My best mate at work is Shirley.
She is my assistant, which loosely speaking, means she works for me, although my needs come way down at the bottom of the food chain if someone else needs some help from her. But that’s okay, her main contribution is to keep me sane in the ‘asylum’ we call work.
She makes me laugh, and that’s the greatest gift of all. And to be perfectly honest, she also nags me – but I accept that because I’ve grown to realise I’m the sort of person who invites that reaction. I must give the impression that my life is hopelessly beyond my control.
Sadly, she only works 2 days a week – and those days are not particularly well defined. That is to say, they’re defined well enough for Shirley, but I seldom know when I’m likely to see her again. Often, the phone rings on the morning I’m anticipating her welcome arrival, and it’s Shirley telling me the lady from the cat rescue home is coming round to ‘vet’ her suitability to adopt kittens, or some such valid reason for not making it in.
None of that’s a problem to me.
Anyway, today the phone rings and it’s her. “David, I’m in the car park and I’m stuck”.
Well, that’s a relief; at least she’s here…
“ I’ve got the heel of my shoe stuck in the dashboard, and I can’t get it out”.
Nothing about Shirley surprises me, but I struggled to anticipate the scene that would greet me as I made my way downstairs.
Indeed, her heel was stuck, but at a much reduced elevation than my mind had conjured up. It was stuck at floor level but seriously jammed into the centre console.
How she’d achieved this feat I’m not sure, but naturally, I released her. It had made my day. As I said, Shirley makes me laugh.
She is my assistant, which loosely speaking, means she works for me, although my needs come way down at the bottom of the food chain if someone else needs some help from her. But that’s okay, her main contribution is to keep me sane in the ‘asylum’ we call work.
She makes me laugh, and that’s the greatest gift of all. And to be perfectly honest, she also nags me – but I accept that because I’ve grown to realise I’m the sort of person who invites that reaction. I must give the impression that my life is hopelessly beyond my control.
Sadly, she only works 2 days a week – and those days are not particularly well defined. That is to say, they’re defined well enough for Shirley, but I seldom know when I’m likely to see her again. Often, the phone rings on the morning I’m anticipating her welcome arrival, and it’s Shirley telling me the lady from the cat rescue home is coming round to ‘vet’ her suitability to adopt kittens, or some such valid reason for not making it in.
None of that’s a problem to me.
Anyway, today the phone rings and it’s her. “David, I’m in the car park and I’m stuck”.
Well, that’s a relief; at least she’s here…
“ I’ve got the heel of my shoe stuck in the dashboard, and I can’t get it out”.
Nothing about Shirley surprises me, but I struggled to anticipate the scene that would greet me as I made my way downstairs.
Indeed, her heel was stuck, but at a much reduced elevation than my mind had conjured up. It was stuck at floor level but seriously jammed into the centre console.
How she’d achieved this feat I’m not sure, but naturally, I released her. It had made my day. As I said, Shirley makes me laugh.
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