The Girl On The End

All the girls on this end are left-handed.

It isn’t a requirement, it just worked out that way.

I’m the girl on the end. My name’s Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Lal.

Someone asked me about it once, and I had to admit that I don’t know why. It goes so far back that no-one remembers how it happened.

Unusual nick-names run in my family. My sister Molly is called Mont because our young brother couldn’t pronounce Molly.

Maybe that’s how many nick-names get started.

My dad’s nick-name from the army was Niggerly (meaning easily upset, arising in the Middle Ages and nothing to do with the dreaded N-word), and if you knew him, you would know why — he is a bear in the morning, and sometimes it goes on all day.

I was happy to get this job, and it isn’t dull, but I’m ready to move on — it’s getting a bit political.

Different executives ply us with chocolates and nylons so that we will tell them what their rivals are up to. It’s harmless enough, I guess, but I have that sinking feeling I get just before it all hits the fan.

I don’t like when things hit fans.

I like fans in general, and they come in handy in this tiny room. Someone said that the phone lines heat up the room — could be, I’m not that up on such things.

My next job will be at a hotel switchboard.

What could possibly go wrong?

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