lunch money, lunch money. [michael]

Michael made a face -- on the one hand, he would rather love to train somebody, as he loved telling people what to do, but on the other hand, he would hate to have a novice tag along his entire day. His work life wasn’t glamourous at all and he hated it when other people saw that -- what did he do all day, really? He picked up after people, he picked up after animals, he made small talk with secretaries, he unstopped toilets, he let people talk down to him (he was so good at this last that some of his more easily flustered colleagues called him up to deal with complaints.)

It was a life he didn’t mind, but a life he didn’t want other people to see him leading, so he’d better get a raise for letting someone tail him all day. Never mind that he’d also have to train the man.

“What?” said Michael, not sure why Phyllis had come up. He didn’t like her much -- he hadn’t had much exposure to elderly people as a child and was consequently intimidated by most of them, much like dogs -- but she was a fixture of their office and, as far as he was aware, more likely to die than to retire. He frowned; there hadn’t been a retirement party yet, but he hoped he wouldn’t be expected to give her a farewell hug. She smelled like mothballs.

“Oh -- you mean, who’s the new one replacing?” He shrugged. “Honestly I thought it’d be Stan, the man’s a drunkard.” Michael was nobody to talk about drinking at work -- he hid a handle of vodka in his desk for bad days -- but he was at least less obvious about it. Stan had spent most of yesterday in the cafeteria with his head between his knees singing “Roll Out the Barrel.” Then again, Magical Maintenance, with its reputation for employing the otherwise unemployable, had never fired someone as long as Michael could remember -- and Jeremy, sitting across from him, was living proof.

“Yeah, I reckon it’s Phyllis,” he said, and shook his head. “Maybe Reg wants to test out the new one before he sends her off. Besides -- don’t reckon she wants to miss her last Halloween at the Ministry.” He didn’t like the woman but he could admit that her Halloween costumes were brilliant.

"No, not Stan," Jeremy basically whined, his face pulling into a frown, his voice shriller than usual. It was not a good look on the wizard, that was certain. "We love Stan," it was unclear precisely who Jeremy was referring to when he said we, but as a default, it typically meant Danny, Jeremy, and the other less than useful wizards in the mailroom. "Last week he forgot one of his shoes, it was awesome." Drunk people had a way of leaving discarded things like little breadcrumbs they would never remember to follow. A shoe here, a belt there, something they just had to take off right then and couldn't be bothered to carry. It was the sort of behavior that was expected, and accepted, at places like House Parties, but not quite so much when you were a ministry maintenance employee. Cleaning up the flooded loo must have been pretty awful with only one shoe. Jeremy hated soggy socks.

It made sense to train the replacement before the original employee left, and Jeremy nodded at the idea like it was some brand new brilliant invention he'd never thought of. Truth be told, it was, but Jeremy barely thought ten minutes ahead, let alone weeks. Plans were not really something in his wheelhouse, which was why he was always broke, pout over a lack of pudding, and would never be put in charge of anything.

"You are right," Jeremy said as another thought popped into his hyperactive mind, and he began to rub his hands together mischievously. "Wonder who she will prank this year," Jeremy loved Phyliss for many reasons, but her scary Halloween pranks were relatively high on the list. Sure the batty old woman was up to no good 365 days a year, but the Halloween antics were the stuff of legend. Leaning forward, Jeremy whispered, just in case their boss was nearby, "I hope she finally gets Reg," What did she have to lose? She was already retiring so it seemed like sound logic to Jeremy.

We love Stan, said Jeremy; Michael frowned. Jeremy probably hadn’t been including Michael in the ‘we’, but it still felt necessary to say, gravely, “Eh.” Last week Stan had forgotten one of his shoes -- that much was true -- but last week Stan had also forgotten his four o’clock Wednesday morning shift, and Michael had consequently done the weather charms on level six as well as level four, so he kind of thought Stan was a wanker. If they ever did decide to sack Stan, they could probably get away with hiring a moderately intelligent mop in his place.

When Jeremy rubbed his hands together that way, Michael was put in mind of a villainous Muppet. (It was the hair.) He frowned contemplatively -- in his first year in the department he’d been the most obvious prey, and had thusly been clearing dead spiders out of his desk for a week of November before he’d lost his patience and spent eight hours of a Saturday shift scouring his entire cubicle. Interestingly, the ordeal had not made him any fonder of spiders.

“Oh God, Reg,” he agreed, was the most likely victim this year. “Bet she retires November first so he doesn’t make her clean it up, too.” Already, he was making mental plans to ask for the day off.

Michael checked his watch again; he had seven minutes of his break remaining; he brushed biscuit crumbs off his hands, took a quick glug of his coffee (it was mercifully still warm) and yawned, slumped a little in his chair. He hated taking coffee on the lifts -- even when it was mostly gone, he was always nervous that it’d spill -- so he finished it off with a few long gulps, set the cup down with a hollow tap. “Well now,” he said, with an air of forlorn finality -- across the way, one of the elevators was arriving at the Atrium -- “I should go make sure Proudfoot isn’t sleuthing around my cube. See you Monday?”

He waited just long enough to get an answer and to say something along the lines of “Uh huh” in response before he hurried away to catch the lift; if he got up to level one quickly enough, he thought, he’d have time to borrow a cup of Floo powder from the stash in the supply closet.

[out]

Jeremy laughed at Michael's assumption; it sounded right; actually, it sounded like a genius idea to leave the day after so that she wouldn't have to deal with the cleanup. It was the sort of idea Jeremy would never have come up with but might steal later on. Still smiling, his lunch mate decided it was time to head back to work. Jeremy gave him a sharp nod. Almost like he was jumping to attention, but they both knew he absolutely wasn't. Jeremy moved out of his chair (it squeaked loudly across the tile floor, and he carried on dragging it for longer than he technically had to, just for fun)

"Yeah," he said with an exaggerated stretch and a yawn that put the pudding that was around his mouth on full display. Giving Michael an award-winning grin, the redhead agreed with him, sort of, and spoke. "Time to go back to 'work,'" He put his fingers up to make air quotes around the last word. It was time for his after-lunch nap in the broom closet, but Michael didn't need to know that. Not that Jeremy thought Michael would rat him out, but more so because he was nervous about spilling the details on the excellent napping spot he had discovered.

"See ya then," Jeremy said with a wave as he headed back to the line, grabbing a snack for the arduous journey to the second level, and headed out of the cafeteria. He forgot to throw away his trash, but what else was new.

[end]