The Ex Granny Wrangler

17 May 2007

What's In A Nail File?

It's just before dawn at a secret location. There's a chill in the air and somewhere an animal howls a deep and mournful cry. A woman slips silently out of an armoured vehicle, her head down, dark hair knotted loosely yet perfectly at the nape of her neck. Punching in a 43 digit code she has imprinted in her memory, the door swings open and she enters, her well heeled footsteps echoing off the marble.

Down a flourescent hallway and through another steel door where her retina is scanned, she enters her laboratory. Vast whiteboards cover the walls, their faces swimming in a patchwork of equations and what seem too crude to be blueprints yet more refined than simple sketches. The numbers, letters and brackets are dizzying. To a mere mortal it is both deeply unnerving and overwhelming.

She places her Hermes on the desk beside a titration column where a velvety violet liquid is condensing and trickling and she peers closely before scribbling a note in the adjacent pristine notebook. The letters appear to be symbols. It is Japanese. And yes, it is a Haiku.

Walking over to her towering super-computer the fingers on the woman's left hand start to fly across the keyboard at an astonishing rate as effortless strings of code begin to fill her screen. With her other hand the woman reaches for a mechanical glove which she slips on. A screen to her left springs to life and an aerial view of an operating theatre swiftly comes into focus. A man is lying on the table, his brain exposed, surgeons and nurses are standing by ready for the woman to begin her surgery by satellite link up. As the steady flow of code continues in front of her, so does the rhythmic heartbeat of the patient on who's brain she begins to operate.
A knock on the door. A thick file bearing the MI8 insignia is deposited on her desk by a robot which beats a hasty retreat. 17 seconds later, with a flick of her wrist, her last stitch is tightened and the Alaskan operating theatre erupts with deafening applause. Another life saved. Another space shuttle system designed. Another terrorist plot foiled. And all before 6.30am.

A satisfied smile spreads slowly across her flawless skin and she sighs as she telekinetically draws a double espresso towards her from across the room, smug in her achievements as a London receptionist. Because really, that is what London receptionists do. Ask any Temp Agency in the city. Any temp agent. Who happens to not be lying in a pool of their own blood, my stiletto puncture marks rammed into their ashen temples, inch-deep scratch marks down their faces and sawn off street poles protruding from their ruptured spleens. Because as far as I was aware, being able to identify between a stapler, a punch and a box of Redfern's ringbinders should pretty much crack it. But clearly, in London, this is not the case. It is not the f*cking case at all.

13 comments:

Anonymous said...

Damn. If it wasn't for the telekinesis thing, you'd be so there.

Dan Lurie said...

What a fantastic sci-fi-esque tale of job-hunting frustration. Remind those sharks that they're working for you.

Oh, and tell them where they can stick their tea and crumpets..

WM said...

I'm sensing some pent-up rage and frustration, but maybe my radar's just off...

Betenoir said...

GW:

have you made sure to at all time be inposession of the following:

i) smug, all-knowing expression
ii) intractability
iii) "scary bitch" eyeglasses (you can get them at asos.com, with clear glass)
iv) supreme sense of self-confidence, and the understanding that you are the gatekeeper to the doors of power, which is really the ultimate power over everything, even god.

once you have mastered the art of being an insufferable cow ( just try! you can do it!) you can walk in there and they will whimper, and crawl and beg you for an appointment.

then, pencil them in.

mind you..perhaps you should start small... dominatrix work, I hear, is good training...

Anonymous said...

Hahahahaha! Bad day at the office...Oh my! That is brilliant. :-)

The xGW said...

kyk: nothing a few re-runs of Heroes can't fix.

o-d: i think i'll save them the trouble and shove them up myself. adding a sideways brick to the list too.

wm: are you sure you're not a london receptionist too? your powers of perception are *incredible*.

betenoir: hmmm... i do love to get all dressed up and crack a whip now and again. perhaps i need just a teensy bit more practice.

louisa: if only i had an office to have a bad day at. **sigh.

Phlippy said...

wowza trousers - awesome. Until I realised what exactly you would do to someone if they pissed you off...

I have cookies? [smiles]

Revolving Credit said...

Hmm...receptionist in London get to join MI8 and are 'Licensed to File'.

Is the Hermes provided by Q-Branch??

This is starting to sounds like a fascinating job proposition!

(Has anyone told Miss Moneypenny??)

Insane Insomniac said...

Pass teh bucket, I think our boat is filling up on the starboard side too...

The xGW said...

phlippy: but i *like* the cookie.

revo: q-branch cheap knock-off. she picked it up on sale at TK Maxx.

insano: swap you the bucket for some valium?

Anonymous said...

swap the valium for some amphets instead...

Phlippy said...

More more - this is good sheeeeit. Write more. Pleeeeaaase

The xGW said...

insano: done.

phlippy: shoosh, i'm trying to write.