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Shorts
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| Asexual Harassment | |
| By Asferthecat | ||||||||||||||||||
| 18 October 2007 | ||||||||||||||||||
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DS inspired. Political correctness can be bewildering to the incorrect. There was a sudden silence when Frank Fielding entered the office and he knew they had been talking about him again. He hurried over to his desk, hoping that someone would catch his eye so he could say “Good morning,” but they were all avoiding him. He sat down. That was odd – there should have been a pen and a couple of pencils in the holder on his desk – someone must have nicked them. He turned to Kate, who was hard at work at the next desk. “Have you borrowed my pen?” “No,” her voice was abrupt and she didn’t look up. How things had changed from a month ago, when he had first started work at the office. She had been really friendly then – he had even thought he might have been in with a chance. But something had gone wrong. Her affability had changed to dislike, even contempt, and he was baffled as to why. He shrugged. He had better get on with some work. A rummage in the desk drawer produced a spare pen and he picked up the telephone. Dammit, the bloody thing wasn’t working again. He jiggled the connection socket. “Do you have to do that?” Kate’s voice was sharp. He looked over and found she was staring at him in disgust. “What?” he said. “Abuse your poor telephone like that.” “The bloody thing isn’t working.” “I don’t blame it after what I’ve seen you do to it.” “What?” He had no idea what she was talking about. “Stroking it, fiddling with its cord, blowing into its mouthpiece, interfering with its socket.” He stared at her pink, outraged face in astonishment, “Are you joking?” “No I am not.” She looked beyond him and said. “You’ll soon find out. Here comes the boss.” Frank looked round. Mr Blake’s scrawny figure was making its way towards him. There was a portentous expression on his face and Frank’s heart sank. “I would like a word with you Mr Fielding.” As Frank followed his boss to the glass cubicle that served as his office, his mind was racing – trying to think what he had done wrong. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the heads of his colleagues turn in his direction. He looked round but they quickly looked away – no support there then. Inside the cubicle, Mr Blake indicated that Frank should sit opposite him at the desk. “I don’t need to introduce you to the items before you,” he said, indicating two pencils and a pen lying on the desk. Frank stared at them. They looked like his, but who can tell? “Well? Mr Blake sounded impatient. “Do you recognise them?” “I suppose so,” said Frank. “They look like mine, but I can’t be sure. To be honest, they all look the same to me.” “Ah,” Mr Blake leant back with a satisfied smile, as if Frank had condemned himself out of his own mouth. “I expect you are now going to tell me that you don’t think these items have feelings.” Frank stared at him. This must be a joke. But he saw no signs of humour in his boss’s solemn features. “Of course they don’t have feelings,” he said. “They are only things.” “Items,” corrected Mr Blake, shocked by Frank’s lack of political correctness. “We don’t call inanimate objects ‘things’ any more. These items have made some very serious allegations about the way you have been treating them.” “Allegations?” Frank gawped at him stupidly. “Yes. This pencil here claims you have been licking her point.” “I may have done,” shrugged Frank, “but it doesn’t mean anything.” The pencil gave a little squeak and seemed the quiver. “I knew it – it meant nothing to him. It was a terrible shock when he first did it - but, I’m ashamed to say, I felt a bit, well flattered. I thought I meant something to him. And then,” the pencil gave a little sob, “I discovered what he had done to Audrey.” The other pencil was now quivering. Frank looked at it in dismay, trying to remember what he might have done to it. “He – stuck – my -,” her little, squeaky voice stopped and she gulped as if on the verge of tears. “Now, now, my dear,” said the boss kindly. “You must try and be brave and tell us exactly what happened.” Audrey managed to pull herself together. “He – stuck my rear end into his ear.” “How horrible,” murmured the first pencil sympathetically. “And – then,” continued Audrey, “he rubbed me up and down his thigh.” “I was just getting the wax off,” protested Frank. He looked at the two talking pencils in bewilderment. “Why didn’t you say something if you didn’t like what I was doing? Why didn’t you tell me you have feelings?” “After what you did to Ruby?” said the first pencil. Mr Blake leaned forwards. “What happened to Ruby?” he asked. “He broke her in half and – Oh God, it’s too horrible – he continued to abuse her stump.” “It was an accident,” insisted Frank. “I dropped her, I mean it, on the floor and trod on it by mistake.” The boss shook his head reprovingly. “And you didn’t stop at pencils, did you Mr Fielding.” He gently pushed the pen forwards and asked it to make its allegations. The pen spoke in a slightly deeper squeak than the pencils. “He kept stroking my shaft and playing with my head.” “ But I have to press your head so your nib comes out,” said Frank. The pen gave a sharp intake of breath. “Must you be so crude? OK once or twice a day is part of my terms of contract but in-out-in-out, click-click, fiddle-fiddle? It makes me sick to think about it.” “Oh gosh,” Frank looked at Mr Blake, “I’m so sorry, I never realised that things – er, I mean items – have feelings. I will be more careful in future.” “I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” said Mr Blake. “It’s not only the pens and pencils you have been abusing, but also the electrical items. Your telephone is having a nervous breakdown and your computer thinks you have proposed marriage.” He stood up, like a judge announcing a sentence. “I must ask you to leave our employment, Mr Fielding. You have ten minutes to clean out your desk.” Frank looked at his desk – the expectant computer, the broken telephone, the abused pens. “I don’t think I’ll bother,” he said. He went to open the door. “Be careful how you touch the handle,” warned Mr Blake. Frank wrenched the door open and strode across the office, conscious of his colleagues’ curious looks and the high-pitched twittering of inanimate objects. Then, at last, he was outside in the fresh air, vowing never to work in an office again.
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Not at all what I was expecting when I started reading. Odd how quickly that sinking feeling hits you... I suppose everyone has cringing memories of when they got "it" wrong with someone. A really nice mapping out of the moment of epiphany, but from a new angle.
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