra did as a distraction after half a bottle of wine out of my mind, all you needed to know was that I was ready and waiting in the manager’s office, poor little Johnson thought he was going to get his end away with the inebriated cougar herself.
The door opened, I placed my stilettoes on the desk and slinked one of them off, slowly crawling my toes up the silk deniers “Mr manager,” I purred in a husky, feminine voice, taking my shoes from the desk and slowly standing up, wiggling my hips as I rasped my fake nails along the desk “Little Sandy-wandy wants Mr Big Johnson, soon,” I was nearly by his side of the desk, “Just close the door and come in,” I put my chest out as much as possible, enticing the unsuspecting fool to his fall, “Yes ma’am,” the little cretin going more and more red by the moment, beads of sweat rolling across his brow. “I just need to...turn the lights off and lock the door, sugar,” I whispered in his ear, satisfyingly latching the door, “Did anybody see you come here?” I giggled, as though the thrill of getting caught were the intention, “No ma’am,” said the little boy shaking with nervous excitement, “I sent them all to the pub, we’re alone,” I clicked the light off and guided him to his chair, slowly undressing the young manager and tying him to his solid, red and supple Chesterfield chair with his own clothes and the handcuffs I had stashed in my bag. “Well, where should I start with a strong, young man like yourself?” I asked, a voluptuous lust in my voice washing over him like smoke rings billowing from a fine Cuban cigar. Silence. He had passed out. I think it was all too much for the preening little wanker. I made my escape and quickly rubbed all traces of the black lipstick from my mouth and any errant hairs that may have stuck to my person. Luckily I left some glue de-bonder in my desk, planned a week in advance. I knew there was no need to lock the door, he wasn’t going anywhere in the next 30 minutes.
As I got dressed and got ready to make my way to the King’s Head, the pub he often sends clients and staff alike to, I asked the party “Where’s Mr Johnson?” “No idea, maybe he’s still at the office?” chirped Mandy, evidently only speaking to me because I already provided half her drinking for free, “Maybe I should go and check if he’s still there?” she continued, “No, no! Don’t worry, I’ve still got my coat on, I’ll go see.” I said, as I pointed at her freshly made cocktail “It’s time to enjoy that,” I said, smiling.
I walked back to the bank, full of glee knowing that he would surely keep the good cases coming my way, with him believing Sandra left him in an embarrassing position, and that I would be the one to hold the “discovery” over him for the rest of his days.
Opening the door to his office and flicking on the light switch, I couldn’t help but laugh at the poor boy flailing around trying to shake loose his cuffs, he was crying by this point, knowing that he would likely be stuck there for the rest of the weekend had I not arrived “BERTIE!” he shrieked, going red in the face, “What are you doing here?! Don’t tell anyone!” he barked at me, finally whimpering, welling up as he commanded me to keep schtum. In fact it wasn’t a command, it was more of a plea. I knew at that point I had won the 2 year war of attrition, of being ground down, and the sweetest thing of all, he didn’t know it was me! I untied him and turned away as he got dressed, “Not a word to anyone, I promise,” I shook his hand firmly and looked at the pitiful distress in his eyes, “Not a word,” he choked back.
We made our way to the King’s Head, half in silence, and half me trying to cheer the now-blackmailed boss up, “Come on, don’t let on to anybody that I found you….in your delicates,” I said, almost churlishly, “Just say some bad family news story, people always believe those,” I sagely offered him the advice, trying to hide my deep satisfaction at the outcome. “Bertie, thank you,” he said, as we stopped at the threshold of the pub.
Lies and deceptions, just another day at the bank.
