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Mr Linton,
You are no female while you are in my employ. As, by the way, you have amply proven by your language.
Slide the file under the door.
Rikkard Ambrose
What? Now he complained about me not expressing myself in a ladylike manner, after he had forced me to come to work dressed up in a pair of striped trousers? I itched to send back another snarky remark.
But…
But…
But this man was my master now. He was the one who would hopefully one day sign my first pay cheque. He was my ticket to freedom. My only chance. Blast him!
I hurried over to the shelves that held the boxes. Two minutes of searching were enough for me to discover that whatever system my predecessor had used to sort his files, it most certainly was not an alphabetical one. Twenty minutes of searching went by, and I still hadn’t discovered what I was looking for. As I was taking an extraordinarily large and heavy box from one of the upper shelves, I heard a familiar plink from my desk. Balancing the monument of a file container on my shoulder I tottered over to my desk, picked up the metal cylinder with one hand, opened it with my teeth and spat the removed half into the bowl on my desk.
The message fell onto my desk. Still using only my one free hand, I picked it up and unrolled it laboriously. On the paper were written two neat, concise words.
Hurry up.
‘Oh thank you!’ I shouted at the closed door to Mr Ambrose’s office. ‘Thank you so very much!’
With a grunt I deposited the gigantic box on my desk and began to look through it.
After ten more minutes of ceaseless searching, I raised my head from the dusty intestines of box 37XV227, holding my trophy aloft.
‘Yes!’
Now that I had invested so much trouble into finding it, I couldn’t help wondering what file 227B actually was. I took a quick peep - only to be confronted by endless columns of meaningless numbers. This was what I had spent half an hour of my precious life on? Ah, who cared what was in it! What mattered was that I had found it, finally!
Triumphantly I marched to Mr Ambrose’s door, knocked, and shoved the thin file under the door. On the other side, I could hear the scrape of a chair being moved, and then footsteps. And oh, what footsteps they were - only Mr Ambrose could manage to make his step sound cool and disinterested.
I didn’t wait to listen for more, though. Right now, I was so exhausted that I didn’t care what he did with the bloody file. I just went to my desk, collapsed into my chair, closed my eyes and breathed a deep sigh of relief.
A plink from the wall made me open my eyes again. Frowning, I picked up the metal cylinder and opened it. What now?
Be quicker next time.
Rikkard Ambrose.
For a moment, I could hardly believe the words in front of my eyes. But only for a moment. Then, I saw red. Fuming, I grabbed my fountain pen and composed the following message in my best chicken scratch:
Dear Mr Ambrose,
If you want me to be quicker at finding your files, maybe you should explain the sorting system to me.
Yours (as your secretary, whether you like it or not)
Lilly Linton
I stuffed it into the tube and pulled the lever. The reply came only a minute later:
Mr Linton,
If you are not able to comprehend a perfectly logical system of sorting files, then what makes you think you are suitable for the position of private secretary? Maybe you should resign.
Rikkard Ambrose
