I exchange some bantering emails with the Director of another department, which concludes with him suggesting he takes me out to lunch. I am fully aware that I shall be expected to "sing" in exchange for my food (in other words, impart some juicy titbits of gossip about my Dear Little Department) - in fact, so explicit is this unspoken assumption that I sign my final email "Katharine aka The Canary".
I've suggested the cheap set lunch place around the corner from the Town Hall which he dismisses as being unworthy of my presence (remember, rumour - albeit totally unfounded - has me down as "quite posh"!). I respond by asking if it can be possible he is actually intending to take me to the only Michelin-starred restaurant in the Borough, but we end up walking to a decent Italian place instead.
Director X is a besuited gentleman of advancing years, created in the same mould as every other senior officer at Anonymous Council. By this I mean that he believes he has the right to do whatever he wants. He is part of an ingrained organisational culture which has no truck with icky things like "feelings" (eeeeeeeek). Director X is more charming and affable than most (hence my acceptance of his invitation) but although he chats away with apparent incaution about his days at college and how he met his wife; and although I sit and listen attentively and laugh at his jokes, I am still feeling inwardly watchful.
Suddenly he decides to tell me an anecdote about a senior female officer on his team (I mean, very senior. She is one of only two women at this level of seniority in Anonymous Council's entire workforce...)
Director X tells me that recently he commissioned a greetings card for his Directorate's senior management team. He chortles as he tells me that it featured a large bed containing six people, with their heads replaced by those of the senior management team. He tells me that his female manager is "very angry" about it. She has been pictured in bed with 5 men, and as a female manager who also happens to be the only non-white officer on the team, she is outraged. I imagine Director X is telling me the story expecting me to shake my head and sympathise with him over his female manager's ridiculous inability to take a joke.
Instead, I am sitting there toying idly with my excellent fegato whilst feeling increasingly uncomfortable.
"Well, I suppose if it was just an internal joke..." I offer.
Director X laughs.
"Not at all ! We sent the card out to lots of external people".
"Oh," I say.
"It was just a joke!" expostulates Director X. "It was completely harmless. She's taken it totally the wrong way. She's just got no sense of humour".
These seven words - which have haunted me periodically throughout my life - descend upon the table like rain through a broken roof. They bring with them a chilly atmosphere, and I feel some of the relaxed spirit go out of our lunchtime sojourn.
"Did you ask her before you did it?" I say. "I mean, did you call her in and tell her what you were suggesting, and show her the mock-up, and ask her if she minded....?"
Director X rolls his eyes.
"No, of course not. I didn't ask the men either. She's just being ridiculous. It was a harmless joke".
"But it's not a joke if it's upset her", I say.
And then I add "I can see her point of view".
Politely.
Director X shrugs, looking unimpressed, and calls for a third goldfish bowl of red wine before changing the subject. It's almost 2.30pm, and he doesn't look like he's planning to move in a hurry. If I was still a dedicated, loyal Council officer I would be picking up my bag and heading back to my desk for some very hard work....
But I'm not.
So I order another coffee.
After all, he's paying.
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