A Mid-Summer Joke

Mick opened the door of the laboratory; it was ten-to-nine on a bright June day. The morning sunshine slanted in through the large windows. The tinted glass hardly dulled the light illuminating the rows of glass reagent bottles, flasks and beakers standing on the wall mounted mahogany shelves.

Sitting at the large teak-topped sample bench in the centre of the room, he inspected the pile of white dinner plates, smeared with green-dyed fat. Satisfied they were ready for use as ‘dummies’ for the dishwashing trials, Mick lined up the batch of labelled sample jars containing liquids of different colours. He took out his log book and searched for the next available blank page.

“Morning Mick, I’m here.”

It was Jenny, Mick’s, ‘Monday girl.’ Actually, she was his Monday to Thursday girl. She worked mornings, four days a week as his Assistant. Mick checked his watch, three minutes past nine. She always arrived at three minutes past nine.

“Morning Jenny.” He sighed, while continuing to write reference numbers in the log without turning round. “Good weekend?”

“Nothing special. Do you want a coffee?”

“Yeah OK, one milk—.”

“With two sugars.” Jenny always finished his request for him, but rarely remembered it by the time she got to the coffee machine. Taking two tokens out of his drawer, he dropped them into the dainty hand that appeared from behind his left shoulder.

Listening to her trotting off, he speculated on what he would get this morning. Black coffee was possible, but unlikely. Probably, two milks and one sugar; that was her favourite mistake. Mick closed his log book and waited. Five minutes later, the same hand placed a cup of white coffee on his desk.

“Sorry Mick I forgot, so I brought the same as I have, white no sugar.” Another of her favourite mistakes.

Swivelling his chair around; he grinned, shaking his head as he looked at his beautiful twenty-six year old assistant. Jenny smiled showing her perfect set of perfectly white teeth.

“Anyway, too much sugar is bad for you.” She giggled, her large green eyes twinkling under long dark lashes in the morning sun. She shook her make-up free head, tossing her long, naturally auburn, hair back into place.

This morning, she wore a beige Indian cotton blouse clinging, but not too tightly, to her slim body and small breasts. It had large wooden buttons fastened to a point a fraction above the start of her cleavage. Below this, a brown leather skirt, fastened with a maroon brass buckled belt, moulded itself over her slim hips and finished two and a half inches above the knees of her slim, shapely legs. Picking up her clean white lab coat, she slipped into it. Hanging open over her shoulders, it fitted perfectly. She looked the perfect image of innocent sexiness: she made Mick nervous.

He didn’t choose her, she’d been assigned to him by Human Resources.  She made him nervous because she was so pretty, yet far off the brightest light on the Christmas tree. Jenny was an archetypical dumb blonde, except this fashion model shaped, mother of three boys, was a redhead. It wasn’t normal.

Mick, now the envy of all the males in the laboratory block, suddenly had five times as many visitors to his lab than before Jenny arrived. It made his job difficult.

The first one of the day arrived, Phil. He stood at the lab door, trying to look cool, as he leaned against the frame. “Mornin,’ Mick, want a coff—, ah you’ve got one,” He said. Phil’s eyes strayed to Jenny like a ball rolling down a gentle slope. When she caught his glance, he smiled stupidly. Mick tipped his head to one side giving Phil an, anything else? look.

“Ah well, I guess I’ll be off.”

“Yeah, see you later, Phil.”

 

It was always like that. Generally this happened about seven times every morning. Sometimes they came in groups and stood around making silly schoolboy jokes. In the afternoons, Mick’s lab was as quiet as a crypt.

To make things worse, Jenny was popular with the other women, so he had to put up with their high pitched, high speed babble every tea-break. The guys didn’t realise spending three hours a day alone, listening to the empty headed conversation of an IQ challenged woman – even if she was more stunning than Helen of Troy – was pure torture.

Here was a woman with three sons, named Matthew, Mark and Luke who, when Mick asked if  she ever had a fourth boy, would she call him John replied, “Why?”

Mick was struggling.

“What’s to do this morning?”  Jenny asked happily. The same question as every morning.

“Washing the test plates.” Mick said with an ironic smile. The answer she always got.

Jenny fastened her thick auburn hair into a pony tail and prepared herself for work. She buttoned up her lab coat, hiding her delicious body from the world. Donning rubber gloves, she began running standardised hot water up to the mark on a standardised washing bowl. Mick took a new plastic syringe from its wrapping, sucked up blue liquid, from the first sample jar in the line until it reached the 20ml. mark and handed it to Jenny.

He sat down and carried on writing up the details of the day’s test products in the log book. “What’s the date?” he asked his gorgeous assistant. This was a reversal of roles; Jenny always knew what day it was; Mick never did.

“It’s the twenty first of June.” She replied proudly. Mick smiled: mischief began to brew.

“Oh yeah, I should’ve remembered that one, stupid me. I couldn’t go this year. Pity.”

“Go Where?”

“Stonehenge.”

“Stonehenge? Why do you want to go to Stonehenge?

“We go every year.” Mick tried to look coy.

“Yes, but why.” Jenny was now contentedly washing dishes with her standardised sponge.

“It’s a bit. Well. Embarrassing.”

Jenny turned around, curiosity burning in her eyes. “Embarrassing? Why?” She looked sympathetic. Mick knew she’d taken the bait. He’d set the hook.

“Okay, I’ll tell you, but keep it to yourself. . . . Please.”

“I promise, I won’t tell anyone.” Jenny’s incredible green eyes shone with emotion.

Mick struggled hard to suppress a guffaw. “I’m a Druid.”

Jenny dropped her dishwashing sponge into the bowl. She laughed. “You’re not!” She laughed some more, but she looked unsure.

“Yes I am. Bridgette is too. We couldn’t go this year ‘cos she’s pregnant.” Mick managed to look serious. “That’s how we met,” He added.

“You’re joking,” Jenny said. She giggled, but also frowned.

“Why are you laughing? Mick put on a hurt expression. “What’s your religion?”

Jenny hesitated, really unsure now. She thought about it. “Church-of-England.”

“There…see.” Mick looked directly at her, his face very serious

“What?”

“I didn’t laugh at you when you told me your religion, did I? Why laugh at me?”

Jenny’s face became childlike. She blushed heavily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—, you know.”

Mick smiled at her. “It’s alright, most people react that way, that’s why I don’t say anything to the people here.” Jenny said little more: the rest of the morning passed in unusual peace for Mick.

 

Ten days later; a Thursday at ten-thirty, Jenny turned to Mick. She put the final clean plate on the pile after a washing up test and smiled at him, a mischievous look on her face. “You’re not a Druid.”

“What?” Mick looked at her, confused. He’d forgotten.

“You’re not a Druid, are you? I know you’re not. I asked Colleen and the other girls.” She smiled and nodded. “They said you’re having me on.”

Mick remembered the conversation. He resisted the temptation to deny it. “No, not really.” Unsure whether to feel sorry for her, he winked at Jenny: hardly able to believe it had taken her nearly two weeks to work it out..