Error in Account 4275
By Pedro1307
- 278 reads
Even last night I just knew that there would be matters of great portent today. We had gone to bed as usual at 8.30 after watching our recording of Midsomer Murders. At first I thought I must have retained some residual tension from that particularly gruesome episode but even after that extra mug of Ovaltine (Original Lite) lovingly made by my good lady Doreen, I lay tossing and turning until a feverish sleep finally overtook me.
So here I was. Sweaty fingers holding the six-inch rule I was using to underline those four words at the top of the page ‘Error in account 4275’. I had eschewed using the full twelve-inch rule as I had little control over my shaking hands.
It was when the day was drawing towards an inconclusive close that I reluctantly decided to confide in Trevor. He sat at the desk opposite and looked after account 4274. I secretly knew him as Swarthy Trevor as on occasion he could go more than a day without shaving. I refused to even contemplate how often he changed his underpants.
‘Psst! Trevor’. I cocked my head in the direction of the toilets. He got up and followed me and fortunately, despite me winking at him, his eyes didn’t light up. A quick sweep to confirm no-one was sat in the cubicles and then we stood at separate urinals and exchanged conspiratorial looks.
‘What is it Col?’ he asked. I wish he wouldn’t abbreviate my name like that. Only Doreen calls me that and only in our most intimate moments – on our anniversary, our birthdays and the reigning monarch’s official annual celebration.
‘My account is out of balance’, I said, colouring up.
‘By how much?’, he asked.
I looked around again. ‘18 pence’, I said, feeling even more ashamed.
He thought for a moment.
‘It divides by 9 so it’ll be a transposition error’, he said, almost chirpily.
He went on to explain what that was. Why didn’t I take the Higher tier paper in GCSE Maths you chump?
I went back to my desk and sure enough I soon found out where I’d input 53 pence instead of 35 pence. A quick correction and the account was back in balance. I felt elated, I felt a strange stirring below decks. I sat back and put my hands behind my head.
Doreen, you can forget the winceyette nightie tonight my girl.
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Comments
cherries for the killer last
cherries for the killer last line : )
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Winceyette
The winceyette nightie bit made me laugh. At times I regret not having become an accountant.
Turlough
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You dislike being called
You dislike being called ”Col”, what is your name? Isn't it funny how sensitive people can be for how their name is said? I hate it to be called Tommy, just not African people, especially black guys I've worked with, with them I like it being called Tommy. Even Tom, prefer the english accent much, the afrikaans sounds common, usually I like the english "Thomas".
I've known people who are very very insistent on how their name is pronounced, very pretentious mostly. Why would you want to be called “Col? Your name is given as “Peter”.
You would be surprised how many people cannot do even very basic arithmetic I had a pupil here who needed a calculator to work out 5+7 or any conceivable such calculation. Never mind how to see exactly what divides into a given number, of course two, five, ten are very easy.
To see if three divides into a number without doing the division itself you add the digits, if three divides into that, it means the number divides by three as.by adding the digits So 3 goes into 321 312 123 in this case in fact, 27 divides as well.
I don't really understand your reasoning here I think you're mistaken. Perhaps you could explain more? I think forget about the winceyette nightie.
Must admit the title of your story was a bit confusing! Tom
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I guess it is a balance
I guess it is a balance a matter of respect vs affection. I worked as drive-way shift controller as an equal with the petrol-pump guys, the nearest garage they still call me Tommy,
See you! ! Keep well! Tom
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