Where it all began

Regular readers may know that despite my uber modern appearance (ahem), and heavy reliance on technology, I am in fact a throw back to the Victorian age.  I am a consumptive heroine, coughing her way to an early grave courtesy of the CLD ™, or Chaise Longue of Death, as it is known in the trade.

Yesterday, when I was face down in the filing cabinet looking for important documents and swearing in a muffled way, I found a copy of an e-mail that I sent in July 1995.

At that time I was working as a secretary for a medical publishers.  My main job was sorting out rights and permissions for various scientific publications. In my spare time I was supposed to help the office in general.

Clearly, on this day, I had been ‘helping’ in general.  It seems that there was a dearth of chairs in the meeting rooms, and it was decided that an e-mail should be sent to the entire company asking for people to bring any spare chairs back.  I was given this simple task.

I quote:

‘A chair amnesty has been announced by head office, starting from 07.00 hours this morning.  There will be a small box placed by Maureen’s desk where you can deposit any illicit chairs you have about your person.  Maureen has been sworn to secrecy, and her copy of the official secrets act is now deposited in the vault at Barclay’s Bank for future reference.

Don’t feel embarrassed about the situation, chair fetishism is no new thing.  It is a little known fact that Winston Churchill was in reality only five stone six, his main bulk being attributed to his ‘Security Queen Anne Chaise Longue’ which he had stitched into the lining of his suits to give him confidence when called upon to speak in public.’

I got a written warning for this e-mail.

It wasn’t as bad as the time I got reprimanded for writing an e-mail asking people not to shoot up crack on the sofas in reception, as it was making the place look untidy.

I was clearly not cut out for the world of real work, even then.

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