Tony hesitated. Just for a second. He hated Beryl with a passion. Why could she just not loosen up a little bit. You know. Enjoy life. Everything was by the book. Had to be. Any variation would set her off.
He’d once put vodka in the water cooler - on a Friday, he wasn’t mad enough to do that on a Monday, though he had once altered the buttons, so that those who wanted still got fizzy, and vice-versa. Tony knew that Beryl hated Comic Sans, she’d written an extensive essay on it via her blog.
Tony also knew that Beryl was the one responsible for him having been placed on that performance improvement plan. He’d argued his case with the panel at the time. Passed the majority of the accusations of laziness and incompetence off as merely office pranks or an attempt to spice up the hum drum. The photocopied series of his hand gradually extending the middle finger was only meant as a flick-a-book series, not the single image that got taped to Beryl’s desk by someone else.
The fact that he and a number of others had loosened Beryl’s armrests and changed her keyboard settings, or covered her desk in post-its, was harmless fun, not bullying. The panel did not agree, a pill he found particularly hard to swallow, as one of the panelists was co-author of an ongoing romantic relationship Beryl was having with Jorge, a swarthy adventurer currently on a humanitarian mission in in Borneo. Their digital tryst had gone on for ages. Too long. So long, that they could no longer stop. Beryl was besotted.
The prude was not backwards about being forwards when she was online and in a bother about Jorge. The office workers found it hilarious.
Beryl was oblivious. Tony could see her fretting about the day’s weather. Knew she was about to spiral. He’d read the booklet. Knew it off by heart. In truth, their job was one that seemed more complicated than it was. Most of their efforts were the result of plain luck. They rode the odds. Just like Vegas. What happens in Capellen stays in Capellen.
He saw Beryl copy the code. He saw her paste the info from one day to the next. He saw her give up. This small victory was plenty. But not nearly enough.
Tony had already pasted in the day before, the day before’s code. And now Beryl had no idea that her idea was regurgitating another idea. And that idea had been Tony’s. The forecast was now one of a triplet of made up forecast.
Tony stifled a laugh, choked it down. Nonetheless his eyes watered. He picked up his mobile. Called up a world jumble app. Signed in as Jorge and pinged Beryl.
This ought to be fun.
It’s quite simply another beautiful day in the blessed Grand Duchy.
