Author note: This is my entry for the
On The Job Challenge 2024
.
'Tower Administration Services wishes all its staff a safe and joyous Spring Bank Holiday', the email gushed, accompanied by a disgustingly twee cartoon of a cute chipmunk stretching and yawning as it left its burrow having woken up from hibernation. I stared at the message for a minute, unable to decide where to begin with this tripe, but then I exorcised it from my brain by clicking the 'delete' button and watching it vanish from the screen. Someone had probably spent all day putting that email together, I reflected. What a waste of time. We didn't even have chipmunks in the UK.
I glanced out of the window of my office. Sadly, it didn't have any windows that actually looked out of the building, otherwise I would look out of those. Instead, I had to look out at the open-plan space that made up the main office of Tower Administration Services. It was Friday afternoon before a bank holiday weekend so the only staff there were either toilers who had nothing to go home for, or people who'd used up all their annual holiday entitlement and were stuck here. The three individuals sitting around a desk, two male, one female, chatting with their feet up, belonged firmly in the latter category.
"Any chance of some work getting done, rather than just tea getting drunk?" I asked, poking my head out of my office door and addressing the trio.
"Come on Rapunzel, do some work," one of the other lads shouted across from his desk, and there was a round of giggles and chuckles from the remaining staff. Rapunzel was the girl's nickname: long blonde hair, working at a company called Tower, it was probably inevitable. Incidentally, that's where my charming new nickname, 'Wicked Whittle', had come from as well, as if I was the sorceress who had her imprisoned here. Annoyingly, at this fag-end of the week, the comparison was apt.
The two men reluctantly got up and dragged their feet back to their desks, muttering about Wicked Whittle. Rapunzel, though, merely gave me an insolent look, remained exactly where she was, sitting on her desk, but switched from flirting with the guys to looking at her phone. I ignored her: Megan 'Rapunzel' Farsley had only been working here for about a month but she had already made it abundantly clear that she was not a woman who liked taking orders.
In fact, Rapunzel was my replacement. I'd been at TAS for just over five years when I was promoted, and in the month since then I had begun to realise that management was a bit of a poisoned chalice. When I had my own desk, out in the open plan area, I'd been Cassie Whittle, a popular member of the team who organised sweepstakes and charity fundraisers, and I was always on the invite list for after-work drinks. Now, though, I was Wicked Whittle, and I hadn't been invited to a single after-work drink. Actually, I was pretty sure Rapunzel and the others had been out for during-work drinks at lunchtime today, if the giggling was anything to go by.
Carefully, I closed my office door, trying vainly to send a message that I wasn't the kind of manager who monitored what was going on. Then I took off my heels and stacked them neatly next to my handbag, rubbing the balls of my feet to get the feeling back. It had felt like a very long Friday so far, and the extra day off on Monday would definitely be welcome. My skirt had ridden up while I was massaging my feet so I stood up a few inches off my chair to tug it back down, smoothing it over my tights. I knew that I shouldn't be comparing myself to Rapunzel, especially as she was a good five years younger than me, but it was irresistible when someone replaced you. I dressed in neat office attire: a black blazer, white blouse, knee-length pencil skirt, tights and heels, my dark hair in a tidy ponytail. Rapunzel dressed in the least office-like clothes she could get away with: blouse unbuttoned to her cleavage, a low-cut sweater, tight black jeans and hi-tops, her mass of blonde hair plaited into two pigtails. No wonder the men in the office buzzed around her like flies. I was torn between wanting to be better than her, and wanting to be her. I resented every suggestion, real or imagined, that she was somehow doing my old job better than I had used to.
Despite telling myself I wouldn't, I looked out of the window again. Rapunzel had her compact propped open on the desk and was touching up her eyeliner, staring intently into the mirror with her mouth pressed shut in concentration. There really was no telling her. I turned back to my laptop and brought up the weekly results presentation, which would keep me occupied for an hour and then it would be time to go home. It really couldn't come soon enough.
Five minutes of re-formatting the same table before I decided it had been better before I changed it. Five minutes of entering numbers from a spreadsheet before remembering they were incomplete and would need changing. Five minutes of gazing at the potted cactus on the corner of my desk and wondering whether the traffic getting home would be better or worse before a long weekend. I looked out of the window, knowing I shouldn't, and there was Rapunzel, her feet up again, filing her nails. It was almost the ultimate insult. She couldn't have cared less and I knew I couldn't ignore it.
"Ahem, Megan, I don't want to ask again," I said, wanting my tone to be friendly and nice, but knowing it came out small and mean. "Just another forty-five minutes and you can go, so let's make the most of it."
Rapunzel looked at me, not with spite or anger but with a bland, disinterested look that was much, much more irritating.
"Sure," she said, putting down the nail file, but not putting it away.
She watched me go back to my office, an unmistakable smirk on her face. I knew, absolutely knew, that the moment my door was closed they'd be making a joke at my expense. Five o'clock couldn't come a moment too soon. I closed the door and pretended I couldn't see Rapunzel turning to the others and saying something; pretended I didn't notice them laughing. I dug my nails into my thigh as I sat down at my desk, urging myself to ignore it. It had never been like this before she'd started working here.
I checked my emails, filing them diligently but slowly. Five more minutes. I spell-checked the weekly presentation, saved it a few times and experimented with re-labelling a pie chart. Five more minutes. Today was never going to end. I was stuck in an endless hour where each minute was slower than the last, until the final minute would stretch into an eternity, like some kind of science fiction film with a weird ending that nobody understood. I stretched my back, smoothed my skirt again, re-tied my ponytail. Two minutes passed.
Loathing myself, I looked out of the window. Rapunzel was sitting on her desk again, chatting animatedly to the two guys from earlier. They were almost enchanted, unable to take their eyes off her. Briefly I wondered whether she was planning to sleep with one of them. Or maybe she already had: she seemed like the type. Perhaps that was a little harsh. Maybe she planned to sleep with both of them. Maybe at the same time. I looked away, my face reddening. That was exactly the type of person I imagined she was: the kind of girl who'd get into bed with two guys at the same time. I was her manager: why did I feel so bloody jealous all the time? I didn't even like men.
The clock crept onwards like a lethargic slug. I wanted to scream. I sneaked a look out of the window and there she was, Rapunzel, smugly sitting on her desk, hi-tops on her chair, half-listening to one of the guys talking. She looked over at me, meeting my eyes, knowing exactly what she was doing. And then, instead of looking away, embarrassed to be caught slacking, she just smiled at me. A bratty little smile of someone who thinks they're untouchable. Well, that was the final straw. I couldn't let that go unpunished.
"Megan, this is the third time I've spoken to you," I said, concentrating all my energy on not sounding shrill and stressed. I had to consciously unclench my fists and relax my shoulders. There was a little 'ooh' from the others in the office. I felt like nothing more than a petulant teacher telling off a child and it was humiliating. A blush was rising around my neck. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to meet me in my office at five to discuss this."
The 'ooh' rose in pitch and there was some surreptitious laughter and hushed comments. I held my ground, looking at her. She looked back, somehow looking more amused than worried. I had no idea how she did it. Utterly infuriating.
"Okay," she said, and then she picked up her nail file. She actually picked up her nail file. It was brutal. The laughter, all of it mocking, started before I was even back in my office. I heard the word 'detention' come from someone, I didn't know who. I'd stormed out there to show her she couldn't get away with whatever she wanted, and somehow, she'd made it perfectly obvious that she could. I didn't feel upset, I just felt anger and frustration, like she was a difficult puzzle and I just needed to complete one more step to unravel it, but that step was seemingly impossible. I breathed. Relax. Relax hands. Relax shoulders. Fifteen minutes to go. Although now I had to stay late to talk to her. That didn't matter. I could spend these fifteen minutes making a few notes on exactly what I wanted to say to her, so I was prepared. And she definitely wouldn't be smiling by the end.
But, committing anything to paper was somehow too difficult. It made me seem petty and I didn't want to live up to the Wicked Whittle name. Perhaps I needed to be lenient, friendlier, and get her on my side. If I explained to her how difficult my job could be she'd see it from my perspective. Maybe we'd share a joke, she'd invite me to drinks, everything would feel easy. That was it. She just needed me to talk to her like an equal. I was sure she'd respond.
To kill the final five minutes of the day, I went to the ladies' and checked my appearance. My makeup, much more understated than hers, just a touch of concealer and a tiny bit of mascara, all looked okay. My hair, well, I re-tied it again with the benefit of the mirror, but I wasn't sure it improved much. It was five o'clock now and outside I could hear people beginning to leave. Taking a deep breath, I compulsively smoothed my skirt again and went back to my office.
Rapunzel was waiting. She'd let herself in, leaving the door open behind her, and was sitting in the chair opposite mine, examining the cactus.
