Sunday, November 04, 2007
THE OLIVETTI - Part Three
My computer spat out sheet after sheet of neatly compiled, cross referenced and brilliantly summarized numbers and data. I sat back and looked at the Olivetti with a mix of awe and revulsion. Rather like the feeling one has after drinking too many rum and cokes, when you're not sure whether to stay up all night, or fall down with vertigo.
I had slipped in a sheet of parchment and typed "I wish I had the medical studies analysis brilliantly finished." And immediately after I typed the period and hit return, my computer had started spitting out the report.
It was flawless. It was succinct. It was absolutely brilliant. And it was even in my style.
I turned to the Olivetti with a degree of fear and said "Thank you," half expecting it to load itself with a sheet of paper and type "You're welcome".
Only 15 minutes had passed since Oscar had left my office. He stuck his head back in and I hid the report behind my back.
"Lunch today? It's your turn to flip for it and my pick."
"Sure," I said. "Are you finished yet?"
"You kiddin'? I just barely got my notes review done. You?"
"Pfaw...Uh...the same. Those notes were a bitch, yeah?"
"You know it. Lunch in 20, all right?"
"Yeah, I'll come get you," I said, my hands shaking behind me.
The door started to close, then opened again. "You all right, Mona? You look a little pale."
"Fine, Oscar. Just the usual actuarial tan."
We laughed over the old joke and he left.
I put the report on my desk and read it again. How could I not turn this in? It was just gorgeous. In my lifetime I would never have done a report like that. It would likely earn me the promotion that Oscar had been drooling over for months now.
That's why I shredded it. Then got my purse and went to lunch.
"Well, at least Mona got her work done on time," Stu nannered cattily as Oscar and I walked in from lunch.
"What?" I said.
"Upstairs wants to see you right now, Miss Most Likely To Be Promoted."
"You told me you still had notes to review!" Oscar said to me with a shocked look.
That look just killed me. I had no idea how that report got out of my shredder and upstairs. My chicken crepes were turning somersaults in my stomach.
Then Oscar broke into a smile, "Good one Mona. At least I had mine upstairs an hour before yours!"
I felt better. But barely.
Turns out I did get that promotion. And a new office. Upstairs.
To be continued....