Husband Material (London Calling #2)(39)
I was just about to flee back to my office when Professor Fairclough descended from the upper floors. “I heard a commotion,”
she said. “Has there been a disturbance?”
“I think this place is a disturbance,” I replied.
“Ah, Professor”—Alex looked up excitedly—“you’ll know. What would you call a deer with no eyes?”
“Capreolus caecus, clearly.” She shrugged. “Assuming it was a trait endemic to the species. If it was suffering from an unknown disease, I’d call it Subject One.”
“You can’t call Luc’s poor little deer Subject One,” protested Alex.
Oh God. Why did I keep doing this to myself? “There. Is. No.
Deer.”
Everyone stared at me in aggrieved confusion.
“Then”—Alex looked genuinely wounded—“why did you ask me what to call it?”
“You know something?” I threw my hands in the air. “I have no idea.”
Before the situation could degenerate any further, I escaped into my office. Of course I say escaped, but the moment I sat down, I saw that I had an unread email from Barbara Clench.
Dear Luc,
Unfortunately, your request contravenes CRAPP’s new policy regarding the photocopiers. In order to avoid a repeat of last month’s incident involving Alex, the feed tray, and the fire engine, it has been agreed by the directors that no changes may be made to the photocopiers under any circumstances without the approval of a qualified engineer. I see no reason to make an exception for you.
Kind regards,
Barbara
It had been a while since I’d been in a back-and-forth like this with Barbara, and in her defence, it was generally a good idea to have a nobody-touch-the-machines policy when Alex was around.
Although possibly “Alex, don’t touch the machines” would have got more to the heart of the issue. But this was getting in the way of my ability to do my job.
Dear Barbara,
While I understand the value of this policy in broad terms, the photocopier is out of paper. If we need to call an engineer every time the copier runs out of paper, it might prove unnecessarily expensive.
Kind regards,
Luc
I didn’t expect that to be the end of it, and it wasn’t.
Dear Luc,
The current policies have been set by the directors, and I do not have the authority to alter them. The rules are clear: you are not to tamper with the photocopiers in any way.
Kind regards,
Barbara
Dear Barbara,
Then can you please call an engineer. The photocopier is out of paper.
Kind regards,
Luc
Dear Luc,
I have spoken to our reprographics supplier, and they have told me that their engineers can only be dispatched to deal with genuine malfunctions.
Kind regards,
Barbara
Dear Barbara,
Fantastic. Then can I please be permitted to restock the paper?
Kind regards,
Luc
Dear Luc,
You may not. The policy remains clear on this matter, and I do not have the authority to alter it.
Kind regards,
Barbara
Dear Barbara,
Do you not see that this is a problem?
Kind regards,
Luc
Dear Luc,
If you disagree with the policy, you may bring it up at the next directors’ meeting in September.
Kind regards,
Barbara
Dear Barbara,
And until September we’re just not going to use the photocopiers at all?
Kind regards,
Luc
Dear Luc,
The average UK office worker prints 10,000 sheets of paper a year, of which 6,800 are wasted. This is equivalent to 4.8
trees per person. As an ecological charity, CRAPP should be doing its best to reduce printing and photocopying, not enabling it.
Kind regards,
Barbara
Dear Barbara,
While I’m sure we all agree we should reduce waste, I can’t help but feel that there’s a more elegant solution than turning our office photocopier into the world’s most boring modern art piece.
Kind regards,
Luc
Dear Luc,
The current policies have been set by the directors, and I do not have the authority to alter them.
Kind regards,
Barbara
I was just resigning myself to three months of working in a paperless office with none of the technologies that made paperless offices actually work, when the door opened and Alex Twaddle stuck his head in.
“If this is about the deer…” I began.
“No, no. Fully acknowledge that the deer was a cruel hoax.”
I made a frustrated noise at the back of my throat. “It wasn’t a hoax. It was a joke.”
“Luc”—Alex folded his arms—“I don’t think it’s at all funny to mock a deer with a serious disability.”
“There. Was. No. Deer.”
“It’s the principle of the thing. And if you’re going to be insensitive, I’m not going to invite you to my wedding.”
The old me would have thought if I ever needed encouragement to be insensitive, this was it. And, frankly, the new me thought the same. “You’re getting married?” I asked.
Alex’s sleepy eyes flashed shock at me. “How do you know?”