Jeffrey Charles never married, never had friends, never had a life. The job had been all there was for him.
He’d been upstairs among the Admin and had been demoted, replaced by another and shipped down here.
Even when he was upstairs, the interactions between him and the staff was repulsive. The way he talked at people, the insults, the language, the way that ugly little man would stand, arms across his chest shouting something vile across a room, made him despised.
Two years ago, when he was swept down here, what had been a comfortable working place became a hell hole.
Every time he left his office the first to see him would call ‘incoming’ and we’d race out of range; some would run into the bathroom, others walk to the stairs, or to another section of the office.
I recall once diving under my desk.
If Admin had noticed the drop in morale, the diminishing of output, they’d have moved him to the trash heap quickly. But they didn’t.