The Appointment
by William Kitcher
Harvey got off
the elevator on the 14th floor, and approached
the reception desk. The woman behind the desk,
whose name plate indicated her name was Griselda
Grisenthwaite, stared at her fingernails and
ignored Harvey, so he cleared his throat.
Without looking up, Griselda said, “Water
fountain down the hall to your right.”
“No,” said Harvey. “I'd like to
see Mr. Johnson.”
“What's wrong with your throat?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why were you ‘ahem’ing?”
“I was trying to get your attention. I'm
just very polite.”
“You're an idiot. What can I do for you?”
“I'd like to see Mr. Johnson.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“Mr. Johnson’s very busy. You'll need
an appointment.”
“Fine. Can you give me an appointment?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Only Mr. Johnson can give you an
appointment.”
“So I have to clear it with Mr. Johnson to
get an appointment?”
“Right.”
“Can I go in to see him to get an
appointment?”
“Haven't you been listening? You need an
appointment to see Mr. Johnson.”
“So I need an appointment to see him so I
can get an appointment to see him.”
“That's right. Next!!!!” said Griselda,
returning to her cuticles.
“What do you mean, ‘next’? I'm the
only one here.”
“Then you must be next.”
“How would you suggest I go about getting an
appointment?”
“Get Mr. Johnson to give you an appointment.”
“But I can't go in to see Mr. Johnson.”
“That's right. You need an appointment.”
“And how do I do that?”
“Get Mr. Johnson—”
“To give me an appointment,” said
Harvey. “Let's look at this a different way.
Suppose I already had an appointment.”
“Then you could go right in.”
“What I mean is, how would I have gotten
that appointment in the first place?”
“Mr. Johnson would've given that to you.”
“When?”
“When he saw you.”
“And when would that have been?”
“During your appointment.”
Harvey had gone back to the caboose of his train
of thought, and had fallen off. “What I mean
is—”
“I don't know!” cried Griselda. “I
wasn't there!”
“Neither was I!”
“Well, there you are then. Why are you
bothering me?”
Harvey regained his footing on the cliff of this
conversation. “People do come in to see Mr.
Johnson, right?”
“Right.”
“And they presumably have appointments,
right?”
“Right.”
“When do these people get their appointments?”
“Before.”
“Before what?”
“Before their appointments.”
“Before their appointments, when?”
“What?” she asked.
Griselda was confused. Harvey thought he now had
her.
“When?”
“Who?”
“This isn't a game.”
Griselda cocked an eyebrow at him. “It's not?”
“So. There are such things as appointments,
and some people seem to get them, and they get
them by making an appointment, and somehow they
get that appointment by having an appointment.”
Griselda smiled at him. “Absolutely right.
Good afternoon.”
Harvey turned to the elevator and shuffled
forlornly a couple of steps before he got an idea.
He turned back to Griselda. “Good afternoon,
I'd like to see Mr. Johnson.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes, yes, I do.”
“And your name is?”
“It is. It definitely is.”
“What is your name, sir?”
“Shakespeare. William Shakespeare.”
Griselda consulted her computer. “I'm afraid
I don't see your name listed here.”
“Well, it must be. I made an appointment
weeks ago.”
“With whom?”
“With Mr. Johnson. He gave me an appointment.”
“When?”
“During my last appointment.”
“And when was that?”
“Before.”
“Before what?”
“Before this appointment.”
“Before this appointment when?”
“What?”
“When?”
“Who?”
“This isn't a game.”
Harvey felt he was getting the upper hand now.
“It's not?”
“No, it’s not.”
“Oh.”
“So,” said Griselda, summing up. “Your
name is not on the list.”
“There must have been some clerical mistake.”
“Yes, I suppose so. You do seem familiar
somehow.”
“So, may I see Mr. Johnson?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He's not in.”
“What!!!”
“I’m just pulling your leg, Mr.
Shakespeare.”
The door behind the reception desk opened, and a
tired-looking executive in a nifty blue suit
emerged from it. The man was Mr. Johnson. He ran
his fingers through his hair, and said to no-one
in particular, “It's been a long day.”
“No kidding,” said Harvey.
Johnson looked at Griselda. “I'm going home
now.”
Harvey stepped forward, and ventured, “Mr.
Johnson?”
“Yes? Oh, hello, Mr. Shakespeare.”
“Can I see you?”
“You're looking at me right now. Is your
eyesight OK?”
“What I mean is, can I talk to you in your
office for 10 minutes?”
“As I say, I'm going home now. Can you make
an appointment with Ms. Grisenthwaite?”
Harvey contemplated that, then said, “I don't
think I can.”
“Well, if you make it quick. What can I do
for you?”
Harvey looked at Johnson, furrowed his brow,
quivered his chin, looked at the walls, then back
at Ms. Grisenthwaite and Mr. Johnson, and
gradually came to the realization that he would
never remember why he was there in the first
place.
|
