Remember Me?
Page 53
“Hi, Clare!” I say in my most friendly, warm manner, and perch on the corner of her desk. “Everything okay?” “Um... yes.” Her eyes are wide and wary. “I just wondered if you'd like me to get you a coffee?” “You?” She stares as though suspecting a trick. “Get me a coffee?”
“Yes! Why not?” I beam, and she flinches. “It's...it's okay.” She slides out of her chair, her eyes fixed on me as though she thinks I really am a cobra. “I'll get one.” “Wait!” I say almost desperately. “You know, Clare, I'd like to get to know you better. Maybe one day we could have lunch together... hang out... go shopping...” Clare looks even more pole-?axed than before. “Um...yeah. Okay, Lexi,” she mumbles, and scuttles down the corridor. I turn to see Byron still in the doorway, cracking up. “What?” I snap. “You really are a different person, aren't you?” He raises his eyebrows in wonder. “Maybe I just want to be friendly with my staff and treat them with respect,” I say defiantly. “Anything wrong with that?” “No!” Byron lifts his hands. “Lexi, that's a great idea.” He runs his eyes over me, that sarcastic smile still at his lips, then clicks his tongue as though remembering something. “That reminds me. Before I shoot off, there's one thing I left for you to deal with as director of the department. I thought it only right.” At last. He's treating me like the boss. “Oh, yes?” I lift my chin. “What is it?” “We've had an e-?mail from on high about people abusing lunch hours.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a 216 piece of paper. “SJ wants all directors to give their teams a bollocking. Today, preferably.” Byron raises his eyebrows innocently. “Can I leave that one to you?” Bastard. Bastard. I'm pacing about my office, sipping my coffee, my stomach churning with nerves. I've never told anyone off before. Let alone a whole department. Let alone while simultaneously trying to prove that I'm really friendly and not a bitch-?boss-?from-?hell. I look yet again at the printed-?out e-?mail from Natasha, Simon Johnson's personal assistant.
Colleagues. It has come to Simon's attention that members of staff are regularly pushing the limit of lunchtime well beyond the standard hour. This is unacceptable. He would be grateful if you could make this plain to your teams ASAP, and enforce a stricter policy of checks.
Thanks. Natasha Okay. The point is, it doesn't actually say “give your department a bollocking.” I don't need to be aggressive or anything. I can make the point while still being pleasant. Maybe I can be all jokey and friendly! I'll start off, “Hey, guys! Are your lunch hours long enough?” I'll roll my eyes to show I'm being ironic and everyone will laugh, and someone will say, “Is there a problem, Lexi?” And I'll smile ruefully and say, “It's not me, it's the stuffed shirts upstairs. So let's just try and make it back on time, yeah?” And a few people will nod as though to say “fair enough.” And it'll all be fine.
Yes. That sounds good. Taking a deep breath, I fold the paper and put it away in my pocket, then head out of my office, into the open-?plan main Flooring office. There's the chatter and buzz of people on the phone and typing and chatting to each other. For about a minute no one even notices me. Then Fi looks up and nudges Carolyn, and she prods a girl I don't recognize, who brings her phone conversation to an end. Around the room, receivers go down and people look up from their screens and chairs swivel around, until gradually the whole office has come to a standstill. “Hi, everyone!” I say, my face prickling. “ I . . . u m . .. Hey, guys! How's it going?” No one replies, or even acknowledges that I've spoken. They're all just staring up with the same mute, get-?on-?withit expression. “Anyway!” I try to sound bright and cheerful. “I just wanted to say... Are your lunch hours long enough?” “What?” The girl at my old desk looks blank. “Are we allowed longer ones?” “No!” I say hurriedly. “I mean... they're too long.” “I think they're fine.” She shrugs. “An hour's just right for a bit of shopping.”
“Yeah,” agrees another girl. “You can just make it to the King's Road and back.” Okay, I am really not getting my point across here. And now two girls in the corner have started talking again. “Listen, everyone! Please!” My voice is becoming shrill. “I have to tell you something. About lunch hours. Some people in the company...um...I mean, not necessarily any of you”
“Lexi,” says Carolyn clearly. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Fi and Debs explode with laughter and my face flames with color. 218 “Look, guys,” I try to keep my composure. “This is serious.” “Seriousssss,” someone echoes, and there are sniggers about the room. “It's sssseriousssss.” “Very funny!” I try to smile. “But listen, seriously...” “Sssseriousssly...” Now almost everyone in the room seems to be hissing or laughing or both. All the faces are alive; everyone's enjoying the joke, except me. All of a sudden a paper airplane flies past my ear and lands on the floor. I jump with shock and the entire office erupts with gales of laughter. “Okay, well, look, just don't take too long over lunch, okay?” I say desperately. No one's listening. Another paper airplane hits me on the nose, followed by an eraser. In spite of myself, tears spring to my eyes. “Anyway, I'll see you guys!” I manage. “Thanks for... for all your hard work.” With laughter following me I turn and stumble out of the office. In a daze, I head toward the ladies' room, passing Dana on the way. “Going to the bathroom, Lexi?” she says in surprise as I'm pushing my way in. “You know, you have a key to the executive washroom! Much nicer!” “I'm fine in here.” I force a smile. “Really.” I head straight for the end cubicle, slam the door shut, and sink down with my head in my hands, feeling the tension drain from my body. That was the single most humiliating experience of my life. Except for the white swimsuit episode.
“Yes! Why not?” I beam, and she flinches. “It's...it's okay.” She slides out of her chair, her eyes fixed on me as though she thinks I really am a cobra. “I'll get one.” “Wait!” I say almost desperately. “You know, Clare, I'd like to get to know you better. Maybe one day we could have lunch together... hang out... go shopping...” Clare looks even more pole-?axed than before. “Um...yeah. Okay, Lexi,” she mumbles, and scuttles down the corridor. I turn to see Byron still in the doorway, cracking up. “What?” I snap. “You really are a different person, aren't you?” He raises his eyebrows in wonder. “Maybe I just want to be friendly with my staff and treat them with respect,” I say defiantly. “Anything wrong with that?” “No!” Byron lifts his hands. “Lexi, that's a great idea.” He runs his eyes over me, that sarcastic smile still at his lips, then clicks his tongue as though remembering something. “That reminds me. Before I shoot off, there's one thing I left for you to deal with as director of the department. I thought it only right.” At last. He's treating me like the boss. “Oh, yes?” I lift my chin. “What is it?” “We've had an e-?mail from on high about people abusing lunch hours.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a 216 piece of paper. “SJ wants all directors to give their teams a bollocking. Today, preferably.” Byron raises his eyebrows innocently. “Can I leave that one to you?” Bastard. Bastard. I'm pacing about my office, sipping my coffee, my stomach churning with nerves. I've never told anyone off before. Let alone a whole department. Let alone while simultaneously trying to prove that I'm really friendly and not a bitch-?boss-?from-?hell. I look yet again at the printed-?out e-?mail from Natasha, Simon Johnson's personal assistant.
Colleagues. It has come to Simon's attention that members of staff are regularly pushing the limit of lunchtime well beyond the standard hour. This is unacceptable. He would be grateful if you could make this plain to your teams ASAP, and enforce a stricter policy of checks.
Thanks. Natasha Okay. The point is, it doesn't actually say “give your department a bollocking.” I don't need to be aggressive or anything. I can make the point while still being pleasant. Maybe I can be all jokey and friendly! I'll start off, “Hey, guys! Are your lunch hours long enough?” I'll roll my eyes to show I'm being ironic and everyone will laugh, and someone will say, “Is there a problem, Lexi?” And I'll smile ruefully and say, “It's not me, it's the stuffed shirts upstairs. So let's just try and make it back on time, yeah?” And a few people will nod as though to say “fair enough.” And it'll all be fine.
Yes. That sounds good. Taking a deep breath, I fold the paper and put it away in my pocket, then head out of my office, into the open-?plan main Flooring office. There's the chatter and buzz of people on the phone and typing and chatting to each other. For about a minute no one even notices me. Then Fi looks up and nudges Carolyn, and she prods a girl I don't recognize, who brings her phone conversation to an end. Around the room, receivers go down and people look up from their screens and chairs swivel around, until gradually the whole office has come to a standstill. “Hi, everyone!” I say, my face prickling. “ I . . . u m . .. Hey, guys! How's it going?” No one replies, or even acknowledges that I've spoken. They're all just staring up with the same mute, get-?on-?withit expression. “Anyway!” I try to sound bright and cheerful. “I just wanted to say... Are your lunch hours long enough?” “What?” The girl at my old desk looks blank. “Are we allowed longer ones?” “No!” I say hurriedly. “I mean... they're too long.” “I think they're fine.” She shrugs. “An hour's just right for a bit of shopping.”
“Yeah,” agrees another girl. “You can just make it to the King's Road and back.” Okay, I am really not getting my point across here. And now two girls in the corner have started talking again. “Listen, everyone! Please!” My voice is becoming shrill. “I have to tell you something. About lunch hours. Some people in the company...um...I mean, not necessarily any of you”
“Lexi,” says Carolyn clearly. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Fi and Debs explode with laughter and my face flames with color. 218 “Look, guys,” I try to keep my composure. “This is serious.” “Seriousssss,” someone echoes, and there are sniggers about the room. “It's sssseriousssss.” “Very funny!” I try to smile. “But listen, seriously...” “Sssseriousssly...” Now almost everyone in the room seems to be hissing or laughing or both. All the faces are alive; everyone's enjoying the joke, except me. All of a sudden a paper airplane flies past my ear and lands on the floor. I jump with shock and the entire office erupts with gales of laughter. “Okay, well, look, just don't take too long over lunch, okay?” I say desperately. No one's listening. Another paper airplane hits me on the nose, followed by an eraser. In spite of myself, tears spring to my eyes. “Anyway, I'll see you guys!” I manage. “Thanks for... for all your hard work.” With laughter following me I turn and stumble out of the office. In a daze, I head toward the ladies' room, passing Dana on the way. “Going to the bathroom, Lexi?” she says in surprise as I'm pushing my way in. “You know, you have a key to the executive washroom! Much nicer!” “I'm fine in here.” I force a smile. “Really.” I head straight for the end cubicle, slam the door shut, and sink down with my head in my hands, feeling the tension drain from my body. That was the single most humiliating experience of my life. Except for the white swimsuit episode.
