“We’ll need some gloves…. and a couple of shovels.”
I pause from my typing and glance suspiciously at He Who Brings The Coffee, who is sitting opposite me and talking intently to a friend on his mobile.
“No, no, they’ll have to be bigger shovels… heavier, y’know? Need a bit of clout to them.”
I am no longer making any pretence of doing my work, opting for an outright stare as he mutters shiftily into his phone.
“Aye, and bin bags. Not the wee thin things, like. They’ll have to be good, heavy-duty ones. Good and strong.”
He moves in his chair and our eyes suddenly meet, making me jump involuntarily. Panicked, I duck my head and make a nervous attempt to appear busy, shuffling random papers on the desk. They slip from my hands and fall in a disorganised heap on the floor. He Who Brings The Coffee rolls his eyes and watches me as, flustered, I try to gather them up.
“Hails seems to think we’re planning a murder,” he says covertly. There is a pause. Then he sniggers darkly. “No, not hers. Yet.”
I sit up sharply, bang my head on the desk, and watch in dismay as my desk tidy falls over, depositing its contents all over the surface.
He Who Brings The Coffee shakes his head wearily at this fine display of employee incompetence.
“Although, the way things are going…” he adds thoughtfully.
There have got to be laws against this sort of intimidation in the workplace.