Ramona and Winston Churchill III

(This is a story I wrote some many months ago. The company where I work had an opening in the accounting department. Hopes were high that they might actually hire a man - a young man - to fill the position. This would have been an interesting development for several people of the female persuasion. Ramona and Winston Church III was my speculation of what might happen if they did. Note: They didn't.)

Once upon a time, there was a girl who was occasionally witty, consistently addle-pated, and for the most part good-tempered, named Ramona. She worked a moderately interesting and steady job as a customer service representative. Each day brought new challenges, but none so challenging as the dread Nielson Circle Parking Crisis. Homeowners, chafed past endurance by the rigid mandates of their parking by-laws, took out their anger and frustration on the unassuming Ramona.

One day Ramona was walking to the accounting department to ask a fiscal question. Usually she went to Carmella for all her accounting needs.

“Hey Carmella?” asked Ramona, approaching her cube.

The chair swiveled around, and Ramona was surprised to see, not Carmella, but a really very moderately attractive young man with a kind smile and a friendly eye – two friendly eyes, actually.

“Hello.” He said. “I’m not Carmella, but I’m happy to help. I’m Winston Churchill the IIIrd. I work here now. You must be Ramona. I’ve heard so much about your occasional flashes of wittiness and general good humor. Let’s be friends.” Mr. Winston Churchill the IIIrd extended a masculine hand, and Ramona found herself party to a warm and reassuring hand-shake.

“Are you really related to Winston Churchill?” asked Ramona.
“Yes.” Said Winston. “I’m his youngest grandson. But this is no time for chit-chat. You seem to be in distress?”

“Well, yes I am. A homeowner from that horrible Nielson Circle has been calling me all kinds of unsavory names because their car got towed, and I was wondering …”

“Say no more, most excellent Ramona. Park 10, I assume?”

“Why, yes - “

Winston picked up the phone.

“Sir. “ He said authoritatively. “You are much worse than a pig. You are much worse than a pig that has been run over by a car and left on the side of the road. You have insulted a sweet, sweet lady. And if I don’t see flowers on this girl’s desk within 48 hours, I shall put your home into foreclosure status, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Ramona heard some quibbling on the phone, and then a click.

“I don’t think you’ll have a problem with that homeowner anymore, ma’am.” Said Winston.

“Oh my.” Said Ramona. “I was just going to ask what his account status was.”

Then next morning, Ramona came into work and found two flower deliveries on her desk. The first was a hideous pot of carnations with no card. The second was a beautiful bouquet of gardenias, with a note signed only WCIII. Ramona smiled. She felt that her job was about to get much better.

THE END