Mute Commute.

Flushed from the natural high of landing my new job I marched home by foot and took a pass on the subway. The city was experiencing a series of sunny days and cool temperatures and the good citizens were undecided about what clothing was suitable for the post-Labour Day (but still warm summer weather) season that had settled in. The rabble was attired in a mix of summer clothes mixed with dark fall items. I was somewhere in between, with a fall sports jacket and a summer shirt. To hell with the sartorial conseuqences: I had a job!

The Secretary arrived first every morning and I never did manage to beat her to the time clock. A rumour subsequently circulated among les flunkies that she (or is that She?) slept on a mat at the office. It was unkind, but her natural reserve was hard to breach. Uncertain as to her private life, she would remain forever a distant figure to most of the gang who toiled for Miss Cousins. Crisp, immaculate attire and a certain aloof nature were the props she relied on. I decided to like her, for no specific reason, knowing that we would be working in close proximity.

I arrived with a Starbucks in hand, a potent symbol of my new high office, and smiled a warm greeting.

Miss Cousins enjoyed the habit of arriving at her own office sometime after the morning traffic had abated. Her hours were erratic, unplanned, and always built around a "calendar" that was jealously guarded by The Secretary.

My first tasks were mundane. Deliver this, pick up that, take the car for a wash and assume responsibility for lunch orders. Despite the decidedly low-end nature of my duties I approached them with a certain gravitas.

I wasn't merely delivering an envelope; I was personally handing over documents from Miss Adelaide Cousins. Lunch became a pageant of thoughtfulness with extra napkins, plastic forks, or bottles of water. When I arrived at a law office to collect some papers I made sure to handle the envelope as if I was weighing the contents.

It worked once, but it was a clumsy move that failed to impress the harried receptionist who tipped me a buck. (The bitch.)

What did I enjoy most about work at "the office?"

The afternoon cocktail hour was a popular institution, which occured right after the markets closed. Long a favoured part of Her afternoon, Miss Cousins was happy to have a body nearby capable of driving her home. This one task--Driving Miss Cousins--separated me from the rest of the crew who did not enjoy (if that is the word) such close access to AC. I drove home with the careful attention of a new driver, in silence.

Unfortunately my status as Official Driver meant I was restricted in what I could imbibe at the cocktail party. I endeared myself--to everyone--when I announced that I could make a mean pitcher of Manhattans. Jane (who did billing three days a week) had two and took a cab home. I could now add "Cocktail Shaker Jockey" to my growing list of duties.

Work, it turns out, is a matter of style. Miss Cousins had it in abundance.

Being the true account of my life with Miss Adelaide Cousins.