Rats In The Ceiling, Bats In The Belfry
"Have you heard the news about Stella?" they said.
"What news?" Johnathan asked.
"Old Ironsides is out on her butt," they laughed.
"What, fired?"
"No, but totally demoted. She's not the President's secretary and she's not going to be the Chancellor's new secretary, either—God, how she pissed that man off, how could she expect to be picked? She's not going to work for anybody important. She fixed herself good by being so clearly in favor of her old boss never leaving his position that the new Chancellor just despises her!"
"I heard her pay scale dropped two levels!" somebody said.
"That's great!" another laughed loudly. "I wish they'd fired the bitch, but this is pretty good, too. She'll turn slowly on the spit, for everyone to see!"
"If anybody ever sees her again in that out of the way little building!" someone else said.
"I wish somebody could actually put her fat saggy tit in the wringer and squeeze it, I'd pay a buck to see it!" some man in the back snickered rudely.
"Lord, God," Johnathan thought, "what a wonderful thing it is to have enemies!" He found himself feeling sorry for her, though he knew that she was, in fact, quite odious. What could anyone do about such things, though, when they had already gone so far?
Reaping What She Sowed
When the new chancellor's long-term secretary died of cancer, he hired a younger woman without even considering the troublemaker. The old girl keeps on working for the university, but in a new demoted position at many dollars less in pay. It seemed to be a conscious part of the university's reshuffling that they then had her out of the way and out of the loop before the new President is hired. That Administrative Assistant position would not be available, either. Stella Irons was still there, but had been effectively erased. No one regretted it.
After Her Demotion
Johnathan went over to check for possible rats in the ceiling at the Communications Annex 3 building. It was an older small one-story building and Johnathan noticed the damaged ceiling tiles from the past weekend's rain, so he mentioned it to Stella. After a few exchanges on the subject, she motioned him closer and spoke confidingly about it. He had an uncomfortable sensation that she was about to put her hand on his shoulder, but she didn't.
"Don't repeat this, now, though, it'd probably get me fired—no, I don't guess it would, really, they'd have done it already—but you know the reason you can't get roofing repairs is because there isn't as much kickback in it as there is in new construction. All those vice-presidents and stuff, people at that level, you know? All those greedy pigs have to be fed."
Stella Frances Irons grinned and giggled, though not girlishly; she just seemed like sort of a caricature of someone "in the know", someone used to being tough on people. At one time, she had been in the know, Johnathan recalled. She'd seen it all. He nodded at her sagely, thinking that she might well know some awful things about administrative corruption and theft. "It must not be very provable, though," he figured, "or else they could never have dumped her here and taken away her high salary like they did."
Two Years Later—She Needs A Man
Several student helpers were standing around. Ms. Irons was dragging one of her absentee bosses into the photocopy-supplies room to show him something in a cabinet and ask his advice somehow. She'd been feeling short-winded these past few weeks and this sometimes had a bad effect other than the obvious. For instance, saying to her boss, as she walked by the students, "I need a man" she started—then, unfortunately, she had to pause to take a breath. "To give me his opinion," she finished, but the students had already focused on the statement before the pause and are openly laughing at her.
"Yeah, she needs a man, for sure," the girl snickered.
"Yeah, trot one out and cover her fat head with a bag!" said the pimply boy.
Old Ironsides didn't act like she'd heard them, but it would be difficult to believe that she hadn't or at least apprehended the tenor of their remarks. She glanced at her boss, but he was an older man, hard of hearing, and only interested in his retirement coming up soon, anyway. He hated confrontation and certainly wasn't going to be her white knight against the students. To them she was a mean-spirited old goat with blondish gray hair that they suspected hadn't had a speck of honest blonde in it in ages. Even so, it was a dead color, a color as dead as she was as far as they were concerned.
"Hell, she hasn't had any in years now, I figure," one of the boys liked to say in a low voice and he repeated it now.
Why they thought that she'd come anywhere near admitting it in this manner is strange. Perhaps they just liked to say it—a form of post-adolescent misbehavior. Well, maybe she hadn't been bedded in a long time. It was really nothing to laugh at, whether true or false. Only vicious knot-headed college boys would think so. But this is the way things were. She'd had a husband once—something the young people were unaware of—but he's been dead for many years. You reap, you sow. She had no children of any kind, unless you count these badly behaved young trolls she worked with. She had always invited ridicule, even when she was the President's secretary. Only then, nobody let it show. Now, nobody had to take it, not even these cruel children.
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