Thursday, December 02, 2004

The Gift 

It’s like Santa’s grotto every morning in reception.
Everybody has been doing their Christmas shopping on the web and having it delivered to their work address, so at ten o’clock when the postman drops his load and Tabs sends out an email saying come and get your pressies kids, it’s like Oxford Street down there, all sharpened elbows and bruised shins.

There was a parcel for me today. I waited until the rush had passed and decided to try and apologise properly to Tabs for last week’s nonsense.

I ran through the speech I’d prepared in my head while I waited for her to come off the phone. It rang non-stop and I gave her a little “it’s OK, I can wait” smile, and she gave back a “sorry about this, it’s really busy today” smile in return.

There was no sign of a let up after three or four minutes so I leaned over and grabbed a post-it note off her desk, and scribbled, “Sorry for being a knob. I was out of order.”

She read it, smiled and passed it back to me, sticky side up. There was already a message on the other side. It read “Apology accepted. Sorry for snapping at you on Tuesday. I feel better now.”

We shrugged at each other wordlessly for a moment or two while she carried on answering her phone, then I took my parcel and walked back up to my desk.

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