The Bleep-Bleep Email

While employed in a small firm as a receptionist, there were many times when I was bored to the point, I felt like taking a nap. Nope, not allowed. Well, of course, it’s not allowed! How would it look if someone came through the door looking for my boss? Hence, naps were not allowed. Neither was doing a crossword puzzle or reading a book. If we had no work, we had to invent it. Oh well, how to amuse myself and push my boredom aside? That was a huge question. Especially since I worked for an enormously strict lawyer. In the time I worked for him, I never once saw him in a good mood. Was it the job that always had him see foul days? Was it just his personality? No idea!

Our small firm consisted of two attorneys, one paralegal, one bookkeeper, and me.

As receptionist, my desk was at the front of the office, the conference room was off to the right. Behind me sat a room with a floor to ceiling partition; one side for Marie, the bookkeeper and the other for the printer, and supplies.

On my left, sat the small office of the paralegal, Joanna. Next to hers was the head of the firm, Bryan with his partner and wife, Susan seated in the office on his other side.

Susan was the quieter of the two and always the first to give a compliment or word of encouragement. Bryan, on the other hand was, well, I guess the only word that comes to mind is “tyrant.”

Susan and Bryan normally kept their office doors closed. While they never explained their reason, one can only assume “client-attorney privileged phone calls.”

However, if Susan needed Joanna or me for any reason, most often she’d leave her office and approach us. Now and then, if she were busier than usual, she would dial our extensions and request we go to her.

Bryan, on the other hand, if he wanted to speak with us, would open his office door and scream the name of the woman he wished to speak with. The conversations were never quiet.

What I’m about to say might sound petty but to indicate the position in which Bryan thrust his employees, needs to be clarified - for no other reason than to explain our discomfort.

Bryan had a medical condition and to this day I have no idea what it was, but every time he ate anything with garlic, his entire body reeked. Very often after lunch, he’d quietly sneak in the building through the back door. Didn’t matter. As soon as he entered our room of offices, we could smell the odor. Joanna and I tried in earnest to hide the discomfort should he come near either of us. If I could have pushed my chair into the nearest wall, I would have but for Joanna and me, there was no escaping the foul odor emitted from what seemed to be every pore of his body.

There were days, when Bryan was in court and Susan would treat Joanna and me to lunch. Susan had no trouble mixing business and pleasure. Bryan on the other hand was all business.

While it was always business when Bryan was around, Joanna and I still managed to strike up a friendship. Several times when I left the office for lunch, Bryan insisted Joanna sit at my desk should by chance someone walk in needing legal advice. Upon my return, I’d notice my desk blotter was slightly askew. It didn’t take me long to realize that Joanna left a note under it. Bryan frowned on any light-hearted conversation during business hours and therefore, talking a short walk (a matter of about twenty steps) to her office, always brought forth a bellowing, “Margaret, don’t you have work to do?” It wasn’t just humiliating; it was mortifying. No employer should speak to an employee in such a way.

It was sort of ironic that, whether it was Joanna or me, after we received our reprimanding, we’d hear, “Bryan, can you come into my office?” Susan never loudly explained but as soon as Bryan entered her room, she’d close the door and the shouting would begin.

Joanna and I smiled when this happened because we’d would have laid bets that Susan had her office somewhat sound-proofed just for this reason. We could hear their loud voice but could not make out the words being said. It appeared to Joanna and me that Susan always was on our sides.

After a few minutes, Bryan would return to his office, close the door, and we’d not see him again until about four in the afternoon when he and Susan left for home.

Joanna and I had one full hour to finish the tasks we’d started, clean the office, and relax before heading to our own homes. In one respect, that hour couldn't go fast enough. In another, it went by entirely too fast.

One morning, Bryan told us we needed to reorganize the supply room. He’d contracted a computer expert to upgrade our systems. He advised us that he and Susan would be taking the afternoon off to attend a legal conference about an hour away from the office.

Joanna and I smiled at each other. “Ah! A blissful afternoon!”

Our drawback was to stay until the technician was finished – no matter how late it was.

Yikes! Here we thought we would have a peaceful afternoon and perhaps be able to leave a little earlier than usual. Ha!

The time on the office clock was nearing six at night and I really wanted to get home to my boys (whose ages were seventeen, and eighteen). I raised them to be self-sufficient however, I still enjoyed our evening meals together as a family. I called to explain why I’d be even later than usual and to have dinner without me. They refused saying they’d eat with me whenever I got home.

I hung up the phone in time to hear the technician tell Joanna that he had completed the job but wanted to show the two of us a feature he installed on our system. He mentioned that more than likely, we’d never use the new feature but nonetheless, it was a package deal, so it was there. He called it “Interoffice Emailing.”

“All you need to do, is press this button (the one marked mail) and a window will open which asks you who the recipient should be."

“You mean,” I began to ask, “if I want to send Joanna a message, all I do is press that button, point and click the arrow on her name, and I can send her a message that no one else will see?”

“Yep! Interoffice email. It doesn’t go through instantly. It takes a few seconds, but it will go through.”

There had been occasions when Joanna would leave a note under my desk blotter with one word, “Brewski?” We were always apprehensive wondering how long it would take for Bryan to find the notes.

However, it was our code for, “What a hideous day! One beer before we go home.”

We now didn’t have to resort to leaving notes that Bryan might find. I know what we did on our own time, was none of his business but, according to him, making those plans during working hours, was. Now, no more notes!

A few days later, Bryan was at his worst. As he entered the building, we heard a door slam. Joanna and I looked at each other and she raced to her office.

We heard our office door open, and slam shut. Bryan stomped to his office and slammed the door. Oh, my lord! We had no idea what happened that morning to put him in such a foul mood, but I pressed my little button, selected Joanna’s name, as typed my message, “Brewski tonight?”

As I had just about hit the send button, Bryan yanked open his door and walked into Joanna’s office – just in time to hear, “Bleep, bleep. Bleep, bleep.”

Bryan stood stone still for a second and bellowed, “What the hell was that?”

As he walked around her desk, she quickly hit the delete button to erase the “incoming” notice.

She innocently looked at him and said, “What was what?”

I sat at my desk with my head in my hands, holding my breath, pretending I had a huge headache.

After he finished talking “business” with Joanna, she wrote me a note and conveniently but stealthily dropped it on my desk as she made her way to the restroom.

It had two words: “BREWSKI TONIGHT.” She'd written in large, bold, red letters.

The next day, she called the tech and asked if there was a way to quiet the incoming bleep.

His first reaction was, “Oh crap! I forgot all about that. He heard the bleep, didn't he?”

Joanna said, “Yep, he did. Now how do we fix this?”

He explained how and after that, our messages were kept our secret.