The thought of this exchange was deeply satisfying; absorbing too, with the result that she walked past her destination and had to turn back and retrace her footsteps. But there it was, the Superior Positions Office Employment Agency, on the second floor of a slightly run-down, but still promising-looking building not far from the Catholic church. Once she had climbed the stairs, she saw a sign pointing down a corridor inviting visitors to ring the bell on the door and enter. The corridor was dark, and had a slightly unpleasant smell to it, but the door of the agency office had been recently painted and, reflected Mma Makutsi, she was not going to work there, in that building, which was only a means to a much-better-appointed end.

It was a small room, dominated by a desk in the middle of the floor. At this desk there was a slight young woman with elaborately braided hair. She was applying varnish to her nails as Mma Makutsi entered, and she looked up with a vague air of annoyance that she should be disturbed in this task. But she greeted Mma Makutsi in the proper way before asking, “Do you have an appointment, Mma?”

Mma Makutsi shook her head. “Your advertisement in the Daily News said that none was necessary.”

The receptionist pursed her lips. “You should not believe everything you read in the papers, Mma,” she said. “I don’t.”

“Even when it’s your own advertisement?” asked Mma Makutsi.

For a moment the receptionist said nothing. She dipped the varnish brush into the container and dabbed it thoughtfully on the nail of an index finger.

“You’re an experienced secretary, Mma?” she asked at last.

“Yes,” said Mma Makutsi. “And I’d like to see somebody more senior, please.”

A further silence ensued. Then the receptionist picked up her telephone and spoke into the receiver.

“She’ll see you in a few minutes, Mma,” she said. “She’s seeing somebody else at the moment. You can wait over there.” She pointed to a chair in the corner of the room. Beside the chair was a small table laden with magazines.

Mma Makutsi sat down. She had encountered rude receptionists before and she wondered what it was about the job that seemed sometimes to attract unfriendly people. Perhaps it was that people did the opposite of what they really wanted to do. There were gentle prison guards and soldiers; there were unkind nurses; there were ignorant and unhelpful teachers. And then there were those unfriendly receptionists.

She did not have to wait long. After a few minutes the door to the inner office opened and a young woman walked out. She was carrying a folded piece of paper and was smiling. She walked over to the receptionist and whispered something into her ear. There was laughter.