"Eh, what’s this?" asks my boss, tapping his watch and pointing at the clock simultaneously.
I struggle with the early shift at work. When I used to get a train, there was no question of being late – not out of the house by a certain time and you’d missed your only means of getting to work for forty minutes – but since I started to drive, the temptation to get ready that bit slower, too leave the house that minute later, is, well, tempting. We have recently moved room, so I claim I am a touch forgetful, and have been sat at my old desk in confusion for the last five minutes. It's a lame joke, but I don’t do funnies at five past seven. It’s still dark outside.
“And you didn’t shave. You’re a way off optimum performance at this time of day, aren’t you?”
He’s mainly joking, but it’s enough to draw the attention of all the eager early rising weirdos of the office, who have a chuckle at my untucked shirt and bed hair.
My computer illiterate boss heads off to a meeting and leaves his computer unlocked. I pounce, changing his screen’s background to a My Little Pony, and his screensaver to The Get Along Gang.
I am a formidable enemy.
4 weeks ago