The temp

What's the biggest block to workplace communication? Bad phone lines? No e-mail? Lack of management/staff consultation? Open-door policies? Closed-door policies?

After a week working for Sandra, I've come to the conclusion that, overriding all these, serious though they are, is sulking. A good sulker can grind the teeth off the wheels of industry more effectively than any intentional saboteur. And Sandra, though her reputation for being ferociously clever protects her position, is the world's No 1 sulker. Her world view is like that of a five-year-old, with the population divided into Best Friends and People I'm Not Talking To.

Having not yet done anything to engender the wrath of Sandra, I'm in Best Friend category, but I know that this situation can't last. She has, after all, got through so many secretaries in the past four years that personnel have given up recruiting and have a permanent arrangement with my agency.

Sandra is currently at war with 10 people in this company of 70, and conducting a war of silence with almost half the rest. And, of course, two-thirds of the others have avoided her wrath only because their jobs and hers hardly coincide. After a couple of days, noticing how often people seemed to be humming "Nellie the Elephant" under their breath when they came near our enclave, I started to realise that Sandra, charming to me, was a running joke to her colleagues. Like an elephant, you see, Sandra Simmonds never forgets.

The net effect, though, is that everyone else has to go through tortuous routes to get anything done that involves her. I, for instance, can't patch anyone directly through on the phone; I have to ring her first to check whether she's speaking to them. Sandra's quite upfront about it: "No way," she says, "am I speaking to that bastard/ idiot/ buffoon. Find out what he wants." So then I have to be filled in, try to understand, relay messages between the two parties without getting anything wrong, and all the time behave as though it's all perfectly normal.

I spend a lot of time walking from one place or another to deliver sets of figures or messages. And my association with the woman affects how people see me. Marketing are frosty, presumably because they see me as some conduit of her venom; personnel are pitying ("How are you getting on down there? Everything OK?") and design, fortunately, want to include me in the joke.

Day five, and when I visit design with yet another round of deadline negotiations, Bob says, "Tell you what, darling, why don't you have a cup of tea?" and I accept. They perch me on a high chair by a drawing- board, and question me. "Has she shown you pictures of the children yet? Keep a straight face? Well done." "Have you noticed the dolly pincushion by her computer? Voodoo doll of the MD."

I try to remain tactful, but my curiosity is too strong. I pump them in return. Why isn't she speaking to you lot? "Oh, Keith did a new package design that she didn't like, and the MD decided he did. She's never forgiven us." Marketing? "Pulled off a deal that meant she had to stay in till 10pm four nights on the trot," says Keith. "Yeah," says Penny, "Missed the theatre, apparently. Never forgiven them." They cackle. Post room? "Post room! Kept putting mail for accounts in her pigeonhole." "Insult." "Gross insult. Never forgiven them." Accounts? "Questioned the expenses on a client dinner." "Cheek."

And am I wrong, I ask, in thinking she's off personnel? Bob rolls his eyes and Penny laughs again. "Christmas party," says Bob. "D'you know, she's been working here four years and they forgot to give her her own invitation? She was furious. Cuts Mona every time they meet." "Mmm," says Penny, "but at least she cut the party as well."