Payment In Cake

All week, Miss T has been begging our colleague Mr. G to go to Waitrose and buy a big chocolate cake. When he asked, "What's in it for me?" she replied, "Well you can have a slice, obviously. But you have to pay for it." Despite this ridiculously 'generous' offer, Mr. G declined to buy said cake, although he did cheekily offer to buy one on Friday. Why was that cheeky? Because Miss T doesn't work Fridays.

Friday morning arrives and I am up early for a change, for several reasons, one of which I may elaborate on later. I get ready for work and even have time to sit and eat not one, but two bowls of Weetos, while chatting with Big Sis about my latest and the fact that the women's 800m world champion is suspected of being born a man. What a horrible accusation to have to deal with. But I digress.

I have breakfast and don't rush around like a mad chicken and still make it for the 8.15am train. I forget how much busier it is at this time of the morning. There's a subconscious reason I get a later train. I get to work at 9am. Mr. G looks at me and says my name in disbelief. "Wipe that look of shock off your face," I say, "I am early occasionally!" We laugh. I am feeling oddly energetic and start firing off replies to emails I have been avoiding all week. I get quite a lot of work done and feel rather pleased with myself. An email pops up from our Office Manager. One of our Heads of Department has bought a cake to thank everyone for their hard work over the past few weeks. It is being cut in the meeting room at 11.00am. I see the email and secretly scoff. Big wow, they bought a cake. They are constantly doing things like bringing in biscuits and things, as if that will make up for the stress that people have been dealing with. Like the 'guilt doughnuts' they bought us from Krispy Kreme when they were restructuring our department. There may be redundancies, but don't worry, have a doughnut! I cannot be bought.

Fast forward to cake o'clock and I dutifully go to join the cake queue with Boss Lady, Mr. G and Mini Me. We enter the meeting room to find the HoD cutting up a massive chocolate cake. In my glee, I offer an enthusiastic "Thank you!", completely forgetting my earlier sarcasm. What's that you say? You can't pay me the extra £200 a month I'd be getting if I was actually getting paid for the level at which I'm working? Oh, but I can have a slice of cake? No matter then! Cheers! I am shameless. The payment in cake doesn't even taste bitter as it goes down. I am a bit naughty and text Miss T the good/bad news. She responds: "That is so not fair." She's not wrong. Nothing really is at the moment.