Management Meeting

Monday.

I start the countdown from sunday.

I have a lot of stuff on my desk that I havent cleared up. I know. What makes it worse is I work four days a week. Fridays I go off for my NYSC community development (supposedly. what I actaully do is scurry round town for gullible females). Friday's activities have a way of spilling into saturday (if I'm lucky). And on sunday I feign some nasty infection of separate body parts to keep from going to church, then snooze well into mid day before I undertake the main chores of the day (brush teeth, eat breakfast, read a book, bath tomorrow) It is during this period of intense activity I remember monday. And the sickening management meeting we have to undergo. Sunday evening I'm a bag of nerves. Anyone who knows me will recognise the stress indicators: I bite my nails and anyone who comes too close, I refuse food of the 'swallow' variety, I engage the kitchen knife in carrying out regular stuff like switching on the television and persuading my younger sister to iron my shirts for work on monday... Monday!

I crawl to bed shaking like a puppy, my mind thinking all sorts of things - can't the ground open up and take me? (not beneficial ; in the debris after the event my family may discover my porno collection), or can't the Rapture take place sometime in the night? (not desirable: I probably won't even hear the trumpet above my own snoring) or can't I wake up and find that due to my superior brain performance I've been kidnapped by the Russians and taken to a High Tech Lab (not realistic, and I don't like the Russian language anyway-too much phlegm involved). None of these things happen and I drop off to sleep.

The next morning everything works - the shower, my deodorant can, the car, even the traffic wardens... I guess Murphy's Law really does exist.

Eight Thirty.
A bell strikes in my head
I walk into the conference room with dread
wishing to God I was dead...

We start with a prayer inviting the Holy Spirit to preside over our meeting. 'Witnesses', I think grimly, 'they want witnesses for my execution'.

We begin with an update. Pencils work on paper, corrections are made. And then we proceed to the business of the day.

I fumble, of course, like I know I would. I pray we skip bits I should have done. That doesn't happen.

"why didnt you complete the process?" my boss asks.

"Because I think a lot of the work we do here is pointless and results can be better achieved with some restructing and prioritizing" I dont say that, obviously. I mumble about uncooperative clients instead.

"what were you doing all week?" he asks again.

"reading fineboy's blog and sending my curriculum vitae to banks and oil companies" But I didnt say that as well. I mentioned instead the Shareholder's Agreement and the court appearance that took up so much of my time.

At last it's over. The blood reaches our elbows. We end with a prayer as usual. The Holy Spirit slinks away. Probably hasn't seen seen so much gore since King David and the Philistines.

"Make sure you tie up all the loose ends", my Boss admonishes.

I nod an OK.

Then sit on my desk.

Switch on my computer.

And write this post.