Ladies that Lunch
There she was.
Shovelling a foot long Subway Sandwich into her mouth with one hand whilst wiping her perspiring head with the other, her chest heaving and her face flushing an offensive shade of crimson. She reached across the desk for the supersize full fat coke, which she gurgled in surround sound, the noise ricocheting off the stationary units.
He clenched a fist, only for a second, long enough to relieve his frustration but not long enough to be noticed.
She didn’t pander to the filthy looks she was thrown by her colleagues surrounding her in the open plan office. She didn’t react to the work experience girl jumping out of her skin when she belched loudly, waving the air around her face animatedly and laughing proudly. Nor did she realise that she nearly wiped out the gay receptionist as he sauntered past when she thrust her long, scraggly hair back as she went to consume another mouthful.
SHE was Cassandra Williams.
Or Cassie the fat lassie as the rest of the office had christened her.
You see, Cassie not only frustrated him, but secretly fascinated him; Derek Walters, the Head of the Performance Team.
Not only was Cassie in her early thirties in age, but judging by the size of her, she was probably in her early thirties in stone. She had confided in Derek a few months earlier that she was getting a gastric band fitted so that she could lose weight for her sister’s wedding.
Unfortunately, Cassie thought that having the gastric band fitted still meant she could continue to consume the same rubbish food she had always indulged in and that somehow this magical band would make it all disappear. Strangely, Derek admired this. He watched her confident manner, her total and utter oblivion to the repulsive insults being whispered around her, and smiled.
He adjusted his tie and slowly made his way over to her desk. As he did so, he noticed that Janey (the Head of the Department’s geeky secretary who had certainly drawn the short straw in the seating department stakes) quickly brought out two pink plastic flags and placed them on top of her monitor. On both, stuck on inartistically, were the words ‘ON LUNCH’ scribbled in bold capital letters in felt tip pen. Janey smirked annoyingly at Derek as she slammed her lunch box down on the desk and proceeded to peel the sandwiches out.
Derek seemed oblivious to this hint of avoidance and leaned over the desk, “Janey, how are those minutes coming along from my meeting yesterday,” he drawled.
Janey scowled, took a bite of her sandwich and pointed to her pink flag. Derek adjusted his glasses and peered closely at the Blue Peter attempt, pretending he hadn’t seen it the first time around, “Ah, I see. Well I just wanted a quick answer whilst I was in this side of the office, do you think they will be done by the end of today?”
At this point, Cassie – whose desk was directly opposite to Janey – opened her subway filled gob and sprayed the words, “Dezza man, leave little miss prissy alone, ya kna she will have ‘em done for you by the end of the day, what with her being a goody two shoes ‘n all.”
Derek swung his head to give Cassie his full attention, “Ah, Miss Cassandra,” he smoothed, “do you have the figures for this month’s productivity gains?”
Cassie shook her head ferociously, scraggly hair acting as a sprinkler, spraying beads of sweat across the desks. Derek chose to ignore it, quashing his sadistic kick he was getting out of it; and the pair of them chose to ignore Janey’s vivacious attempt of wiping herself down.
“Not yet,” she mouthed through all the food in her mouth, “By the end of the week I will.”
Derek paused for effect, “Could you email me what you have done so far then, I will go over those figures and come back to you with my comments.”
“Sure,” Cassie replied, shooting a chunk of meatball across the desk, landing on an oblivious and unsuspecting hunched over Janey’s head.
Derek enjoyed this display of inappropriate consumption etiquette even more as he gulped away an excited gasp. He nodded his approval at Cassie before she opened her mouth to stuff the last couple of inches of the footlong in.
That was the final straw, he made his excuses then left, his fat admiration fetish fulfilled….well, for that lunchtime at least.
Homework from the 4th May 2011