No' on a Friday
by Brendan Gisby
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: None.
Description: There's one office rule you fail to observe at your peril.
_____________________________________________________________________
Jack waved the letter up in the air until Stan in the desk opposite looked up from what he was doing, his ballpoint pen poised to resume writing.
“Could you dae me a favour, old buddy?” asked Jack. “This letter just came up fae typin’. It needs tae go oot the night. I’ll post it on ma way hame. But wid you mind nippin’ along tae Davy Wark and get him tae sign it first? It’s very important.”
His pen still poised, Stan observed Jack coldly from over the top of his glasses.
“Aye, dinnae ‘old buddy’ me, Jack,” he said. “Nothin’ has been delivered fae the typin’ pool fur hours. You’ve been sittin’ on that letter a’ efternoon. It’s nearly half-four on a Friday an’ now your askin’ me tae deal wi’ it. Well, get stuffed. You ken the rules. They’re no’ tae be disturbed along there. No’ on a Friday efternoon.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I dinnae want ma stomach upset. I want tae eat ma tea the night.”
Just then, Brendan, the office junior, returned to the office from the post-room. Before he could sit down, Jack waved the letter again, this time to attract his attention.
“Hey, Breadbox! Breadbin! Brenda! Whatever you’re name is,” Jack shouted. “I need you tae go a message fur me.”
Brendan gave Jack a tight smile. After a week in the company of these two middle-aged jokers, the cracks about his name had worn thin. He walked over to Jack’s desk.
“Right, ma fine laddie,” Jack grinned at him. “Take this letter tae Davy Wark an’ ask him fur his signature. Tell him it’s important. It needs tae go oot the night.”
“Aye, sure,” Brendan replied, taking the letter.
He looked at the two men. Jack was still grinning, but Stan had a hand clamped over his mouth and seemed to be spluttering. When he closed the door behind him, he heard both of them laughing. The laughter continued until he reached the end of the corridor.
As he had done a hundred times or more that week, Brendan knocked twice on Mr Wark’s door and entered the room. The room was empty, but noises were coming from the direction of the walk-in store cupboard, the door to which was ajar. There were whispers, followed by the sound of running water from the wash-hand basin in there. Then Mr Wark’s head peeked round the door. His face was redder than usual and he looked flustered.
“Yes?” he asked impatiently. “We’re busy stocktaking in here.”
“I’ve a letter that Jack wants you tae sign. He says it’s important.”
Mr Wark’s head disappeared. There were more whispers. Then Margaret, Mr Wark’s assistant, suddenly emerged from the cupboard. Unusually, she was smiling. Without her glasses on, her face was softer, her eyes sparkling. And there was a hint of red in her cheeks. Brendan thought she almost looked attractive... well, almost.
Margaret took the letter, read it, put it down on Mr Wark’s desk, signed it on his behalf and returned it to Brendan.
“There you go, Brendan,” she said, still smiling. “By the way, thank you for all your help this week.
“Have a lovely weekend,” she added as she returned to the cupboard.
Outside in the corridor, it was Brendan’s turn to smile – to grin, in fact. Now he had one over on those two old jokers. He was in possession of a piece of gossip they would give their eye-teeth for, a piece of gossip he could dine out on for weeks and months to come. He couldn’t wait to tell them that when Margaret turned from him, he was given a perfect view of her big fat arse clad in a pair of enormous white knickers. In her haste to rearrange her clothing in the cupboard, she had managed to tuck the back of her skirt into her tights.
Swearwords: None.
Description: There's one office rule you fail to observe at your peril.
_____________________________________________________________________
Jack waved the letter up in the air until Stan in the desk opposite looked up from what he was doing, his ballpoint pen poised to resume writing.
“Could you dae me a favour, old buddy?” asked Jack. “This letter just came up fae typin’. It needs tae go oot the night. I’ll post it on ma way hame. But wid you mind nippin’ along tae Davy Wark and get him tae sign it first? It’s very important.”
His pen still poised, Stan observed Jack coldly from over the top of his glasses.
“Aye, dinnae ‘old buddy’ me, Jack,” he said. “Nothin’ has been delivered fae the typin’ pool fur hours. You’ve been sittin’ on that letter a’ efternoon. It’s nearly half-four on a Friday an’ now your askin’ me tae deal wi’ it. Well, get stuffed. You ken the rules. They’re no’ tae be disturbed along there. No’ on a Friday efternoon.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I dinnae want ma stomach upset. I want tae eat ma tea the night.”
Just then, Brendan, the office junior, returned to the office from the post-room. Before he could sit down, Jack waved the letter again, this time to attract his attention.
“Hey, Breadbox! Breadbin! Brenda! Whatever you’re name is,” Jack shouted. “I need you tae go a message fur me.”
Brendan gave Jack a tight smile. After a week in the company of these two middle-aged jokers, the cracks about his name had worn thin. He walked over to Jack’s desk.
“Right, ma fine laddie,” Jack grinned at him. “Take this letter tae Davy Wark an’ ask him fur his signature. Tell him it’s important. It needs tae go oot the night.”
“Aye, sure,” Brendan replied, taking the letter.
He looked at the two men. Jack was still grinning, but Stan had a hand clamped over his mouth and seemed to be spluttering. When he closed the door behind him, he heard both of them laughing. The laughter continued until he reached the end of the corridor.
As he had done a hundred times or more that week, Brendan knocked twice on Mr Wark’s door and entered the room. The room was empty, but noises were coming from the direction of the walk-in store cupboard, the door to which was ajar. There were whispers, followed by the sound of running water from the wash-hand basin in there. Then Mr Wark’s head peeked round the door. His face was redder than usual and he looked flustered.
“Yes?” he asked impatiently. “We’re busy stocktaking in here.”
“I’ve a letter that Jack wants you tae sign. He says it’s important.”
Mr Wark’s head disappeared. There were more whispers. Then Margaret, Mr Wark’s assistant, suddenly emerged from the cupboard. Unusually, she was smiling. Without her glasses on, her face was softer, her eyes sparkling. And there was a hint of red in her cheeks. Brendan thought she almost looked attractive... well, almost.
Margaret took the letter, read it, put it down on Mr Wark’s desk, signed it on his behalf and returned it to Brendan.
“There you go, Brendan,” she said, still smiling. “By the way, thank you for all your help this week.
“Have a lovely weekend,” she added as she returned to the cupboard.
Outside in the corridor, it was Brendan’s turn to smile – to grin, in fact. Now he had one over on those two old jokers. He was in possession of a piece of gossip they would give their eye-teeth for, a piece of gossip he could dine out on for weeks and months to come. He couldn’t wait to tell them that when Margaret turned from him, he was given a perfect view of her big fat arse clad in a pair of enormous white knickers. In her haste to rearrange her clothing in the cupboard, she had managed to tuck the back of her skirt into her tights.
About the Author
Brendan Gisby is McStoryteller-in-Residence. He's the author of three novels, three biographies and several short story collections.
His official author's website is Blazes Boylan's Book Bazaar at http://the4bs.weebly.com.
And his books are displayed at these links on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com.
His official author's website is Blazes Boylan's Book Bazaar at http://the4bs.weebly.com.
And his books are displayed at these links on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com.