Friday Night with the Receptionist

Story by EJ Kensington

Note: The author's views are entirely his or her own and may not reflect the views of RetoxMagazine.com

Who Sings that Song "It's Friday Night and the Feeling's Right"?

It’s Friday evening and I have just ten minutes left before I finish work. I am desperately trying to hurry along so that I may even sneak out and make that train that I know will get me home 5 minutes earlier. I look up between all the last minute kerfuffle and see the receptionist. She is not a bad person. Quite interesting to work with and we do have some banter. I don’t know her all that well though. We have never quite taken that leap from work colleague to friend for the sole reason that I simply don’t know what we will talk about besides the numerous files at work we deal with every day. I don’t want to talk about the numerous files at work that we deal with every day. I want to go home. I want to go home, lock the door and pretend that Monday doesn’t exist. But the receptionist seems to have other ideas….

Carving Out Time for Each Other

“Are you heading to central station?... I will wait for you!” she exclaims with such an eager face that one would think it was Christmas morning and we have waited a whole year to exchange presents. “Are you sure?...” I say reluctantly hoping that something will happen and she will change her mind. Nothing happens and she smiles broadly. I realise that we are stuck together for at least the next 20 minutes. That’s if there are no train delays. Or acts of god in between… Twenty whole minutes, at least… My mind races through the different subjects we could discuss and I realise that it’s inevitable that the files at the office that we deal with every day will dominate the conversation. Now it starts to feel like when I leave work - it follows me home. Just what I was hoping for…

The Receptionist and Big Ideas

So we politely get in the lift and make small talk on the way down. We walk towards the train station discussing other colleagues as most people do. At least the heat is off me to come up with a new and compelling subject matter to discuss with someone that I know less than my mail man but have to pretend to know better than my best friend. Awkward. As we walk towards the station trying to dodge out of the way of crazed Friday evening shoppers, I feel a tug on my arm. I look at the receptionist and she points to the co-op. “You don’t mind if I just pop in for a Carry Out do you?” A Carry Out? I try to think what a Carry Out could possibly be. I have never as long as I lived come across that phrase. A Carry-Out. I suddenly realise that she is looking at the alcohol section of the shop and it is Friday night. It all twigs in my brain and I know we are now going in for booze. I am going into the co-op with my receptionist to buy booze on a Friday night. Of all the many things that I could ever have imagined of doing on a Friday night, this was definitely not one of them. She is still looking at me. I realise that I have to react and without thinking I nod. Deep down I know that even if I make the excuse of not wanting to miss my train, she will end up going to the co-op, and still get on my train making it even more uncomfortable. It is that kind of night.

Building a Relationship… in the Name of Booze

We look at the large selection of poisons to choose from. I don’t really drink and know that I still have half a bottle of port in the fridge at home which will take me the remainder of the month to sip away. I really do not need any alcohol. She points to a few bottles she likes and proceeds to explain to me why. I reciprocate in this strange dance of ‘let’s compare our alcoholic taste buds’. It seems so unnatural but I know that it has to be done in order for us to have some kind of future relationship. She picks a bottle off the shelf and looks at me. “Are you not getting anything for a Friday night?” I look back at her. I realise that this individual could never understand that Friday night means nothing to me. It strikes me that unless I pick a bottle and pay for it then I will always be the strange one in my office. I buckle and look for a bottle that does not cost more than £8. I refuse to pay more than my hourly wage for a bottle which I don’t really want. From £10.99 to £5.99! Ladies, we have a winner. This way I am not being cheap and it’s still within my cheap ass budget. We queue up and pay for our bottles separately. If feels so strange and unnatural. How many gorillas in the wild do you see queuing and paying for their bananas separately?

A Brilliant Firday! Morgan Freeman Should've Narrated It

We get to the train station and jump on the train. As we discuss the files that we deal with every day in the office, the train ploughs on through the city. I wonder how many stops the receptionist has to go before she reaches her destination. “Yes, yes. The files… I agree,” I hear myself say. I slowly start losing the will to live and wonder how many people do these conversations every day. The train stops. She suddenly jumps off and shouts “See you next week!”

Self-Reflection

I breathe a sigh of relief. As I travel home, I find myself wondering if the £5.99 bottle of booze I have just been peer pressured into buying will help me grow some balls.