petite anglaise

titillation

13.05.2005 12:30 pmworking girl

W, the IT manager from the London mothership calls just as I arrive at my desk, almost on time. I still have my mac on, and fumble to switch off the ipod, still attached to one ear, while cradling the phone between my head and shoulder. Male readers: this is called multi-tasking. Women are very good at this, especially secretaries like myself. If you don’t believe me, ask Paris Hilton.

“I’ve got a problem [petite], there’s a videoconference scheduled to start in five minutes and there’s no-one around at your end to set up the kit. Can you do it for me?”

“Yep, sure, if you can talk me through it. I’ll transfer you to the meeting room phone, hang on a tick…”

Coat hastily deposited on chair, bag hurled under desk, I race through the office to the meeting room to intercept the call. Not quite the start to the day I had in mind. My version involved a double espresso, a wedge of brioche and a leisurely trawl through the online Guardian. But it was not to be.

The person taking part in the meeting from Paris enters the room just as I am heaving the large, flat screen monitor onto the table.

“Ah, [petite], so you’re setting this up for me, are you?” he says, somehow managing to convey in those few words that he doesn’t believe for a second that I’ll be able to do it. Which is preposterous, but makes me flustered all the same.

He and my boss are like chalk and cheese. My boss gets rather stressed and is occasionally moody, but I get on well with him because he treats me like an equal. He knows full well that I am hopelessly overqualified to type his dictations, but I think at the end of the day he just wants someone around that he respects and can hold an intelligent conversation with. That’s my theory anyway.

This other boss is very old school. He wears braces and sock suspenders (although I don’t have any firsthand experience of those), stays in gentlemen’s clubs when in London, and calls secretaries ‘typists’. When I speak to him, I can’t prevent myself from mirroring his plummy Oxbridge accent. His presence at this precise moment is both unhelpful and potentially embarrassing. Not least because W is on the speakerphone, and is an outrageous flirt. I pray that he has heard Old School Boss arriving and busy myself with connecting cables.

“Right love, see the white cable with the socket like a telephone? Is that connected?”

I roll my eyes. “The RJ45 is in, yes.”

“Lovely. You’re not just a pretty face, are you?”

Now I’m blushing. Webcam in place, remote control in hand, I press the buttons on the front of the monitor, somewhat randomly, until it fires up. The menu comes into focus on the screen, a large, empty square where the London boardroom will appear. There is a smaller inset box where Paris will show up, so that we know what image is being transmitted to London. So far so good.

I press the button to “connect”, as instructed, and an image appears.

“Holy shit!” I yelp, before I can censor myself.

On the monitor, I can clearly see W in London, hair receding, looking quite like Minty from Eastenders. I’ve never seen his face before. I missed the office party held in London a couple of years ago - as I was in labour at the time - so I mostly have to make do with imagining the person I am talking to.

But seeing W’s face is not the reason for my outburst.

The image of Paris, which is simultaneously being broadcast onto a large screen in our London boardroom, is of me. Or, to be precise, is of my cleavage. Clearly I hadn’t got the webcam angle quite right, and there I am, in my full glory, leaning across the table with the remote, my V-necked jumper revealing a little more than I would have liked.

So, a full five minutes after arriving at work, I have managed not only to show my breasts to “Minty”, but also to swear in front of Old School Boss. I can’t imagine how things could get any worse. Except they can and do. Because as W adjusts the position of the London webcam and twiddles with the focus, a sea of smurking faces swim into view. It would appear that their meeting room was already occupied too, with a full complement of London board members. I flee, face an attractive beetroot colour, unable to look Old School Boss in the eye.

I think I may have just become superstitious. I won’t be working on Friday 13th again in a hurry.

34 comments

  1. That reminds me, I must pick some baps up on the way home.

    backroads | 12:35 pm

  2. ha!

    petite | 12:37 pm

  3. You provided me with a much needed laugh.

    Satsuma | 12:41 pm

  4. hahahaha! Sad I can’t make our engagement. I can’t imagine what else will happen today.

    nardac | 12:45 pm

  5. I can almost feel the heat from those burning cheeks from here! Still, look on the bright side - you’re probably hugely popular in the London office now ;-)

    Iain | 12:55 pm

  6. Bridget Jones ???

    guillerette | 12:58 pm

  7. Holy Shit indeed!

    Greg | 1:08 pm

  8. I love it!

    Of course, if it was me, I might love it a little less, but just consider that you made the London office’s day. Not to mention it will be a story worth telling for awhile. ;)

    kim | 1:19 pm

  9. Great stuff. This is where you’re really excellent. Intriguing start, interesting middle, killer ending.
    Sheer brilliance…..but why can’t you do this in Besançon?

    Parkin Pig | 2:53 pm

  10. variety is the spice of life

    or maybe I was having a bad day. I am, after all, human!

    petite | 3:17 pm

  11. Hi petite

    just a quick note to let you know that i’m still here and reading your blog gems

    Great story. It reminds me that there were a few fantastic comedy moments in the dark old days.

    I should have some more stuff for you to read towards the end of July if you’re still interested

    Take care and keep having these great adventures
    Jean-Claude

    Jean Claude | 3:38 pm

  12. Flippin’ webcams!

    (That’s all I’m saying about my brush with them)

    Greavsie | 3:45 pm

  13. JC - you may be interested to hear that when we had some painting done recently, someone hid the picture of QE2. And no-one’s noticed and put her back in her rightful place yet!

    Hope London is treating you well…

    petite | 3:55 pm

  14. w007!

    Mathieu | 4:51 pm

  15. :)). Bridget Jones indeed. All this happening ingenuously makes it even more funny.

    shellorz | 6:30 pm

  16. Great story!!

    Sarah | 6:59 pm

  17. Priceless! Hope the rest of your day went more smoothly.

    VegCat | 8:44 pm

  18. brilliantly told.

    jan | 8:58 pm

  19. You know it is just a matter of time before someone sends a screen capture of your titilations to their flickr account. That will teach you to bandy about words like RJ45! ;)

    Bob | 9:03 pm

  20. Evil thoughts Bob. Now I’m paranoid.

    petite | 9:06 pm

  21. You made a potentially unlucky day very enjoyable for a lot of people.
    I enjoy your site.

    Iowa | 9:10 pm

  22. Just teasing, Petite. :) I’m sure nobody had enough time or gumption to grab their mobile and snap a pic!

    Bob | 9:14 pm

  23. You achieved the main objective.

    You set up the kit.

    And you did it quickly… and with a bit of glamour !

    Efficient and sexy !

    You must have a fan club !

    whaoh !!!

    Nothing to be ashamed of !

    Rotfl

    Marie-Hélène | 10:56 pm

  24. Thanks for making me laugh! It’s past midnight so I hope I didn’t wake up anyone—especially the children. I was reminded of Bridget Jones, too.

    Oz | 12:15 am

  25. Brilliant story. That’s probably why old school Boss wears both braces and sock suspenders; to stop his socks being blown off, so to speak!

    LukePDQ | 4:30 am

  26. Don’t worry. Promotion, pay rise, and transfer to the London Office are now imminent.

    Root | 7:58 pm

  27. Hello again” petite” I would just like to say to your readers, I found your colourful language almost as stimulating as the sight of your cleavage!

    Old School Boss | 9:23 pm

  28. Definately very Bridget-esque, i WONDERED who that was on http://www.petiteuncovered.com, now i know! (only joking :D) (p.s. thats not a real site for anyone thinking i spend my days perusing the interweb for fleshy bits :P)

    Lee | 3:14 pm

  29. ha ha ha ha ha hahah ha haaAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    sorry, sorry, it’s just that as one of the more abundantly supplied in the bust area, this sort of thing is my every day life!

    Miss Lisa | 1:45 am

  30. I think that’s why I’ll stick to teleconferences. One doesn’t have to feign interest (just an occasional uh-huh will do) and there is decidedly less scope for embarrassment.

    Ben | 4:17 am

  31. Petite, this one goes down as an absolute classic … Like Miss Lisa, this could easily happen to me too… That’d be an eyeful…

    deeleea | 2:41 pm

  32. Here in the U.S. there is a television ad campaign for an airline with people stuck in embarrassing situations and the tagline “Want to get away?” Perhaps they’d like to buy your story.

    Bluegrass Mama | 3:22 pm

  33. Well now you’re not just a pretty face you’re also a pretty pair of boobs :-)
    Thanks for the laugh Petite!

    Maurine au bout du monde | 2:23 am

  34. […] I’m thinking this guy/his cohorts didn’t appreciate being described in the manner being presented in this post, and acted accordingly: […]

    Thoughts, Raves and Outright Beatings… » About that UK Blogger who got sacked in France recently… | 10:03 pm

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

Comments are auto-closed after 10 days as an anti-spam measure. Sorry!