Barefoot in the heart: part 7, the receptionist

good morning sir who are you here to see other of course than me but you weren’t to know that I come free I’m your meet and greet fantasy I am the reassuring familiarity in your otherwise boring itinerary been here for a quarter of a century employee number three I’m a saucer(ess) full of secrets a library of passing cares extra-curricular affairs and holder of a few hundred thousand shares probably a millionairess by now not bad for someone with one CSE grade three but what’s it all for without company one CEO I used to know had a heart attack died on my pillow but they didn’t want his wife to know sleaze is bad for fees so flew me to Acapulco for a holiday all expenses paid ninety six degrees in the shade they weren’t surprised but never asked me I was traumatised wasn’t long before I was back smiling for everyone booking meeting rooms and making coffee I hear talk it must be delightful having no responsibility whatever pressure could I be under don’t have to take work home with me and the worst mistake I could make is to order cake for a gluten intolerant VIP I’ve done first aid kiss of life the heimlich manoeuvre and am trusted with a nespresso, letter knife, hoover and the non-taxing parts of a PC and if I am lucky I get to do the stationery order and some faxing don’t give me that sexual equality bullshit if there’s a symbol of the way it used to be I AM IT the epitome and epiphany of mysogyny and while I get to expense my waxing and manicures in my heart I am barefoot everybody wants my first impression but nobody wants me more refined but evermore lined than I used to be the expression taken for granted was invented for me untouchable for the encyclopaedia of what I know and what I see but untouched the dreams at which I once clutched sailing over the horizon with the exec with tom ford on are a paling sepia discord without doubt he once looked back and smiled as I signed us both out

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