Mr Stains

In "Ledger Legends Co." Samantha watched as Mr Thompson rambled on in his usual abrasive manner during their weekly meeting. His praise for her work seemed clouded with a condescending tone that raised her hackles. Was he simply trying to manipulate her, to keep her on her toes?

She couldn't help but wonder what his true motives were. Did he value her contributions, or was this just another ploy to maintain control over his employees? His erratic behaviour and unpredictable moods left her on edge, never sure where she stood.

'Yeah, probably trying to keep us all dancing like puppets on a string,' mused Samantha.

Mr Thompson droned on, and she fought the urge to sneer and leave. Part of her wanted to call him out on his transparent flattery attempts. But the pragmatic side of her worried that rocking the boat could jeopardize her position.

With a sigh, Samantha surrendered herself to responding with the appropriate amount of dutiful appreciation. 'Time to put on my most convincing suck-up smile and let the grovelling commence.'

Although she’d prefer to roll her eyes when he makes grand gestures of support and promises her new opportunities, Samantha has to find the right balance between expressing thanks and the dreaded label of "arse-kisser”.

#

Samantha sat at her cluttered desk after the meeting, tinkering idly on the worn surface. She stared at the screen and squinted. The distant sounds of ringing phones and clattering keyboards drifted through the room. They formed the backdrop to her inner thoughts as she pondered how to please her superior and keep her job.

The never-ending stream of last-minute appointments left her resigned as she sat there, lost in reality. She knew only too well that in the cut-throat world of corporate expectations, it was simply part of the job to fulfil requirements and surpass them—above and beyond.

‘Well,’ she thought to herself, ‘it looks like another long night of overtime and stress. Because nothing screams 'contribution,' like sacrificing sleep and free time to fulfil high expectations.’

Samantha wearily plunged back into her tasks, feeling the bitter necessity of her job weigh on her.

While working hard at her dedicated spot, burdened by her duty, a moment of clarity suddenly broke through her exhaustion. She paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she reflected.

In that moment, she realised the harsh truth hiding in the shadows of her discontent — without the job Mr Thompson had given her, she would have been on the brink of homelessness.

The job offered stability and security, a lifeline, an anchor of hope in times of financial hardship.

“Well, well, well, it looks like Mr Thompson is in for a treat. I must thank him for his kindness. The kind that screams ‘I appreciate you’. Because you know, nothing says ‘thank you’ like a gift that keeps on giving.”

Samantha spent an eternity racking her brain. The ticking of the clock on the wall echoed in her ears, emphasising every second she couldn’t think of a brilliant idea.

She chewed on the end of her pen as she tried to suppress the urge to let out a large, dramatic groan. In an otherwise quiet office, the sound would reverberant.

On the other side of the room, her boss, Mr Thompson, sat in his office and oversized leather armchair, his rotund figure almost swallowing the furniture whole. He adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses, which made his already alert eyes appear even smaller, and took a long sip of the coffee she had dutifully fetched for him.

‘That’s just part of the gig when you’re a ‘personal assistant’ here,’ she thought. ‘But hey, at least it came with “incredible opportunities and support’—those were Mr Thompson’s words, not hers. Deep down, she knew she had to be at least somewhat grateful for that. Even if it meant being his personal coffee maker all the time.

Although the position at Mr Thompson’s accountancy firm was not her first choice, it was a lifeline—a chance to establish herself in the neighbourhood and remake her life on her own terms. Despite her boss’s nagging and boring work, Samantha was determined to make the most of this opportunity.

The man may have provided Samantha with a job, but his fashion sense and general appearance left much to be desired. His tie was askew and his shirt collar stained, as if he had eaten in a hurry.

Samantha couldn’t help but admire her perfectly tailored trouser attire. The soft grey fabric clung to her curves in a way that made her feel like a rock star in the office.

With a sly grin on her face, she glanced down at her clothes. She wore her infamous power suit the pinnacle of late-night endeavour and caffeine-soaked brilliance. It made her look and feel sharp and that alone was a small price to pay for such stylistic splendour.

Her boss loomed large in her mind as she glanced around the room.

‘Mr Stains. I’ve got it. It’s your updated name from today.’

Her laughter echoed around the room, a self-deprecating mockery of its absurdity.

Several heads lifted from their respective desks, forming a sea of curious faces. Samantha lowered her head and tried to stifle her giggles.

A pair of elegant patent leather shoes peeked out from under the hem of her suit. She had this morning skilfully applied her makeup—a subtle smoky eye, a hint of glossy, nude-coloured lipstick. Samantha couldn’t help but feel well-turned out.

‘You have to keep up appearances, you know.’

#

The clock struck 5 pm, signalling the end of another workday for her colleagues. Samantha gazed as the sea of heads around her robotically stand up and shuffled toward the exits, leaving her behind like a lone survivor in a zombie apocalypse.

Mr Stains, as Samantha had named him, entered the office and drew his bushy eyebrows together in a look of mild concern. The fluorescent light tossed an unflattering glow on him, making him look more like a disgruntled goose than the respected manager he thought he was.

“Samantha,” he said impatiently. “I thought you'd be done with the quarterly reports by now.”

She resisted the urge to sigh and instead put on her most professional customer service smile. “Yes, Mr Sta... Thompson. The reports are here for you.” She handed him the organised stack of papers.

He took it with a curt nod, his chubby fingers leaving faint marks on the white pages. As he turned to return to his workplace, Samantha noticed a sudden and disconcerting change in his expression.

“Oh, my stars and bow ties.” Mr. Thompson shouted, his pupils expanding in sheer horror as his precious coffee mug succumbed to gravity and shattered on the floor in a dramatic ceramic explosion.

His face fell into dismay as he muttered, “Oh, dear me, this is quite a pickle, isn’t it? What a fantastic day.”

Samantha resisted the urge to silly-laugh as she watched the flustered manager bend down and clumsily pick up the broken pieces with his large fingers.

“Careful, Mr Stains, I don’t want you to cut yourself,” Samantha muttered under her breath, biting back a smile.

She couldn’t help but enjoy watching her boss struggle with such a simple task. It was almost as if the skylight above him had taken away his authority and left him a helpless, bumbling fool.

“Damn,” grumbled Mr Stains, raising his eyebrows in concentration as he picked up the larger shards. “That was my favourite cup, you know.”

As Mr Stains persisted in his less-than-graceful clean-up efforts, Samantha couldn’t help but notice the dark cloud of frustration hovering over his head.

With a flicker of mischief in her eye, she whispered, "Be careful, Mr Stains. We wouldn’t want any more casualties in this epic battle against clumsiness, now would we?” She couldn’t resist a subtle jab at his misfortune, all in harmless fun, of course.

“Are you okay, Samantha? Your tone just now was a little... different. If you have something on your mind, share.” He licked his round, thick lips with a nervous tic.

“Oh, er, er, I’m fine, Mr Thompson.”

Samantha averted her eyes and hid her amusement with a sigh. She had resigned herself to another day of fighting her way through Mr Stain’s minefield of passive-aggressive demands and subtle criticism. At least she had her secret stash of peanut M&M’s to look forward to.

“I have to be grateful for the job.” She reminded herself.

Her fingers moved across the keyboard, the rapid clacking sounding suspiciously like a death march. She stifled a jaw-breaking yawn as her eyes flitted back and forth between the endless rows of numbers on the screen and the clock in the corner - 17:50. Just a few more minutes until evening TV redemption.

Samantha shifted in her seat. She swore she could feel the circulation in her legs stopping. Not to mention the stale, stagnant air with the faint odour of burnt coffee and failure. “Why do I always have to be the night owl in the office while everyone else leaves the nest at five?” She grumbled, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

She rolled her shoulders and tried to calm her stiff neck. Her gaze shifted towards the motivational poster displayed on the wall. It cheerfully encouraged, “set ambitious goals and strive for success.”

“More like reach for extra-strength ibuprofen,” she muttered, already looking forward to the sweet relief of popping a few of these bad boys.

After a deep sigh, she turned her attention back to the screen and entered the last lines of data. Her brain was on autopilot, the numbers blurring into a dizzying haze.

“M&M’s. A sugary pick-me-up for the last leg that might, just might, stop me from strangling Mr Stains with his own crooked tie,” she sighed as the moody manager slammed the phone down on the receiver.

Not before he gave her a dirty look, as if it was her fault he’d dropped his cup.

The six o’clock tick sounded. And then she had an idea. She’d give her employer the “World’s Mood-Killer Boss” mug. I mean, why bother with something original when you can stick with the tried and tested classics, right?

Samantha giggled to herself as she imagined her boss's delighted face when he unpacked his upgraded office accessory. Oh yes, this “World’s Mood-Killer Boss” mug was certainly a fitting way to show her deep, sincere gratitude to Mr Stains.

With a smile on her lips, Samantha bought a replacement mug that night and placed it anonymously on Mr Stains’ desk the next morning. “No one will have a clue, and zero butt-kissing required,” she smiled. Secretly, she was eager to see his hostile reaction to her thoughtful gesture.

To Samantha’s utter shock, Mr Stains’ reaction was not the fiery indignation she had expected. ‘Did he not read the most relevant part? Mood-Killer boss?’ Instead, he chuckled and sent her a brief email of thanks, genuinely touched by the unexpected kindness.

“How did he know it was from me?” Samantha asked herself, frowning in confusion. She had been sure that her anonymous act of goodwill would provoke a more dramatic reaction from her temperamental superior.

As she read his message, Samantha could not help but feel ashamed of her mocking thoughts earlier. Perhaps there was more to Mr Stains than meets the eye—a softer, more vulnerable side that she had dismissed too quickly.

As she digested this turn of events, she realised that beneath the layers of sarcasm and eye-rolling, there was perhaps a glimmer of genuine appreciation for the opportunities Mr Thompson had offered her, and that he wasn’t so crappy after all.

Who would have imagined that her absurd take on appreciation would do a full 180 and sign her up for a guilt trip to Awkward-city?