My First Cult

3. Maude & The Stationery Cupboard

Romeo and Juliet.

Rose and Jack.

Princess Leia and Han Solo.

Shrek and Fiona (don't @ me - their love is legendary).

All of these iconic couples have one thing in common: a love story to span the ages.

One thing they don't have, however, is a Stationery Cupboard (henceforth referred to with capital letters, to signify the importance it played in all our lives), where as Maude did.

This simple fact propels Maude's romance far beyond the realms of our understanding. Her love for the Stationery Cupboard transcended the obvious problems (she was a woman, it was a Stationery Cupboard) and entered a whole new dimension of reverence - a level of love that none of us can ever hope to achieve.

It was one-sided. It was frightening in its intensity. It was weird.

It was, as I've mentioned before, a Stationery Cupboard.

My quest to find it began on my second day after realising I'd been given no pens, highlighters or notebooks.

("This is scandalous," I snapped at Giles and Rob as I tried to arrange what little there was on my desk, "What we have here is a scandal. No company notebook? No pen? I might as well arrive to work in a clown car.")

Finding the Stationery Cupboard was more difficult than I'd anticipated. No one seemed to know where it was or, if they did, they were reluctant to tell. It was like some sort of myth. Like Cthulu itself - not meant to be seen by human eyes.

"This is insane," I wheezed to Claire at one very poignant moment after I'd searched the entire office, "how am I meant to take notes without a laptop, pen or notebook?"

Claire, who'd never spoken to me before, stared in silent alarm. She was a member of the cult (or MC as I'd refer to them) and seemed most disturbed by this latest interaction with a non-believer.

"Do you know where the Stationery Cupboard is?" I all but snarled.

Claire, ever-wise and helpful, said nothing and sped away down the corridor.

-

Imagine you're sat in a Conference Room, surrounded by clones of the same man.

This is the situation I found myself in during the first Sales meeting I attended.

In front of me: Marvin Jenkins, the Director of the company. Pale blue shirt, smart black trousers, shiny black shoes. No tie. Clean shaven. Going bald. A slightly vacant look in his eyes.

Beside him, and around him, borderline identical looking men. Roughly half had glasses. Some were much younger versions of Marvin, maybe between the ages of 19 - 23. The ones who still retained hair had the exact same haircut - a mix between a side part and a comb-over.

As strange as it was being the only woman in a sea of male clones, my attention was diverted to a more important matter. Each of the clones had a company branded notebook and pen. I gazed at them in deep, bitter jealousy.

Where had their stationery come from? Did they have access to this mythical cupboard?

"So, before we start, who's taking notes?" Marvin asked, peering round the Conference Room.

Nobody responded.

"Notes?" Marvin ventured again, brows knit together in hope.

Still no answer. By this point, a total of ten seconds had passed. The silence was deafening. I'd never seen a Director left hanging by his entire staff before (let alone his own clones).