Curses

Monday morning

The lift doors opened and Pam peered cautiously round them. Must be her lucky day, Old Tuna Breath wasn’t in his office. She scuttled quickly past the water cooler and round the corner to her desk.

“Eleven minutes past nine, Pamela.” A fishy stench assailed her nostrils as she found her seat occupied by the department line manager, his bulky form bulging against the fabric of his green suit. Her heart sank.

“Sorry, Mr Harper,” she muttered. “Bus was stuck in traffic.”

“Oh, yes,” he replied, raising his voice to make sure everyone could hear. “That pesky traffic again. You don’t have much luck with that do you?” He jiggled his head to indicate he was waiting for a reply. His jowls wobbled unpleasantly.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted.

“Lost for words!” he exclaimed. “Well, I never. Maybe we should speak on Facebook,” he pronounced it like it was a dirty word. “You don’t seem to have any trouble communicating on that.” The jowls went into action again but Pam stayed silent. The sickening regret as she recalled Friday night after work in the pub with Julie and Alison. They’d all been laughing about Harper’s new green suit. When she’d got home, somewhat the worse for wear, she had updated her status: “Pam is looking forward to a weekend without Harper the Toad breathing down her neck.”

Harper leaned forward, and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I would watch your step in future, Pamela, otherwise this toad will crush you like a bug.”

Pam’s day did not get any better as Harper kept her inundated with numerous mundane and unwelcome tasks. When five o’ clock finally rolled round, she trudged to the lift.

“Oh Pamela,” the voice came from the office. She turned reluctantly. “See you tomorrow, nine o’ clock sharp!” Harper called cheerily.

“Yes, Mr Harper.”

“You know, Pamela, I’ve been looking at staff absence records and I have to say yours does not make pleasant reading. If there’s a bug going round you are guaranteed to get it. Flu, colds, stomach upsets; you get the lot.” He gave a deep sigh as though saddened by Pam’s state of health. “I’ve been working here for seventeen years and I have never been late and I have never had a day off sick. You could learn a lot from me, young lady.”

Lecture over, Pam finally got the lift down to the ground floor. She burst through the front door in time to see her bus setting off from the stop without her. And then, of course, it started to rain. A lot. Twenty-five minutes later when a sodden Pam shouldered her way onto the next bus, she was seething.

“Condescending bastard,” she muttered viciously under her breath. “Never had a day off? I hope you get piles, you old bugger.” She noticed people giving her odd looks and wondered how much they’d heard. She stayed quiet until her stop but her mind kept fervently wishing misfortune on her boss.

Tuesday morning

Pam couldn’t believe it. Today of all days, the bus had to break down. Even sprinting, as best she could in heels, it was still twenty past nine when she stumbled into the lift, her ankles aching. The lift walls reflected back a face red through smudged make-up. A line of sweat ran down her forehead and into her eye.

“Pamela...” the voice came, as she’d feared, the moment she stepped out of the lift. She turned reluctantly. Harper stood in his office doorway beckoning her with one stern finger. He turned as she dragged her feet after him.

Julie whispered an urgent warning from her desk. “He’s in a foul mood. Worse than normal.”
Great, Pam thought as she passed through the door, closing it behind her. Harper stood behind his large desk fixing her with bulging eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mr Harper, I really am. I tried to be on time but the bus broke down and I ran all the way here,” Pam blurted it all out, feeling about eight years old on the verge of tears in front of the headmaster again.

“It’s not good enough, Pamela,” Harper shook his head slowly. “We talked about this only yesterday. Now, go get me a coffee and then come back and sort this filing out.” He indicated a towering pile of paper nearly as tall as Pam. He then sat down. Slowly, Pam noticed, and was that a wince on his pudgy face?

He said nothing when she returned with his coffee so she started sorting through the filing. She heard him fidgeting in his chair and letting out occasional involuntary whines. When she dared to glance round he was leaning forward out of his chair, glaring at his screen. She couldn’t help but see the words “Haemorrhoids symptoms” writ large at the top.

It couldn’t have been what she said, could it? You can’t actually wish haemorrhoids on someone. He must have already had them. Old men get piles, she just hadn’t noticed before; why would she? Still, she found the idea of inflicting them on him pretty funny and she smiled as she filed.

“What are you grinning at?” he barked from his chair.

“Nothing,” she jumped, “I was just thinking about an episode of Friends that was on last night.”

Harper grunted derisively and heaved himself painfully out of his chair. Pam had to suppress an attack of the giggles as she heard him ask Julie if she could find him a cushion for his chair. She quickly returned to the filing as he waddled back in.

She worked quickly and was finished just before five. “All done, Mr Harper,” she said cheerily, “see you tomorrow.”

Harper sneered at her. “You may have finished that lot, but there’s plenty more where that came from. Maybe wear something a little less glamorous than your usual attire as tomorrow you’re going to be working in...” he paused for effect, “...the basement.”

Pam’s heart sank. Not only was the basement dank and musty but it was also home to Terence, building caretaker and world class letch. He would spend the entire day staring at her with his mouth open, making less than subtle suggestive comments and undoubtedly making her the day’s star in the dirty movie that played permanently in his sordid little mind.

“Have a pleasant evening,” Harper leaned back in his chair, smiled evilly, then winced.

Pam spent her evening drinking Pinot Grigio out of her biggest wine glass and watching a programme about embarrassing medical conditions. Tonight’s subject was narcolepsy and she found herself torn between feeling heartfelt sympathy and laughing out loud as the unfortunate sufferers drifted off while shopping and fell asleep in their dinner.

The laughter won out when she imagined Harper nodding off into a bowl of tomato soup. Smaning, she waved the remote like a wand and cried, “Abracadabra! Let Mr Harper be Mr Sleepy!”

Wednesday morning

Pam arrived, hungover but triumphant, at five minutes to nine and marched out of the lift glaring at Harper’s office, daring him to make a smart-arse comment. He said nothing because, annoyingly, he wasn’t there to witness her punctuality.

She went to her desk and idly checked her emails as she awaited his instructions on the dreaded basement filing. She was still waiting half an hour later when Julie strolled over, a mischievous grin on her face.

“Harper just called,” she told Pam, “he’s on his way in but he was delayed because, get this, he fell asleep on the train and ended up in St Albans!”

Never late for work, eh? Pam laughed to herself. That’s one record gone, Toady, my friend.

Four hours later, Harper arrived, having slept through his stop three more times. Five minutes later he rushed past her desk, late for the senior management team meeting. “I’ll speak to you after this,” he told her distractedly.

However, he did not as he left the meeting wearing a woebegone expression, accompanied by Miss Atkinson, the chief executive, who spoke to him concernedly. Julie emerged behind them clutching her notepad and unsuccessfully suppressing a smirk as she skipped up to Pam’s desk.

“He fell asleep in the middle of Atkinson’s speech,” she gleefully related. “He was snoring and everything! It took us five minutes to wake him up, he looked really shocked and then nodded off again. It was amazing!”

Pam digested this news slowly. First the piles then the random sleeping. That couldn’t be a coincidence. She had made it happen. She had a power. A superpower. She could control him. She felt strength course through her veins and fought back the urge to let out a cartoon villain mwah ha ha.

It was almost five when Harper called her into his office. Perversely the man looked like he hadn’t slept for days, his flabby features more pallid and droopier than usual. “Well Pamela,” he said “looks like the basement filing will have to wait until tomorrow.” His eyes started to close.” But it’s still there, ready for –“He slumped forward, his head hitting the desk with a thump.

Pam waited a minute but he didn’t stir so she took the opportunity to make her escape.

Back at home she reflected on her newfound abilities. The line from Spiderman floated into her mind. “With great power comes great responsibility,” but she quickly shook it off and began imagining new scenarios to torment Harper with. She considered and dismissed in turn baldness, erectile dysfunction and incontinence. When her imagination failed her she turned to the internet. There were an astonishing number of embarrassing ailments out there, but after pondering the potential of priapism – a permanent erection – she ultimately settled on Tourette’s syndrome, or more specifically coprolalia –compulsive swearing.

That could be fun, she thought as she waved the remote control and said the magic words.

Thursday morning

Pam took a deep breath as the lift doors glided open. She stepped out to see Fiona from HR run out of Harper’s office, followed by Harper himself apologising wildly. “I’m so sorry, Fiona, I don’t know why I said that, please forgive me. Massive tits! Oh shit, I’m sorry!”

Pam clenched her fists and did a small victory dance. She didn’t think Harper would be sending her into the basement today or any day soon.

The office buzzed with tales of Harper’s indiscretions that morning. He was slapped three times before twelve o’ clock and had accumulated no less than six official complaints for sexual harassment.

Pam was standing by the water cooler laughing with Julie when Miss Atkinson led him towards the lift. “Go and see someone,” she overheard her tell him, “a professional.” He nodded, his head bowed, shoulders slumped. Pam’s laughter dried in her throat as she saw a tear roll down his fat cheek and fall to the floor. Had she gone too far? She might have broken him. Permanently.

Pam slept badly that night.

Friday morning

Pam stepped tentatively out of the lift and looked questioningly at Julie who beckoned her over. “He’s called in sick,” she declared. “He told me,” she did her best Harper voice, “‘Um, Julie, I won’t be coming in today, I’m, er, coming down with the flu. Bouncing arse cheeks! Oh God, I’m sorry.’ Then he hung up!” Julie collapsed into hysterics.

Pam wandered slowly over to her desk. There was an end of term atmosphere in the office as people chatted and laughed. Pam sat in the midst of the jollity, separate from it all, the guilt growing steadily inside her.