Symphony

Mary and Martha click and clatter, filling the executive hall with a flurry of administrative arpeggio. 

                A rest.

                “Martha.”

                “Yes, Mary.”

                “You will not believe the email I just received from our beloved Mr. Rogers CEO-Boss-Man.”

                “Won’t you give your labor?”

                “Cancel his flight to Chicago.”

                “No.”

                “Yes.”

                “No.”

                “Yes.”

                A rest.

                “Why, Mary?”

                “He no longer wants to go.”

                “After keeping you late last night to arrange the trip?”

                “Yes.”

                “He’s terrible.”

                “Horrible.”

                “Inane.”

                “Insane.”

                Mary and Martha swivel back to their instruments, striking ignited aggressions on little white letters.

                A rest.

                “Mary.”

                “Yes, Martha.”

                “Mr. Snyder CFO-Sir needs his shirts picked up from the drycleaner, and I have been sent to retrieve them.”

                Mary picks up a pen just to drop it in surprise. “You’re joking.”

                “I’m not.”

                “Unreal.”

                “For real.”

                “He thinks you graduated summa cum laude to pick up shirts?”

                “More like pick up the pieces of his life.”  They nod.

                “No appreciation.”

                “No perspective.”

                “No kidding.”

                Huffing and puffing, they swirl to squint at glowing plasma, recommencing the hall’s percussive chorus.

                A ring and the ladies jump.

                “Rogers CEO-Boss-Man.  That’s you, Mary.”

                “I wish it were you, Martha.” 

They smile.

Mary reaches for the phone.  “Why hello, Jacob.  Of course I can change the flight.  No, no problem at all.  On the website now—almost done.  Yes, I’ll send you the confirmation.  Yes, I will check your credit card to verify receipt.  Of course. Of course!  No problem.  Anything else, just call.  No, thank you!” A clang provides appropriate punctuation.

“Unbelievable.”

“Totally entitled.”

“Insufferable creature.”

“Worst boss ev-er.”

A rest.

“Mary?”

“Yes, Martha?”

“Who is worse—Rogers or Snyder?”

“Rogers,” says Mary.

“Snyder,” says Martha.  “He disdains and demoralizes, micro-manages and macro-maligns.”

“Rogers,” says Mary.  “He’ll wax and then waffle.  And—“ she leans in closer.

“What?” hushes Martha.

“He leaves nail clippings on his desk.”

“Nail clippings?”

“Indecent!”

“Unsanitary!”

“An animal!”

“A savage.”

And turning back, they clickity-clack, flicking fingers and stomping swinglines, plopping papers and banging bics, refrain resounding in their auditorium for two, own audience moved by the fury.