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I would like to state, for my own defense, that this is just some very random thing I type whilst bored to bloody hell one day. I tried using as many British idioms, including the obscure ones only our parents would know, as I could, just to make Erma all the more ridiculous. I might write more with this character. she seems quite fun.

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An office. A man shuffles papers, and places the pile in front of him. H pushes the button on his intercom

Mr. Wardoll: Mrs. Shez, would you send in the next person.

Mrs. Shez: Right away, Mr Wardoll.

The door flies open, and a rather dishevled woman stumbles in, fumbling with her hat as she closes the door and sits down.

Mr. Wardoll: Are you alright, madam?

Erma: Oh quite alright, milord. Just I'm not used to doors that open so easily. My Bernie installs all of our doors and he always makes them too big for the frame so it's a bit like a wrestling match to open them.

Mr. Wardoll: Well, have you considered a professional?

Erma: Not at all. My Bernie won't have it. He said as long as I was in his house, he wouldn't have me alone with strange men, so I decided, 'bugger him, it's time to get a job.'

Mr. Wardoll: How very tedious. Now, according to the forms you filled out you want a job as a custodian?

Erma: Yes, but I feel duty-bound to warn you, I don't believe in all this new-fangled co-ed stuff. I'll clean women's bathrooms with out a single complaint, but I refuse to clean a men's pisshole when I know not moment before some man was shaking his packet about. I have nothing against it, I know almost all men do it, but the whole idea is a bit off-putting if you get my meaning.

Mr. Wardoll: no, of course, madam. We never push our workers to do things they would not enjoy doing.

Erma: Well, I really don't want to be a...what was the word you used again?

Mr. Wardoll: Custodian?

Erma: Yeah, that. Normally I'd like something a little more upstairs, but Unfortunately the only job I could get would be as a pencil pusher...Not that I find that to be a poor job, just not my cup of tea, if you get my meaning.

Mr. Wardoll clears his throat in annoyance, and shifts uncomfortably in his chair

Mr. Wardoll: No no, I understand. One mans treasure and all that rubbish. Now, if you really are against being a custodian we could offer you a gardening job.

Erma: That won't do, I haven't a green thumb. I can't even keep grass alive.

Mr. Wardoll: That's understandable, though. Some grass can be very difficult.

Erma: It was plastic.

Mr. Wardoll: Surely you could learn?

Erma: You can't polish a turd, as they say.

Mr. Wardoll: Well, that's a rather negative way of looking at it.

Erma: I can't be bothered to look a it any other way, you know. I have a sore neck so I can only look in one direction. Mind you I'm not going to let that get in the way of my job here.

Mr. Wardoll: I see, well you should go see a doctor about that.

Erma: I did, I spoke to the meals on wheels man who goes by our flat in the morning.

Mr. Wardoll: Is he a doctor?

Erma: Doctor of letters, I think...But I have just as much right to a doctor as any letter.

Mr. Wardoll: I'll set you up with the office doctor, free of charge.

Mr Wardoll writes down something in the book on his desk

Erma: Oh, thank you, you're a blessed kind man, aren't you? A bit of a minger but so charming.

Mr. Wardoll shuffles in his chair, once again uncomfortable.

Mr. Wardoll: Um, quite...back to business. What qualifications do you have to be a custodian?

Erma: Well, I own me own scrubber.

Mr. Wardoll: Ah! Well we do keep a full supply of cleaning goods in our building.

Erma: Don't I know it, I took a look in the stock room. Cheapest products I ever laid me eyes on. You don't even have one toilet duck!

Mr. Wardoll: I thought that stuff was rubbish...

Erma: Rubbish? Heaven's no. Without good toilet duck I'd never have gotte my toilets white again.

Mr. Wardll: Well, how bad were they?

Erma: Oh, they were quite clean, but my Bernie bought them in black, instead of white...some toilet duck and TCP fixed that right up, mind you, one couldn't enter that bathroom without feinting from the smell.

Mr. Wardoll: Do they still sell TCP?

Erma: They do at the pound shop.

Mr. Wardoll: We seem to have drifted off topic again.

Erma: Well, you were going to give me the job.

Mr. Wardoll: Oh, that's right. Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Shez, you can start on Monday.

Erma gets up, then turns around quickly, Mr. Wardoll still getting up from his chair.

Erma: I can't, that's when I have to trombone me husband. It's a little something we do to get more intimate, well, that and if I don't do it he tends to get a bad case of the squits. I can be in on Tuesday since me husbands usually visiting Ms. Pam and her five sisters that day.

Mr. Wardoll: Um, yes, indeed...anyway, I hope to see you to work bright and early Mrs. Shez.

Erma: You won't regret it, milord.

Erma closes the door behind her. Mr. Wardoll stands there for a while, a blank look on his face

Mr. Wardoll: that woman...what obscure references she made, oh well, maybe it'll work out.