A man with curly blond hair slammed down a box of files down on his desk, jolting the brunette beside him awake.
“I cannot believe I have been assigned to the Sandringham relocation. This is outrageous. It’s unfair. All because our boss has it out for me! It’s ridiculous!”
Groggily, the woman sat up and said, “Didn’t you get drunk and start throwing molotovs around the office at the Christmas party?”
Curls grumbled. “That has nothing to do with this. He had it out for me before that!”
“Maybe because you pushed the copier off the roof?”
“It was broken!”
Brunette rested her head back on her keyboard, using it as an uncomfortable pillow. “Alright, what’s so bad about being a buyer’s agent in Sandringham?”
“The property market there is a mess!” exclaimed Curls. “It’s easy for you to judge when you’ll be working as a buyer’s advocate near Malvern East. I can’t think of a better suburb to be working with! Sandringham is a problem because nobody ever sells property there. They all like their location by the sea. It’s just out of the way enough to not be posh like the other Bayside suburbs, which means it’s not great for an investment property. Have you seen the train station there?”
“Are we talking about the Sandringham in New Melbourne or old Melbourne?”
With a groan, Curls said, “We’re not property advocates for Melbourne houses, are we? I know I’m not helping people get property in the old Sandringham, but it still has a psychological impact. People are nostalgic about that place, so they won’t want to move to New Adelaide. It’s a problem.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Frank. Can I go back to sleep now?”
Frank started skimming through the files he’d brought to his desk without responding, so Brunette simply closed her eyes and went back to sleep, no doubt sick of Frank’s complaining about problems he’d caused.