One Monday Saffron Tuesday walked into my office without
even knocking. But I didn't give a damn not just because she was the Channel Islands’ current
beauty pageant winner but because my door is always open. Literally. That’s just the way I roll. And my door
doesn’t shut properly because of a lump in the floor.
“What can I do for you Ms Tuesday?” I asked, firm but
friendly.
“Saffron, please,” said Saffron, friendly but firm.
“What can I do for you Saffron?” I said, italicising her
name for emphasis.
“I'm looking for work,” she said. “I'm not going to be the
Channel Islands’ current beauty pageant winner forever.”
“No, you’re not,” I said, “there’ll be a new winner next
year and you’ll be the beautiful human equivalent of fish and chip paper. What
would you like to do?”
“I'd quite like to work with children or animals - or both.”
“Wouldn't we all? I quipped. I used to fancy myself as a red
coat but I’m colour blind. “What's your experience in that area?”
“I actually used to be a child,” said Saffron, “and I'm
still technically an animal: a mammal and a primate, you know?”
“I know,” I said even though I didn’t. “Great, well we don't
have anything at the moment but I'll keep your CV on file and let you know if
anything comes up”.
“Thank you so much,” said Saffron.
“Don't mention it,” I said. “Shut the door on your way out,
will you?”
“But I thought your door was always open – literally.
Because of the lump in the floor…”
“Maybe that's your problem Ms Tuesday,” I mocked, “you think
too much.”
I shooed the Channel Islands’ childlike pageant primate out
of my office and slammed the door behind her. The door hit the lump in the
floor, bounced back and lambasted me in the face.
No doubt it was nothing more than I deserved; a broken nose
to accompany my bitter, broken dreams.
