On the 3rd Day of Christmas…In Vodka Veritas
Have you ever woken up the morning after the office Christmas party with a horrible feeling of impending doom….?
In Vodka Veritas
“You’re late!”
Angela jumped, spilling coffee and half-eaten Christmas cookie over the desk. “Thanks,” she muttered.
“Guilty conscience?” Sally asked. She picked up the cookie and took a huge bite. “You know, I really thought that you would make an effort to be on time today.”
“I did. I always do.” It just never seemed to do any good; she was always late. So why should today be any different? Her mind came up blank. “I give up. What’s so special about today?”
“Didn’t you have something important to do this morning?”
“Did I?” A vague sense of unease stirred in the deep, dark recesses of her brain.
Sally regarded her with amazement, then smiled. “You don’t remember do you?”
“Remember what?”
Sally shook her head in mock disbelief. “Can you actually remember anything about Friday night?”
“Of course I can.” The lie rolled uneasily off her tongue. “It was the office Christmas party. I remember everything.”
“Everything?” The skepticism was clear in Sally’s voice.
“Absolutely.”
Sally stared at her for a moment. “You mean, you remember photocopying your bottom?”
“Of course.” Angela shrugged. “Didn’t everyone?”
“Good point.” Sally thought for a moment. “So, you remember telling Martin that he needs a lobotomy?”
Angela almost let out a sigh of relief. So far, not so bad. “Yes. It’s actually something I’ve been meaning to tell him for ages. Perhaps he’ll give it serious consideration. So,” she urged, “carry on then.”
“With what?”
“You know, your list of things that I remember.”
“Ha-ha. I knew it—you don’t remember. I knew you couldn’t, otherwise, you’d be scurrying around in a panic, or sitting under your desk with a bag over your head.” She stood up. “I’m going to let you stew for a while.”
Angela watched her go with a scowl on her face, then switched on her computer and pressed the new mail button.
Dear Everyone,
I just want to apologize to all those I may have offended at the office Christmas party. It was NOT, (as most of you no doubt believe) the effect of too much vodka, but rather the effect of an absolutely gargantuan brain tumor (the approximate size and shape of a football), which spontaneously exploded on Saturday morning. I am now fully recovered, but flowers and chocolates are still welcome (especially chocolates).
Angela
PS Martin – I still think you need a lobotomy.
But who to send it to? Better err on the side of caution, she decided, and selected the whole company. She was just about to press the send button when somebody spoke from just behind her shoulder.
“Angela.”
It was Jack, her boss. Six foot three of tall, dark, and handsome, all wrapped up in a designer suit. At least she could be pretty sure she hadn’t embarrassed herself there. Well, no more than usual anyway. She invariably turned into a tongue-tied moron, incapable of action or speech in his presence. Normally not a cause for celebration, but in this instance a definite improvement over the alternatives.
“Huh?” she mumbled.
He stared down at her for a moment, looked about to say something then obviously changed his mind. “I need last week’s numbers. Now.”
“I sent that email,” she said to Sally some time later, “and absolutely no-one, but no-one has brought me any chocolate. I need chocolate. And another thing, no-one will look me in the eye.”
“Kevin will.”
Angela glanced across the room, to where Kevin sat. He was in fact staring straight at her. When he caught her eye, he smiled and waggled is fingers.
“Not Kevin,” she said. “No way.”
“You want to have his babies.”
“I would never have babies with Kevin. Apart from his more obvious problems, he’s got red hair.”
“So have you.”
“Duh! That’s exactly my point. Red hair is carried on the recessive gene. Two red-haired parents and your children have absolutely no chance. Ginger babies. Even drunk, I would never do that to anyone.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, I don’t think you seriously wanted Kevin’s babies. I think he was just a rehearsal. Like the others.”
The others? And a rehearsal for what? She glanced at Jack’s door, her feeling of unease intensifying. “Beam me up, Scottie,” she muttered under her breath. That gave her an idea, the perfect excuse. She clicked the new mail button again and started typing.
Dear Fellow Human Beings,
I am not going to apologize for my behavior on Friday night, BECAUSE IT WASN’T ME. At some point prior to the party, I was abducted by aliens and my place taken by an alien double. I was released on Saturday, unharmed and this is now me. So I just want to reiterate – I DIDN’T DO IT (whatever “it” was.)
Angela.
PS Kevin—while there may be a totally deluded alien out there who actually wants your babies—I don’t!
But what was really bothering her, was that there had to be something worse. Much worse, if Sally’s level of amusement was anything to go by.
“Sally, why are you doing this? You have to tell me if there’s something I need to prepare for.”
“Well, you did tell our managing director that his ex-wife looks like a horse and he’s better off without her.”
“Valuable advice.”
“And…
Angela stopped listening as her gaze snagged on something across the office. Jack was standing by the elevators, talking with the finance manager. She rested her head on her hand and stared at him.
“Yuk,” Sally said. “You’re drooling again. All over your keyboard. You know, I think it’s probably time for another of those reality checks.”
“But he’s so perfect.” Angela sighed.
“Angela,” Sally said sternly.
“Oh, okay then. Reasons why Jack will never marry Angela: One—Jack only goes out with tall, elegant blondes who ooze sophistication. Angela has red hair, freckles and is only five-foot-one. In addition she has no breasts, no hips, and she dresses entirely from the children’s department in Tesco.”
“Good so far,” Sally said, “but more needed.”
Angela thought for a moment. “Two—Jack is witty, intelligent and intellectual. In his spare time, he goes to the opera. Angela, on the other hand, is scatty, loves practical jokes, and in her spare time she reads Marvel comics and Mills and Boons.” She sighed. “Okay, that’s enough, reality restored.”
“Okay, I admit it,” Angela said. “I do not remember.” It was now afternoon, and she hadn’t even been able to eat lunch. No chocolate and no lunch; at this rate she could starve to death. “So, have you tortured me enough? Are you going to tell me?”
“Well,” Sally said, “you remember photocopying your bottom?”
Angela frowned. “We’ve already done that one.”
“It was more a case of what you did with the photocopies.”
“What did I do?”
“I’m not going to make it that easy, but what happens at three o’clock?”
Angela thought for a moment. “Oh God. The post. I’ve posted pictures of my bottom.” She jumped to her feet. “What time is it?”
“Five to three, you should just make it if you run.”
She ran, almost bowling Jack over as he emerged from his office. She arrived at the post room with seconds to spare and pushed open the door, panting.
“Bill, help me.”
“Don’t worry, your friend came round this morning. They’re over there.” He nodded to a pile of A4 envelopes on the desk. Angela went over and stared down at them. The top one was clearly addressed, in her handwriting, to the company CEO. She reached down with trembling fingers and opened it. Inside was a sheet of paper.
Across the top was written:
Happy Christmas and X my…
Above a huge copy of a somewhat flattened bottom. It would have been unrecognizable except she had signed, “Love Angela” at the bottom. She rifled through the pile.
“My mother? Why would I send a picture of my bottom to my mother?” At least three had “Jack” scrawled across them. She sighed and picked up the pile.
“Thanks, Bill, I’m eternally grateful.”
“Well, just don’t tell me you want my babies because I honestly don’t think you’re going to have the time.”
“No,” she said, “probably not.”
She pushed open the door with an enormous sigh of relief. Another day successfully negotiated. Another disaster averted. Was she a superhero or what? All the evidence was shredded, she’d actually apologized to Martin and she’d even explained the whole recessive gene theory to Kevin, though she wasn’t entirely convinced he’d followed her reasoning.
A man was leaning against the wall outside the office. For a moment, she thought it was Kevin and almost ducked back inside. But it was Jack, and it looked like he was waiting for her. Her heart sped up and her mouth went dry. Oh God, had she missed one of those pictures? She came to a halt in front of him. Her lips wouldn’t seem to work, and she had to force herself to speak.
“It’s not my bottom,” she muttered. “It’s an alien’s bottom.” He frowned. Not the picture then. “Okay, it’s probably best you forget I said that.”
“Actually,” Jack said, “I was wondering whether you’d like to come for a drink.”
“A drink?”
“And a chat.”
“A chat?”
“Yes, I thought we should talk about these babies…”
