24 hours earlier
The average person will spend approximately 90,000 hours of their life at work. Amelia Harris had discovered this fact after a quick Google search while eating lunch at her desk late yesterday afternoon, and she pondered this now as she closed her desk drawer, which contained her stationery, sorted by colour.
Going over her desk with an antibacterial wipe, Amelia sighed, satisfied that everything was in order. Knowing her workstation was clean and tidy, with each item in its proper place, brought her a sense of calm.
At the desk next to her, the shelling and chewing of pistachios had finally ceased, and had now been replaced with restrained giggling. Maureen was a voluptuous woman whose overconfidence in make-up application matched the enthusiasm of her bold A-line style dresses, which were always covered in bizarre prints. Today’s was a brilliant blue with a strawberry ice cream print. Amelia smiled. It was a far cry from her own conservative office wear, but she had to admit, it was fun to look at.
Maureen covered the mouthpiece of her phone and whispered to Amelia, ‘Could you be a doll and pop into the printers during lunch to collect the pull-up banner for Gary? He’s got a late meeting tonight. You can just leave it in Meeting Room 1.’
Heat crept up Amelia’s neck and she tugged the collar of her blouse. She didn’t want to say yes, but she already knew she would. Maureen was always doing this. For years, their desks had been positioned next to each other, even though Amelia worked in accounts and Maureen was a marketing coordinator. A few years back, Amelia’s boss, Gary, had told her this was a tactic to keep Maureen on task. He’d said Amelia was one of his hardest workers, and the most focused. Putting Amelia next to her meant one less distraction for Maureen, who loved to gossip. But it had the opposite effect for Amelia. As well as being a constant source of noise, Maureen was always asking Amelia to do favours for her – favours that were part of Maureen’s job description, like picking up a banner from the printers.
‘Please,’ begged Maureen, batting her false eyelashes. ‘I’m swamped over here, and I have a lunch meeting. You’d be saving my bacon.’
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