"Rockin!" Season I/Episode I
2006-01-10, 4:26 p.m.

Zon surveyed the scene with disinterest.

Upon reaching the top, she had furnished her office with every gadget, gizmo and furnishing imaginable. But lately she had been feeling dissatisfied.

She knew why, yet she didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Something was missing.

Yeah, that’s it, she reasoned. Something is missing from my life.

Something that couldn’t be satisfied by even the finest mahogany desk.

Not that the desk couldn’t come in useful, of course...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Smash, Candoor and Dandy were decidedly bored. Seated behind a large desk, they had, all morning, endured a constant stream of candidates, all desperate to get the job as the latest account manager.

And in true style, all the applicants were oily, smug and talked too much about themselves.

Ah, they are finally giving me some responsibility, thought Candoor, smugly. Finally they are realising that my judgement is worthy of a more senior position. Another twelve months, and Zon will be firmly ejected out of her ergonomically designed, distressed leather swivel chair, and the place will be mine.

I could be doing something so much more important than this, was Dandy’s thought. As Executive PA to Zon, she was kept very busy, and didn’t know quite why she had been given the task of interviewing new candidates for the account manager role. Her feet ached, her head ached, her back ached, and she couldn’t banish the thought that right now she could be soaking in the hot tub, with little more than a scented candle and a glass of wine for company.

What a pile of fuckin’ boring wank this day has turned out to be, thought Smash, gloomily. Here I am, at the bottom of the food chain, and Zon, the exec from Satan’s very own inner circle decides I have to sit on this fuckin’ panel. “You can lend the voice of youth to proceedings,” she had said. Voice of youth indeed. Smash generally wasn’t given to thoughts of suicide, but for the first time in his life, he was sorry that the bomb-proof windows of the office were permanently sealed shut.

He could have jumped from his seat with minimum effort and put an end to all this misery.

The door opened, quite forcefully, and in strode a confident, good-looking, tall and elegant woman.

Oh dear. A woman for an account manager? What will they come up with next? Candoor was dismissive.

Great! At last! Another female in an otherwise testosterone soaked office! Dandy was pleased.

Fuck me sideways! What a babe! Smash was ecstatic.

The elegant lady stood before the panel, and waited, unsure of the meaning behind each of their expressions.

Finally she spoke.

‘Do you mind if I sit down?’

Smash was the first to recover. ‘Oh, of course not, babe. Take a pew.’ Candoor shot him a warning glance at his use of slang.

‘Thank you. And hello,’ said the interviewee, as she leaned over the desk to shake hands with each of the panel, giving Smash a delicious – albeit brief – moment of cleavage display. ‘I’m Workcrush.’

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Barista replaced the receiver carefully. Another whingeing bastard dealt with she thought. In her capacity as manager of the inbound customer services team, she always tried to remain professional, but just sometimes… sometimes she got the urge to tell the miserable whingeing little peasants to get a life.

Her team of workers received close to 2000 calls per day, all from people who either had loans, or wanted one. They quibbled over anything. ‘I’ve been charged an extra three pence in interest this month,’ they would moan.

Boring.

She took a moment to gaze at her husband, Hubbyman. She could still feel her insides turn somersaults every time she looked into his soft, dark eyes.

Hubbyman saw her staring and came bounding over to her desk.

“Hey, how’s things?” he asked, sitting casually on the edge of her desk.

“Bleargh.”

“Aww.” He patted her shoulder, affectionately. He’d have given her a kiss, but public displays of affection were strictly forbidden at YankBank. He had an idea. “Hey, what are you doing for lunch?”

“Sandwich at the desk, the usual. Too much work to do.”

“Fancy a quickie in the stationery cupboard at 1:30?”

Barista sighed. She was never going to get on in this place while she had the attentions of her – admittedly much loved and gorgeous – husband to contend with. She had to put a stop to this kind of behaviour.

Nip it in the bud.

Curtail it.

“Yeah, ok.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“She’s the one, definitely.” Dandy sat back, and read over the notes she had made. She noted that Candoor had written a War and Peace length set of “notes” and looked at Smash’s notepad.

There was nothing there except a picture of something that looked suspiciously like a large pair of breasts. She quivered with inner laughter, though her face remained impassive.

“Oh, I didn’t think she was suitable at all” Candoor snorted with heavy derision. “She came across as a man-eating, power hungry beast. I bet she doesn’t even like men.”

“Doesn’t like dudes?” Smash visibly deflated. “Aww fuck, and the tits on her! I bet you don’t get many of them to the…”

“Yes, thank you Hugh Heffner!” Dandy thought she had better put a stop to Smash’s unorthodox descriptions of Workcrush’s rather ample bosom before Candoor blew a gasket.

“Smash, do you think of anything, anything at all other than perverted sexual fantasies?” Candoor made the word ‘sexual’ sound disgusting, the way you would describe a dog turd if you stepped in it.

“Not really. Oh, cars of course, they’re pretty cool.” Smash gave his trademark lazy grin.

“But back to the case in point,” Dandy thought she had better bring the meeting back to order. If there’d been a gavel handy she would have rapped it smartly. Or wrapped it.

Round Candoor’s head.

“I think,” she continued “that those qualities you described in Workcrush would make her perfect for the job. And as such I will recommend her to Zon for immediate hire.” Dandy stood up smartly, and gracefully exited the room.

Smash smiled smugly at Candoor, who looked blacker than thunder.

“Smash, shut the fuck up.”

“WhatEVER…”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mystic and Tart, who were deep in conversation over at the photocopier, spied two people very suspiciously leaving the stationery cupboard. Mystic, being Tart’s boss, knew that she should maintain her distance from the “junior” staff, but at times her want for gossip overrode any feelings that told her she should remain aloof.

“Oh, look,” muttered Tart. “They’ve been at it again.”

“So it would appear,” Mystic spoke with disapproval, but in her head she was really wishing it had been her instead of Barista. “I hope they didn’t make a mess everywhere. I’m sure there was a very suspicious looking stain on that last packet of Post-Its I got from in there.”

Tart sniggered.

“And I don’t know what you’re laughing at, Tart,” Mystic said, icily, “it is not the short of behaviour that should be encouraged in a professional environment.”

“I agree with you totally,” Tart intoned, seriously. “But as we’re in the offices of YankBank, I’m sure it’s fine.” She walked off before an open mouthed Mystic could reply.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Was it as good for you as it was for me?” Hubbyman asked Barista over the phone.

“Hmm. Now shush, I have work to do.” She replaced the receiver quickly, glancing round to make sure no one had heard.

She nearly fell out of her chair when, from across the other side of the office, she saw Tart emerge from the stationery cupboard, giving her a cheeky wink.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Yes, yes. It’s all in hand, don’t worry.” He spoke in measured tones, twirling a pen deftly between his thumb and forefinger. “The transfer will be made as usual, but don’t you think we’re pushing this a little too far? I get the feeling that it’s all going to blow up in our faces.”

“Not at all!” The voice at the other end spoke sternly. “You just keep doing as you’re told, and there is no reason why anyone should discover your little secret. You have grand ideas, my friend, and a big ambition. And I would hate to be the destroyer of those dreams just because you let a little thing like fear get in the way. I shall see you tomorrow.” The receiver went down before he had a chance to reply.

Seated at his desk, he felt lines of worry furrow his brow. Oh, it’ll all be fine, he told himself.

What could possibly go wrong?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Smash entered Zon’s office, a little warily. He wasn’t scared of Zon, as such, despite her being his boss’s boss’s boss, or however far it was she resided up the ladder, but sometimes he felt like a naughty schoolboy stood in front of her desk while she stared up at him with a serious expression.

“Sit down, Smash, you haven’t done anything wrong,” Zon smiled.

“Oh thank fu- umm… thank you.”

“So how did the interviews go? Did you enjoy sitting in and offering your expertise?”

“Yeah, it was cool, I think, but I don’t exactly think I have expertise, as you say. But I’m not a bad judge of character.”

“Good. Well, Dandy tells me that -“ she check the piece of paper in front of her – “this candidate was most suitable for the role.”

“Oh yeah, definitely, you know?” Smash grinned.

“Excellent. Well, you can give the candidate the good news yourself?”

“What?”

“Phone the interviewee and offer them the job. In a professional, courteous and polite manner, of course.”

“Oh! Right! Yeah, no problem. Now?”

“Now would be good.”

“Rockin’”

As the door closed, Zon smiled an amused smile. Bless him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Umm… hello? Yeah, hi, it’s Smash, from YankBank, about your interview today?”

“Ah, hello, Smash. I wasn’t expecting a call so soon.”

“Well, I guess you must have impressed us,” Smash laughed and then regained control of himself. What a dick I am, he thought. “So, I guess all I got to say now is congratulations, you have got the job. Welcome aboard, Workcrush.”