The Battle of Administrative Professionals

The shrill ring of the office telephones echo through the dusty cubicle space. The employees, bundled at their desks drinking already cold coffee, curse the maintenance man who still hasn't fixed the air conditioning unit. The pens with the click-y tops... they've been depleted. "Wh-W-Where... are... they?"

Just then, at the strike of 0800, they burst through the door and the comforting sound of their kitten heels *click* *clack* *click* closer. Coats off, gloves off. It's time for them to save these idiots from the world of pain they don't even know exists beyond the cubicle walls. Nothing will save them, not even the passive aggressive office emails. It is up to them, the administrative professionals.

Administrative professionals, or secretaries if you're nasty, are the glue that hold the very fabric of your being together. It is up to them whether or not your Monday to Friday is livable, or if it's eight hours daily of nails on a chalkboard in the DMV on bring-your-infant-with-colic-to-work-day. They do not work for you, they just work you, and you'd best mind your P's, Q's, and proper fax numbers. Stay on their good side by always starting a sentence with "Hello," "Excuse me," or "I love your hair!" and NEVER forget administrative professionals day.

Of course, when an administrative professional is in conflict with another administrative professional, we are playing an entirely different game of office beer league baseball. I'm here to share a story that gives the average reader a glimpse into the bloodbath that is a disagreement between administrative professionals. Who am I, you ask? Well, that's not important. Also, I don't want these ladies to hunt me down and triple my workload, so I am going to remain anonymous. I am also going to change their names. I am going to make their names office supplies, because they work in an office and THEY CAN'T FIND ME AND IT'S FUNNY.

In a small office in Alberta, Canada, the branch of peace had snapped and the dove had flown into a particularly clean window. Stapler was nearly in tears, ranting to Sticky Note. She could take the ignorance of the idiotic peons in the cubicles, but fellow administrative professionals, or as-sisters as they so fondly referred to each other, were supposed to be family. Family doesn't speak condescendingly and delegate inappropriate work tasks.

"What does she MEAN she can't answer the phones on Thursday mornings?" Stapler snarled. "It's two hours. She can't do my job for two hours? Well, I suppose she can barely do her own."

Sticky note clucked, "Ooohhh snap, girl. I heard there's a few other people who think the same damn thing."

Stapler leaned in and brought her voice to a whisper. "How high up we talkin'?"

"Let's just say I have a friend who's friends with the manager."

"Well, if she thinks I will send another fax for her, she's dreaming. And I will NOT bring a gluten free option for her at the next potluck. She can eat oats for all I care!"

Stapler had barely finished describing the disgusting gluten-y oats when Hole Punch came click-clacking around the corner with her arms crossed.

"Oats? Really? Because I won't answer phones?" sneered Hole Punch in that fake, sing-song-y voice. "Cry me a river, Stapler. I have work to do too and I'm not about this new-aged office drama. Either we settle this the old school way, or not at all." Hole Punch slowly approached Stapler with her eyes wide, and leaned in until her lips were wedged into Stapler's ear cavity. Hole Punch whispered, "As-sister."

Stapler pulled back from Hole Punch's lips in her ear and looked her in her dead, soul-less eyes. "Then let's settle this," she growled, "the old school way."

The cubicle walls began to shake, as if shivering with fear. A low rumbling sound echoed throughout the office, and suddenly, the linoleum floor cracked open to reveal bubbling hot lava and beams of orange light. The Administrative Professionals began to violently morph into their true forms; Stapler grew taller, her glasses melted as her eyes began to shoot red laser beams, and her pencil claws erupted from between her knuckles. Hole Punch's large fax paper wings billowed behind her and swiftly lifted her into the air, her dainty hands turned to paperclip studded gloves, and of course, her legs melded together to form one large hole punch. The battle had begun.

The beasts launched at each other; blow after blow, each Administrative Professional seemed to only grow more powerful and full of rage. Papers were shredded, pens pierced beastly flesh, office supplies sizzled and shrieked as they fell into the lava pit below, and onlookers somehow still de-valued this battle and whispered about the pay they deserve. Stapler stood still in the lava and began to roar and become the lava, leaping into the air to stab her pencil claws through Hole Punch's neck. Alas, Hole Punch also had her ultimate attack ready, spearing and spinning through the air with her hole punch first.

It was at this moment, the phone rang. The beasts were stopped in their tracks, and gently floated to the surface of the lava, the floor reforming around them as it was before. Stapler dropped to the ground and attempted to regain her breath. She heaved to lift her heavy head and found herself staring into the eyes of Hole Punch once again, except this time, there was a light, and a soft smile spread across Hole Punch's face. Hole Punch floated across the floor, knelt in front of Stapler, and gently caressed Stapler's bicep.

"Can you get that?" Hole Punch cooed.