Everyone in the office hates me and it's not my fault! No, I'm not being paranoid this time, they really do.
Okay, well I got to my desk (which I share with a printer and a fax machine) and the rest of the office was empty. No one else was around. Also, there was a twenty pount note sat on my desk. It seemed a fair swap to me. Anyway, about half an hour later a man walks in. He was probably about 50 but looked like he had lived a pretty hard life. He was dragging a bush in a pot, well more like a small tree. It was stuck in the doorway and he was struggling to heave it through using brute force. He paused, scratched his head then started bending and yanking some of the branches off. When he had made a sizeable pile he tried again. Nope, no joy. He walked one side of the semi naked shrub and then to the other, pausing and staring. He shook his head, reached into his overalls and pulled out a small silver flask, which he opened and took a huge glug from. Suitably "refreshed" he bent, twisted and coerced the unruly shrub through the too small doorway. I suppose I could have helped him, but this was far too entertaining. He caught my eye and grunted, I spun my chair back round and looked back at the confusing jibberish on my screen. I sat there, doing my best to ignore him but could hear him rustling closer. I felt a big ugly hand slap me on the shoulder.
"You Rob Winkman?", he uttered.
"No, Rob Wildman", I corrected.
"Whatever. Sign here"
He thrust a clipboard into my face, its nasty old plastic pen swinging on a brown piece of chewed up string.
"What am I meant to be signing for?", I asked.
"The Eiffel tower", he attempted to quip.
I gave him my best BA Barracus "I-aint-gettin-on-no-plane" look and he grudgingly gestured towards the badly battered ex-tree. I raised an eyebrow in query.
"Look, I'm just told to deliver them and it says here that it goes there", he pointed next to my desk. Great, welcome tree, come and join the gang. This is Mr. Noisy-printer and annoying Mr. Fax-machine-that-goes-ping-every-five-minutes, make yourself at home.
Another hour later and the office is still empty but yet another bloke arrives. This one is wear lycra. Lots of lycra. He marches military style into the office, stands in the centre of the room and announces in true sergeant major fashion, "Sun Vatch!".
I look at him. He stands still, almost at attention and not acknowledging me or anything else.
"Can I help you?", I ask.
Without moving he quickly glances at me and then looks forward again.
"Sun Vatch!", he says again. I'm getting really confused now but he is starting to get a little agitated. He relaxes his stance slightly and looks around, noticing, I think for the first time, that I am the only person in the office. He adjusts himself and then walks over.
"Sun Vatch?", he enquires.
I look at my watch.
"11.30 mate", I say. He shakes his head and leaves.
Everyone ambled back in half an hour later. They all looked miserable. Apparently they had been to a meeting to discuss the bonueses that none of them were going to be getting. They came back hungry and unhappy.
"Where are the sandwiches", a usually quirpy but now crestfallen secretary asked. Everyone turned to look at me.
"I don't know", I answered.
"But we left you the money for them, didn't the Sun-Vatch man come?".
"I didnt know I was meant to get sandwiches", I said.
"Didnt you see the note?"
"No", I said.
She walked over and picked a piece of paper from the top of my in-box and handed it to me. It was a note with a sandwich order and instructions. Oops. Never noticied it.
"Sorry, I didn't see it".
I don't think anyone believed me.