I arrive in the office at the ungodly hour of 7.30am. Mark is on the phone. He sees me and promptly hangs up. I think I just interupted his early morning phone sex. “Morning Jo, how was the traffic this morning?” chirps Mark in a cheery voice. I’m still half asleep and grunt something in return. I head to the kitchen for some caffeine. As my tea is brewing I begin emptying the dishwasher. There is like a million dishes in there. I half empty it and give up in disgust. It’s worse than cleaning up after Christmas day!
I head back to my desk and notice Mark is on the phone again. He sees me and promptly hangs up. There is a bit of de ja vu going on here. I rustle around in my drawers looking for some fruit that I stashed there yesterday. I load of fruit flies swarm out and the stench of rotten fruit makes me gag. A bit more rustling reveals a nectarine stashed right at the back. It looks like it may have been there since last year! I put it aside to stash in Thomas’s desk when he goes away for a whole month around Europe. That will teach him!
“Where’s that Thomas-M” annouces Mark for the 100th time this morning. “Gone to get a chart” I reply on auto-pilot. Thomas went out to buy a chart of the Milford Sounds once (he has a holiday house there) and ever since this has become a bit of an “in joke”. When someone asks where Thomas is – he has gone to buy a chart.
At 7.40am Brian wanders in. “Morning punkly” says Mark. “Don’t call me a cunt you fucken cunt” replies Brian. Mark then goes on to explain that he called him a punk – not a cunt. An argument erupts between the two of them that involves even more swearing. See what I have to put up with?
Evan arrives at 7:45am. “Are we doing the quiz today?” “No, because you guys are crap at it” says Mark. It’s true we are crap at it. Evan sits down at his desk in a huff. Thomas arrives at 7:50am. “Where have you been Thomas-M – you’re late!” says Mark.
Mark and Thomas start chatting about the cricket so I tune out and get on with my day checks which involves checking my email, facebook and the news. Antony (our boss) rocks in about lunchtime. It’s not really lunchtime – it’s just wishful thinking. It’s only 9.30am, but it feels like it should be time to go home already.
Mark takes a drink of his chocolate milk and gags, splutters and spits all over his monitor. That’s fucking coffee flavoured milk. Christine brought me the wrong milk. She’s trying to kill me. I can’t get that coffee flavour out of my mouth yuck yuck etc etc. This went on the next hour or so.
It’s now 11am. Antony is in a meeting, Mark is washing his mouth out and Thomas has gone to buy a chart. I am all alone and have run out of things to write about.
The End.