H.R., Puff & Stuff

Hi! The name's Stuart, Stuart D'Buckét, close friends get to call me 'S.B.' [few of them can be bothered to go from 'Stu' to 'ét', so use the initials and forget about the 'D' altogether, I'm cool with it, not a problem]. They could call me 'Stu' [only just thought of that and made a note of it, thanks]. I am the mild-mannered janitor at Randolph, Bruins & Hardacre - a TOP EXECUTIVE DESIGN CONSULTANCY or so it says on the front door. My bosses are Harry Randolph, who is always grumpy and smokes the funny stuff aaaall day and Ms. Patricia Bruins who is a lot nicer and prefers crisps. There is no 'Hardacre', they just added the name to make them sound BIGGER. I was going to suggest they change it to 'Randolph, Bruins & Associates' but I was working on a particularly tricky u-bend at the time and clean forgot. Our offices are above 'Knuts' joke shop, opposite The Theatre Royal, The Marquis Of Anglesey public house and my rooms* [*cupboards] look down on the statue of Sir Henry Irving. Around the statue sit three tramps drinking clear liquid from bottles wrapped in brown paper - they appear to be discussing the 'Christmas Tree Formation'.

I want promotion folks. Nothing against janitoring, it's a good honest profession and I'm in the pub by 11:30 - but man cannot live by cleaning the toilets alone. I've asked H.R. [as Mr. Randolph is called by all except me] and Ms. Bruins to extend my range of responsibilities but have found myself on stoney ground. Mr. Randolph did hand me a large bowl of loose staples and 38 staplers once - the task was to get the staples neatly arranged in the guns instead of going for my usual pint & pie in The 'Marquis, and he was very, very happy with the results. Never seen a man laugh so much. Ms. Bruins allows me to get her coffee from the rude man in the coffee shop and once let me carry her bags when she went shopping for shoes. I wanted her to get the red ones, she chose blue. 'Ce life such', as they say in France.

"Ms. Bruins? Erm, promotion, have you thought any more about...?"
"I'll see what I can do S, leave it with me."

She called me 'S' - that's even more familiar than 'S.B.'! To celebrate I went to The 'Marquis for a pie and a pint. Dennis Waterman was in there nursing a foaming one, I asked him what he was playing in, he asked if I could be quiet as he was listening to the Barnet game on his headphones. This struck me as strange - he appeared to have no headphones and I can't remember football matches taking place at 11:35 on a thursday morning before. Then Ms. Bruins walked into the pub. Then she walked towards me. Then she trod in some chewing gum. Then she just strode on regardless like a TOP LADY EXECUTIVE DESIGN CONSULTANT does....

"Wear a suit tomorrow, bring a watch, take a shave, buy me some crisps."

I didn't clean the toilets that friday. I did a bang-up job on thursday so... ah, I'll worry about that later, I was suited and booted. This was a problem as the standard issue safety wear which complies with health & safety law 6 [subsection 9] doesn't go with blue serge. I looked down at my be-socked feet and wondered if I could fulfill today's challenge shodless. I'd be alright if it was just an interview but if I had to walk out on the streets with these socks on?
[Sock note: there's a hole in the left sock, the toe to the right of the pinky is poking through and will not return inwards. The hole is cutting off circulation to the toe rendering it numb, if the upcoming journey is a long one then the toe may fall off like those of bi-polar explorer Sir Ranulph Fiennes. End of sock note.]

"Here S.B., try these babies for size."
Ms. Bruins handed me a pair of Doctor Martens shoes, blood red, my size, with laces and everything, for me.
"In the foyer are two packages, all you have to do is get them to Delaroche within the hour and H.R. will grant you promotion, fail and you will be fired, that's the bet. I'm banking on you S.B. Don't let me down."
She winked, you saw it too right?

She meant Delaroche's 'The Execution Of Lady Jane Grey', my favourite painting, housed in The National Gallery. I remember nearly bumping into her while gawping at it one afternoon, we both said "sorry" and moved on. I was to deliver lunch to her at 12:00 sharp to gain my promotion. The only other De La Roche was a print services on The Strand where all Randolph, Bruins & Hardacre projects were realised. The irony is that you can see Delaroche's 'The Portrait Of Lady Jane Grey' from a little window in the fire-escape door on the second floor of De La Roche Print Services. I *facepalm*ed my anger and looked at my watch. Time was almost up, only a fire escape escape could get me to the gallery on time. I kicked the door open, overbalanced and fell the two flights of black metal stairs to the ground. The heavier, squarer of the two packages softened the fall a little, the flatter, A2-sized one did nothing of the sort, in fact the corner got me somewhere on the noggin half-way down. At least it meant I didn't feel the ground as I hit it.

The tramps found me first. The smell of chicken and falafel was enough to bring them through the pigeons to my side. They didn't bother with the fold-away table in the A2 carrier but had the good grace to wrap the tablecloth around to keep me warm. As I woke I saw a bottle of clear liquid wrapped in brown paper to my right, to my left the most gorgeous pair of mirror-shined red brogue-toed high-heeled shoes I'd ever seen. No bow to make them look too girly, perfect.
"I thought you'd need a drink, dungbrain. You stood me up, you're fired. Get the suit cleaned and you can re-apply for the janitor's job at Randolph, Bruins & Associates tomorrow."
"Randolph, Bruins & ASSOCIATES?"
"Yeah, there's no Randolph, it's there just to make us sound bigger. Now I've got to get back to the office and clean the toilets. In these shoes."
She winked, you saw it too right?