The voice of reason.
"Don't worry about it, I'll get onto it and call you right back."
The voice on the other end of the phone isn't convinced.
"No, I'll call you right back. No, I'll call you."
From the agitation of her tone its obvious that this isn't the first idiot she's had to deal with today.
Honestly - what's wrong with people? They ring up and each one seems to think they're the only one. She can't trust anyone else to do the job properly and then even more work gets dumped on her desk.
She'd like to tell them how it is. Oh yes she would.
The two in the tea room breathe out.
"You know, I reckon her life would be easier if she just gave everyone a set of her rules."
The other smothers her chuckle.
To All the Girls I've loved Before
Cars and ships are always female. Maybe that's why they're so hard to part with. So let's raise our glasses
and drink to those sad farewells.
Yes I'm feeling sentimental. I've just parted from a longtime automotive love. Sure - she cost me an arm and and a leg, but I was happy to pay.
I'd admired her from afar for some time before I had the opportunity to make her mine. With her shiny black paint and sexy red interior I basked in reflected glory. What a couple.
Sure there were moments. She was a grande dame and I merely a callow youth. Temperamental and unreliable but no less loved.
However we changed as the years passed. The gap between my needs and her ability became too great. It became obvious that we were going to have to part.
So she's gone now. Another is partnering her. Although it was inevitable I still feel pangs. No more will I slide my leather pants across her red interior. I've swapped her smooth steering wheel for the textured plastic of a mass market
clone.
I'm gonna miss you babe.
That's Entertainment
"Oh damn!"
Open the fridge. Nope. On the bench? Nope.
Panicking, checking the lounge room, the bedroom, still nothing. Finally, in perspiring desperation even looking in the car. Still no eggs.
People are due to arrive in 40 minutes, she's still in cooking clothes, hasn't done her makeup and the toilet needs bleaching.
Panic rises. Not perspiring now, more sweating like a racehorse.
Remember. Go back. Buying eggs, putting in trolley. Removing eggs to put heavy potoatoes underneath and replacing eggs.
Hang on. She can't remember putting the egs back.
Damn damn damn.
Oh if only she could send the cat down to the shop to get more. There's nothing for it but to find the car keys - where did they end up - and head out into the Friday night traffic.
Damn damn damn.
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Very short short stories.
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