Nice Girls Finish Last

My demon is a pretty secretary with a short skirt and long nails.  She's the kind who flirts, and even sleeps with people, and messes about with the photocopier at the office party.  At least, she seems to be that type, but she generally behaves.  She loves her job.  She surrounds herself with filing cabinets, and must keep them in some kind of order, as she seems to know exactly where everything is when she wants it.

'Reception class,' she might say, slapping a file down in front of me.  I always want to look away, whichever file she chooses, but I never can.  'Age four.  Mrs Smith put you in a group with Ricky, Stephen and Ryan "because you were sensible".'

'That was a long time ago,' I say.

'She didn't really expect you to make them work.  You were as shy as a rabbit with a stammer on his first day at school!  How could you be expected to make three boys work?  She put you with them because she wanted the work done and she knew you'd end up doing all of it.  And you did, didn't you?  And she gave them each a quarter of the credit even though she knew perfectly well they hadn't lifted a finger.'

'It doesn't really matter any- '

'What was the project, anyway?'

'I can't remember.'

'Well,' she says, 'it doesn't matter what it was, does it?  The principle's the same.  She took advantage of you.  Your teacher!  It's like I always say.  Nice girls finish last.'

'It's wrong to hold a grudge,' I say.  'We need to throw all these files out.'

'No, no, no.'  She shakes her head and wags a finger at me.  'You need to remember all of this.  One day, it'll do you good.'

'How?'

'When this office gets so full it can't take any more, you're going to have to do something about it.  You're going to have to stop letting these things happen.'

'Is it really my fault when things are done to me?' I ask her.

'Of course.  Nice girls - '

'I know.'

'Look at this.'  Several files have accumulated over the last six months, and she likes to make me look at those a lot.  'Do you know how many jobs you were turned down for?'

'I lost count,' I say.

'Why do you think it kept happening?'

'Because of the economy.'

'Sod the economy!  You would have been brilliant in any one of those jobs!'

'Not any one,' I say.

She frowns at me.  'Okay then, at least half.  But don't be modest.  You know who you lost out to, don't you?  Every time, your job will have gone to a complete bitch.'

'It doesn't matter now.'

Sometimes she looks around, a thought wrinkling her pretty little forehead, and says, 'I may reorganise.  Sort everything by category.  School.  Work.  Friends.  Men.  Look at all this stuff for the Men file!'

I hate it when she gets out the Men incidents.  They usually seem to come out together, every single one, and she finds them all in under a second.

'Don't get out the Men files,' I say.

'You're ashamed.'

'I just don't like to think about them.'

'Of course you don't.  In any one of these instances,' she says, waving all of the files under my nose, 'has he been the one to suffer, or was it always you?'

'You know the answer to that.  Now what do you suggest I do about it?'

She gives me a pitying look, as though the answer is obvious.  'The next time you're in a man situation, put up your wall.  Don't let him upset you.  Do it to him before he can do it to you.  They're all the same, you know.'

I shake my head.  'They are not.  That's sexist.'

'Sexist shmexist!  You're too nice.  Nice girls finish last.'  At this point she throws out her arms, and gestures at the files all around.  'Every.  Single.  Time.'

To my shame, she can always convince me that she's right.  The feeling goes away soon enough, when I'm no longer with her, but for a while at least she can make me think about trying to live my life more selfishly.

'I can't change just like that,' I say.  'I can't just stop being nice.'

She looks at me defiantly.  'So sack me.  If you were as nice as all that, you'd get rid of me and all these files.'

'I want to.'

'But…?'

'I can't help remembering,' I say.  'I know I shouldn't, but sometimes it just gets to me.'

'One day,' she says, 'it's going to get on top of you.  If you carry on the way you are, the days like these are going to build up and up and up, and one day they'll crush you.'

'I should burn these files,' I say.  'In fact I should burn down this whole office, so I never have anywhere to store this stuff again.'

'But you won't,' she says.

'No.'

'Remembering this stuff is the worst thing you do.'  There is contempt in her voice.  'They aren't even grudges.  Not really.  You only think about them sometimes.'

'Well good,' I say.  'You shouldn't bear a grudge.'

'Why?  Because it's not nice?'

'Right,' I say.  'It is not nice.'