October Flash #2 - "FWD"

Willow Business Park, Croydon, Surrey

Robbie understands the reality of Friday afternoon in the office. His team might still be at their desks their minds are on other things; like who’s getting the first round in at The Plough. Like whether to make a night of it or go home with a carry-out and watch A Question of Sport.

It’s been bad enough, with the return to work after the pandemic. The so-called ‘hybrid’ arrangement where Robbie’s team works from home Tuesday and Thursdays. Two days where, as far as Robbie can tell, not a lot gets done. That’s his suspicion. And still they complain about having to come in on Fridays. Because one of them is waiting for the guy from British Gas to repair the boiler, and another says he’s a bit throaty, doesn’t want to give it spread it around.

Truth is, they all just want to get a head start on the weekend after spending the week doing not very much.

And so, he doesn’t expect much after lunch on a Friday; not of his people, and certainly not of his secretary, a pretty (if you like girls with a bit of meat on them, and Robbie does) girl…sorry, woman in her thirties called Emma. He should let her go early, maybe he should do that for the lot of them. But thing is, you do that once, and then they expect it. And then they start taking liberties.

Here she comes now, popping her head around the door as if she couldn’t just send a Teams message or call.

“All right?” she asks.

Robbie gives her a bland smile. “Everything’s under control.”

Somehow, Emma takes that as an invitation to enter his office. “I was wondering,” she begins, flowing towards him in a long dress that reaches her ankles. Pretty in blue, the flowered material matches a pendant that sits invitingly above her cleavage.

“Hmm?”

Emma giggles, as if Robbie has told a joke. She beams at him and says, “I was wondering if you looked at that email I forwarded.” She clasps her hands in front of her. “If you’d had the time.”

Robbie frowns at that. As if he’s the lazy one! As if he can’t prioritize. If it wasn’t for him, keeping a careful eye on things, this place would fall apart.

“I’ve told you before,” he says. “I don’t like forwards.”

Emma smiles, as if secretaries know best. “It’s important.” She taps the side of her nose, as if the email is a top-secret intelligence briefing, instead of what it probably is, another corporate missive.

Robbie puts her fingertips together and leans back in his chair, wishing for a moment that he smoked a pipe - because wouldn’t he look erudite then, wouldn’t he just reek of wisdom - even though these days of course, there’s no smoking allowed.

“Let me tell you why I don’t like forwards,” he says. “Your job is to make mine easier. You should summarize, you should condense. If you just forward an email, then I have to read it.”

Emma furrows her brow. “Thing is, I don’t know what- “

“Your job is to get out of my way, but a forwarded email is something in my way.” He glances at his computer. “Without even opening that email, I promise you that it is one more communication that will neither convey understanding or influence behaviour. Emails like this just exist to take up time and space, making other people feel productive even though in reality, nothing’s changing. And so, if you just forward them, you’re part of the problem because even though it might feel like you’re doing our job, all you’re really doing is slowing me down.” With that, he moves his hands apart, shows his palms. Case closed.

Emma steps around the desk and points at the screen. “It’s that one,” she says, pointing with a finger of her own pleasingly plump hand.

“Do you see my point?” persists Robbie. “If you just forward things, there’s no room for critical thinking. On the other hand, if you recap, if you summarize, you make it easier for me to make choices. You make my decisions simpler.” He smiles encouragingly.

Emma smiles back, nods. And then she points again. “That one.”

Robbie groans. “I swear, I’ve had it up to- “

“It’s about the bonuses,” Emma says. She tilts her face at him and for a second she looks fierce. “Is that…condensed enough?”

Robbie clears his throat. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

“I didn’t want to read the whole thing,” says Emma, and she steps back. “Didn’t really think it was my business.” She shrugs. “You’re the boss.”

Robbie nods. “Right. That’s fair.” He forces a smile. Good point.”

“So, you’ll read it?”

Another nod. “Of course.” He dismisses her with a wave. “Thank you, Emma, I’ll take care of it.”

She leaves, and Robbie points his mouse at the email.

Fwd.

Thinking about money, he double-clicks to open the message. And then he stops thinking about money.

The screen is suddenly too bright to consider bonuses. He isn’t blinded, he isn’t in pain, but for a few seconds Robbie can’t tell whether his eyes are open or closed. This sense of beyond seeing, it’s something he can feel in every cell, as if he’s being bathed in something. A ray of some kind, so bright and so dark at the same time that Robbie is sure that this is neither good or bad, it simply is.

And then he yawns, producing a popping sound in his ears.

He rubs his eyes with his fists and learns that his shirt sleeves are much too long. Same for his trousers. He looks down from his chair and sees his shoes on the carpet.

No. They can’t be his shoes. They’re much too big.

Robbie twists his lips. He’s all sleepy in his head. Did he just have a nap?

No. He’s not sleepy. He’s…gooey. He needs someone to explain what’s going on. Like a helper. Or a grown-up? The idea is strange and slippery in his gooey head.

He considers the computer in front of him. Nothing but lines of text on the screen. Boring squiggles that he can’t read. Robbie taps the keyboard with careless fingers, but there is no reward, no music or cartoons.

He considers his chair that is too high off the ground.

And then he considers the woman who flows into the room in her pretty blue dress.

She beams at Robbie, and so he smiles back. She’s such a pretty lady and she has a very friendly face.

Robbie’s smile breaks into a grin when he sees what lady’s holding.

“I’m glad you did as you were told,” says Emma warmly, “I can see you’re being a good boy.” She puts the objects on the desk. “What have I got for you?”

Robbie points at the objects confidently. “Cups!”

“That’s right,” says Emma, “Clever boy. And what colours are they?” She strokes her chin thoughtfully. “Do you know your colours, Robbie, or are you too little?”

Robbie bounces in his chair. “I know!” He points with a chubby finger. “Blue…yellow, red!” Except his words aren’t quite that clear. In fact, Robbie sounds more than a little gooey. Boo…yewoh…wed!

But Emma seems delighted. “Clever boy!” she exclaims, and she picks him up, holding him against her chest. “Which one do you want your juice in, Robbie? It’s your choice.”

Robbie frowns, looking down at the cups. He puts a finger to his mouth thoughtfully. “Boo,” he says finally.

Emma nods approvingly. “Blue’s a good colour. Like my dress.”

Robbie strokes the material and says, “Uh-huh, you gotta boo dess.”

Emma kisses the top of his head. “You’re just perfect. We’re better off without a manager, really, we can share the bonus this way. And think of all the fun you’ll have at nursery, Robbie, not stuck in this stuffy office.”

The little boy sucks on his finger, remembering his gooey thoughts. Wasn’t he supposed to do something important? Didn’t he have a-

“Now then,” says Emma, reaching for the blue cup, and helping Robbie hold it against his chest. “You want orange juice or apple juice?” She smiles at him. “You get to choose, because you’re the boss!” She says it playfully, which makes sense to Robbie, because this must be a game. He feels both affection and gratitude for the pretty lady, who is making his life so simple.

“Oh-winge!” Robbie demands, and he lets Emma carry him out of his office, waving his plastic blue cup at the grown-ups as they make their way to the kitchen.

THE END

A man's secretary forwards him an email that leaves him confused about who is really in charge - Rick