The drawer marked miscellaneous

An original imagined workplace memoir.

On my first day, I was introduced to the office drawer marked MISCELLANEOUS. The label had a generous air. Anything unable to explain itself elsewhere could apparently apply for residence here.

Inside were a red button, three lengths of ribbon, a key with no known ambition and a packet of envelopes which had learnt the curve of the drawer. I held up each object to ask what it was for. The answers became steadily less definite. “We might need that” was offered with the solemnity of a weather forecast.

I wanted to sort everything. A labelled box, I thought, could cure the drawer of its past. Then Mara asked for a ribbon to tie together the rolled posters. I supplied one with the faint disappointment of a person whose argument has just become useful material.

We spent the afternoon making smaller groups. Things with a known purpose received a place. The mysterious key stayed with a note asking whether anybody recognised it. A dried glue stick was allowed to leave without a committee.

The drawer is still miscellaneous, but it no longer uses the word as an alibi. I can find the ribbon. The key continues its quiet enquiry.

Examine the methods the writer uses to present a humorous change in attitude towards the office drawer.