Brenda’s Not So Unfortunate Record #39
Spaced like a saucer this week. Totally out of it. Can’t stop yawning and no amount of hydration seems to help. Could it be the weather? Vitamin D withdrawal?
I thought I had a meeting yesterday. Made my way down one of those big, fancy office blocks in the new Kings Cross. The woman at main reception couldn’t find my name but still swiped me into a lift. Up on the top floor I signed in.
‘It’s the 26th, right?’
The prim receptionist looked shocked, ‘no, it’s the 28th’ and then made some comment about me and the dust. I didn’t really know what she was on about but caught the gist and awkwardly made my way over to an armchair to stare vacant out the window. About ten minutes later Stephanie appeared,
‘Hi, I’m so sorry but you’re a week early! For a second I thought I might have sent you the wrong date but I’ve checked and…’
Oh dear. More than slightly mortified and feeling the receptionist’s demure glare burn the back of my neck, I shuffled on off towards the lift, stepping straight into the one open door. There was a bit of a kerfuffle – a man came in and back out and back in again – which I only understood when we ended up in the basement and he had to go re-swipe his card in order to get me to the ground floor. Bloody corporate security. What’s wrong with buttons?! One of these days a cyber attack is really gonna leave us all in the shit.
The email to Stephanie was composed in my mind as I peddled home:
…. so embarrassed … never done anything like that … musta got it in my head that it was this week from the very first email and then just not paid attention to dates … hope I haven’t put you off … still very much looking forward to seeing you at the proper time next week …
I was there to test a new internet site, you see. £50 an hour, not the sorta gig you wanna be messing up. And now I was convinced I’d lost my bullseye. If I was in Stephanie’s shoes, god knows what I’d be thinking …
But thankfully she still wants me, although I bet I’ll be representing a dimmer demographic.
Me, the thickos and the grannies, mourning lost buttons, riding the void.