Doreen is a lovely old girl, who cheers my working day. She was going to the kitchen to fetch a cuppa for herself and Mo, and I decided to tag along to get one at the same time, just to be sociable. Unusually, there was a queue waiting at the vending machine. Our boss was at the front of the queue. The other blokes started to give him some grief about not letting the lady go first. Everyone was laughing, but he was clearly a little embarrassed by this jibe.
This was followed by a bout of flirting parry and riposte: Doreen was on good form. Although it was before my time at the company, I understand she was once “the toast of the typing pool”. She’s been working here a long time.
So I waited at the back of the queue whilst first Doreen, then the rest of the blokes got their drinks and left. As I was getting my drink, I was aware of Doreen loitering in the office opposite, trying very hard to look inconspicuous and failing miserably. As I finished, she came back into the kitchen.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I forgot to get Mo’s drink.”
“One sniff of testosterone and your brains turn to blancmange.”
“You’re not wrong.”
(names are changed to protect the innocent)