November 4, November 6?
The security guard at the reception desk in my work was giving me the hard eye through his cheap perspex visor. His mouth which was obscured by something black and panty-like was probably set in a grim line.
Go ahead, November 4!
An officious and self-important voice boomed from Knicker-Face's walkie-talkie.
I have a... BoomDawg here at reception. He claims to be one of yours?
Knicker-Face let go of the send button with that funny kriiick noise that walkie-talkies make and glowered at me as if I had presented him with a small fish made from plasticine.
I am not one of his. I work on the 6th floor. I have a 121 with my boss and it is all arranged. I just want to go upstairs. So can we hurry this up?
I hopped from foot to foot. I could practically feel the COVIDS seeping up from the floor into my shoes.
I wanted to be in and out with as little human contact as fast as possible.
November 4, this is November 6. We do not have a BoomDawg. I repeat. We do not have a BoomDawg!?
Knicker-Face took a step back in consternation. Beside him, some other nylon faced 'November' stood to his feet and motioned me backwards to a patch of floor with a yellow X daubed on it.
Oh for fuck sake guys. I fucking filled in the form on the intranet. It got approved. Just let me in the fucking door.
I whined like one of those dogs whose owner liked to rub their chest to get them erect then leave them hanging.
Knicker-Face AKA November 4 stepped forward with a clipboard.
You are not on the list. Therefore you couldn't have requested a slot via the intranet form. You will have to fill out this form and wait there.
He handed me the clipboard which had some weird bit of paper on it and a pen hanging by a piece of string.
Go...
He waved his hand at a yellow-painted circle surrounding a chair and small table.
Oh for fuck sake, man! Does it have to be this hard?!
I went over to the small table and quickly filled out my name and reason for visiting.
Here.
I returned to the reception desk and flipped the clipboard back to Knicker-Face.
He took it and grudgingly mumbled something inane into his walkie-talkie.
Nearby, a squinty-faced woman looked up from her keyboard.
Excuse me?! What is all the swearing? Swearing is not acceptable to any of our team. Who is your manager?
She wasn't wearing a mask and her face, which resembled a bullfrog eating a wasp was frowning at me as if I was attempting to cut her toenails with my penis.
I wondered if she slept in a perspex box at night?
Well?
She barked.
I looked at her contemptuously and fought down the urge to answer with Captain Fuckface.
My manager? Why do you want to know who my manager is?
I am going to inform them of your abusive behaviour toward our security staff who are performing an admirable job under conditions of extreme duress.
A long silence followed as we stared at each other. My stare, a thing of handsomosity. Hers, a curdling thing more suited to making butter than bringing into the workplace.
Knicker-Face's walkie-talkie burst into life.
November 1 here. What the fuck is going on down there? Is BoomDawg there? Tell Janice to send him fucking up. Fuck sake. I don't have all day?!
I looked at them smugly.
That's him. Bye.
I turned and sauntered in through the security gates.
