Part 15 - Life at the Ministry
January 12th 2007 23:46
Being a career woman in the 1950s was unheard of and as a result I was the only woman employed at the Ministry of the Exterior. The Ministry was a very exciting place to work but in the beginning I wasn’t on the buzzing end of the stick. Despite Margaret promising that my special skills would be of great value, the Minister was of the opinion that I would make an excellent typists in the typing pool. I was sent to work in a large room filled with small desks, each with a typewriter. I was all alone and sat in front of a machine I hardly knew how to use, next to an increasingly large pile of hand written memos that needed to be typed in triplicate and dispersed throughout the country.
My typing was atrocious and the pile seemed to grow by the hour. I had hoped, by reading the memos, I could learn more about the Ministry but they were hand written in a code that meant nothing to me.
“Inspect club in Newtown for strange men in dresses.”
“Exhaust fumes reported from water tower in Auburn.”
“Black and white photo model has red lips.”
Little could be said for the quality of the hand writing of the average Autralian Spy. Combine that with the incredible pressure on me as the only typist, and my inability to type, the memos got a little mixed up.
“Insect deer in/near Tower Bar & Lounge weaving tresses.”
“Escort fines extorted from Walter Flower in choler.”
“Bleak and vile promo motet bass lent bops.”
With the combination of my poor secretarial skills and the invention of the first steno-copying machine my chance to break away from that drudgery eventually came when finally I spied a memo that was not in code...
“Cowpats in Orange spell ‘Disaster’.”
I knew exactly what it meant. I was a country girl, much as I hated to admit it, and I knew all about cowpats and animal droppings. If cows were poo-ing in the shape of words I wanted to be the first to get my hands dirty finding the cause and went directly to the Minister to get his permission to follow-up.
Like most politicians, the Minister had his own special way of speaking, “Jane, my joyous junior janitor of the genus,” he began as I entered his office.
Some politicians spoke in riddles, some spoke in lies, this one spoke in alliteration though he didn’t really have the vocabulary for it.
“What wild wind whisks you away from your youthful, um, yummy. No I’m going down the wrong path there. How happy your happy hair and face … Hello Jane.”
I handed him the memo, “Minister, I felt I should bring this memo to your attention immediately.” He read it.
“Cow pats in Orange eh?” he looked at me. “This is the most sensible scrap I’ve seen in months. Finally it seems the fog that’s furrowing the faces of my fellow spies is sifting away to something less sinister.”
“I think you should send me to investigate it Minister. I’ve worked here for two years, I have all the necessary skills as an agent and I have specialist knowledge in the field of animal droppings.”
“Dear girl, don’t get down going gradually demented doing gruelling demeaning grains of deniably grave duties,” he smiled.
“Minister, I have to take this case. I am wasted in the typing pool. Now that there’s a steno-copy machine the tea lady can take care of the memos faster than I can and still make and excellent pot of tea.”
“But beauty in the building is scarce and scattered so such a bounty as yourself begs to be secreted somewhere safe and boring Jane.”
“Minister, can we speak frankly and off the record?”
“OK.”
“I know that some agents seem to have succumbed to some strange power that’s stopping them from succeeding as spies.”
“Jane, I thought you wanted to speak off the record.”
“Minister, this is the most sensible memo I’ve seen and I believe it is a clue to the cause of the strange behaviour of the other agents. If something isn’t done soon I fear there will be pressure from above and there won’t be a ministry for either of us to keep a secret.”
“OK,” said the Minister, “I’ll let you go. It is true, for some reason the recent batch of memos being distributed are turning out to be senseless. I fear that all of my agents have been taken over by a mind controlling device.”
“Thank you Minister,” I said, suppressing my excitement.
“You’ve got one week to get to the bottom of this cow poo. I don’t want to take the risk of my only remaining sane secret agent coming under some unknown lunatic’s mind ray.”
Finally, I was out of the typing pool and into something I could get my teeth stuck into - animal droppings.
My typing was atrocious and the pile seemed to grow by the hour. I had hoped, by reading the memos, I could learn more about the Ministry but they were hand written in a code that meant nothing to me.
“Inspect club in Newtown for strange men in dresses.”
“Exhaust fumes reported from water tower in Auburn.”
“Black and white photo model has red lips.”
Little could be said for the quality of the hand writing of the average Autralian Spy. Combine that with the incredible pressure on me as the only typist, and my inability to type, the memos got a little mixed up.
“Insect deer in/near Tower Bar & Lounge weaving tresses.”
“Escort fines extorted from Walter Flower in choler.”
“Bleak and vile promo motet bass lent bops.”
With the combination of my poor secretarial skills and the invention of the first steno-copying machine my chance to break away from that drudgery eventually came when finally I spied a memo that was not in code...
“Cowpats in Orange spell ‘Disaster’.”
I knew exactly what it meant. I was a country girl, much as I hated to admit it, and I knew all about cowpats and animal droppings. If cows were poo-ing in the shape of words I wanted to be the first to get my hands dirty finding the cause and went directly to the Minister to get his permission to follow-up.
Like most politicians, the Minister had his own special way of speaking, “Jane, my joyous junior janitor of the genus,” he began as I entered his office.
Some politicians spoke in riddles, some spoke in lies, this one spoke in alliteration though he didn’t really have the vocabulary for it.
“What wild wind whisks you away from your youthful, um, yummy. No I’m going down the wrong path there. How happy your happy hair and face … Hello Jane.”
I handed him the memo, “Minister, I felt I should bring this memo to your attention immediately.” He read it.
“Cow pats in Orange eh?” he looked at me. “This is the most sensible scrap I’ve seen in months. Finally it seems the fog that’s furrowing the faces of my fellow spies is sifting away to something less sinister.”
“I think you should send me to investigate it Minister. I’ve worked here for two years, I have all the necessary skills as an agent and I have specialist knowledge in the field of animal droppings.”
“Dear girl, don’t get down going gradually demented doing gruelling demeaning grains of deniably grave duties,” he smiled.
“Minister, I have to take this case. I am wasted in the typing pool. Now that there’s a steno-copy machine the tea lady can take care of the memos faster than I can and still make and excellent pot of tea.”
“But beauty in the building is scarce and scattered so such a bounty as yourself begs to be secreted somewhere safe and boring Jane.”
“Minister, can we speak frankly and off the record?”
“OK.”
“I know that some agents seem to have succumbed to some strange power that’s stopping them from succeeding as spies.”
“Jane, I thought you wanted to speak off the record.”
“Minister, this is the most sensible memo I’ve seen and I believe it is a clue to the cause of the strange behaviour of the other agents. If something isn’t done soon I fear there will be pressure from above and there won’t be a ministry for either of us to keep a secret.”
“OK,” said the Minister, “I’ll let you go. It is true, for some reason the recent batch of memos being distributed are turning out to be senseless. I fear that all of my agents have been taken over by a mind controlling device.”
“Thank you Minister,” I said, suppressing my excitement.
“You’ve got one week to get to the bottom of this cow poo. I don’t want to take the risk of my only remaining sane secret agent coming under some unknown lunatic’s mind ray.”
Finally, I was out of the typing pool and into something I could get my teeth stuck into - animal droppings.
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