OI YOU LOT

[dungrollin]

> Miss Havisham stumbles blearily into the catalogue office... 
> She decides to call the register, but answer comes there none, not 
even a whisper from Ginger who's onto her fourth re-read and having 
sinister thoughts at her folks' place.
> 
> Annoyed, Miss Havisham winds up the tannoy:
> 
> OI, YOU MISERABLE LOT, HOLIDAYS COMING TO AN END!
> 
> THAT INCLUDES THE IT SUPPORT STAFF! WHAT'S ALL THIS RUBBISH ABOUT 
> DIGGING UP THE ROAD..REALLY YOU ARE JUST REBUILDING YOUR COMPUTER 
FOR FUN, ADMIT IT..
> 

A burning sensation on her left arm wakes up Dungrollin (with a 
start and a snort), who was fast asleep at her desk. She rubs her 
arm; "She's calling us." Dung now has a perfect imprint of the lines 
and swirls of the wooden desk on her cheek, including one compass-
gouged exclamation of "ADDS NOTHING NEW!!!" in mirror-letters, 
carved by some frustrated and now long-gone cataloguer in days of 
yore. Some other poor foolish enthusiast who must have also fallen 
for Miss Havisham's practised patter and careful flattery, yet 
managed to escape, apparently with their life, if not necessarily 
their sanity. Dungrollin gazes hopefully out of the window, and 
savours that last word again. Sanity. Hmm... 

She grabs a post-it note and scribbles: "Dear Miss, I have got a big 
fat horrid PhD viva in <<swallows hard and goes faintly green>> 9 
days. Will call you when the hangover subsides. Best, Dung."

Dungrollin sticks the post-it note to Miss's computer screen, 
glances at the inexplicably shuffling penguin in the corner glaring 
at a half-empty cup of coffee, and then legs it out of the window 
after her sanity as fast as her legs will carry her.