Just his luck to catch them all on a pee break.
Four minutes and his trousers were dry but the man-made fibre had turned black. He walked into Reception.

"Ah! There you are Sir, Mr Carter will see you now." the receptionist beamed wondering why this once fine edifice now resembled a derelict building.
Des walked down the corridor to a door marked 'MR CARTER - PERSONNEL'.

He stopped for a moment and took deep breaths.  Must pull himself together.  Didn't want anything to go wrong.

He pulled the handle down, snapping it cleanly off.
"Enter" shouted a voice.
He tried to grip the 2/1000th of an inch spindle.

"O'Crady says ENTER" screamed the voice.

What to do?

The question was answered as the door opened outwards smacking him on the nose, aggravating the boil which he had failed to notice.

Sorry" beamed Mr Carter, "Do come in and take a seat".
He shook hands with Mr Carter.
Mr Carter put the handle in the In-tray.
"Sit down" beckoned Mr Carter.
He sat down not knowing that the sole had coiled under the shoe flicking him into a double somersault.

He landed the right way up. His luck was holding.

"Do have a cigarette and relax" He took the cigarette, smoothly taking out his book of matches, lighting Mr Carter's cigarette and then his own. He deftly put the spent match back into the book, closed it and smoothly put it back into his pocket.

There was slight noise.   A 'pooooof' sort of noise.

The remaining matches ignited, forming a flash fire in his Taiwanese Terylene trousers.
A small hole, brown edged, appeared about the size of half a page of the Sunday Express. Don't panic, keep calm, perhaps he didn't notice, he thought.

He took his hand out of the remains of the pocket, somewhat surprised to find a book of matches welded to his thumb.

"Did you bring a CV?"

"No, I've got a Cortina" replied Des.

"No, I mean a Curiic - a Curry Vital, a list of jobs?"