Originally published by The Clifton Courier, November 11, 2020

So remember a while back when I challenged my sister to write my column for me?

Well, the overachieving little snot actually took me up on it. 

She was over at my place the other day and mentioned that she was keen to do it, but said she’d have to wait until after the uni semester was done. So I pulled out my diary to look at the dates. 

And with that we slipped into Playing Office mode. 

We’re not an overly theatrical family (which, I’m pointing out right now, is very different to being a dramatic family – “theatrical” implies some kind of organised stage show with musical talent and rational story arcs, and anyone who has every heard any of the Maguire girls tell a story will know, our story arcs are a little more… abstract than that of your average three act play) but we do slip into something I’d describe as a cross between improvisation and delusion quite easily. And my sister and I have a long history of Playing Office.

It was one of my favourite games as a child. 

We’d set up a desk, break out Mum’s typewriter and invent high-stress corporate situations. Reports due by 5pm. Faxes that must be sent. Manila folders to be dramatically slammed on desks. You know, office stuff.

While most other kids were out riding bikes or swinging on monkey bars, I sitting inside was shouting into a toy phone about some very important reports I had yet to receive. 

I didn’t have an imaginary friend growing up; I had an imaginary assistant. Her name was Channel and you could only reach her by mobile phone.  

Anyway, while we may have since grown up and encountered actual office life (which, much to my great disappointment, is devoid of manila folders and fax machines thanks to the digital revolution) we still will occasionally slip back into Playing Office.

And we did that the other day. 

We decided that if she was going to actually write a column, she’d have to pitch it to me, A Very Professional and Totally Important Person. She’d need to have a presentation ready and I would have to give her feedback on it. 

So we set up meeting: a breakfast meeting on a weekday, obviously. 

On the day of the breakfast meeting, I set my alarm early and, rather than wear a t-shirt with characters from The Simpsons on it with a retina-burningly bright coloured skirt (AKA what I actually wear to work) I put on a white collared button up shirt and a pencil skirt (which, admittedly, was still retina-burningly bright coloured, but I reasoned that I was playing the part of a bold business woman who wasn’t afraid of a little colour).

Then we got to a café, pulled out our notebooks and started discussing ideas in our Professional Voices. 

I don’t know about you, but I generally don’t come off as the most professional in my day-to-day life. I’m nasally. I say “like” and “geez” a lot. I’ll sprinkle in a couple of swears and swear-substitutes like “dingbat” and “far out brussel sprout” for colour. My Professional Voice is deeper, less pitchy and sees me say things like “such as” and “regards”. It’s like I become a whole other person. So when I put on my Professional Voice, it’s very, very obvious. And not just to people who know me, but anyone around me.

And that became obvious when a bunch of cyclists rocked up and took up the table beside us. I could see in their eyes that they saw what was unfolding at the table next to them for what it was – a fake business meeting between two giggly adult sisters. And they thought it was weird. 

But, look, that didn’t throw us off our game (in the figurative and literal sense). 

We forged on with the meeting and came up with a plan. 

So, I suppose this is really just a long-winded way of me saying that, next week, there’s still going to be a Just a Thought column, but said thoughts will be coming from the head of someone else.