by Jeni Rosier

Created on: March 19, 2007   Last Updated: April 17, 2007

Natalie leaves the house late as she has spent the last half hour scrabbling for change to pay the bus fare. As usual she daydreams on the journey about being a hotshot in any of the unidentified office blocks which she passes preferably the one closest to her house to ensure maximum sleeping time.

When she arrives at the office she is greeted by a mountain of photocopying. The copier jams on the fourth sheet. As usual it is not satisfied until her hands and arms are covered in ink. When it finally decides to work again it refuses to collate and staple.

As the copier starts to chug away (Natalie has not yet realized that photocopiers are not supposed to chug) she makes drinks for everyone on her floor, laying the cups out in order: tea on one work surface, coffee on the other; no sugars on the left to 3 sugars on the right, cups for milk set forward from cups without. As she balances the heavy tray in her high heels, dispensing everyone's drinks in perfect order she remembers the condescending tone of the agency woman as she explained that coffee shop experience was not transferable to offices.

Having toured the entire building distributing the post (she'll never work out how this helps her to gain marketing experience) Natalie is called in by her boss of the day; it should be noted that her boss of the day is simply the one who gets to her first, like the best seat in the cafeteria. All the other bosses spend the rest of the day piling notes and general tasks' on her desk as if she is Wonder Woman rather than the least experienced person in the building. Today's winner sends her to cover for the receptionist who is off sick.

Natalie remembers the advice of her socialist predecessor; if in doubt, direct all calls to the accounts guy who only ever manages a single syllable greeting and never bothers to learn people's names. Natalie adds the Head of Events to this list as he selfishly bought the last cherry bun in the cafeteria on Friday from right under her nose.

For the rest of the morning bosses call her impatiently to find out where to leave their paperwork as she is not in her normal corner by the stairs. Information packs, meeting minutes and memos steadily stream in for re-writing and checking. Once again she marvels at the appalling standard of English held by the bosses quickly works out the value of all the confidential information sitting in front of her.

By lunch time Natalie's legs are well and truly crossed under the desk. This is not because she feels

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