Tuesday, 21 April 2009

Return to Form

Sigh. Like I don't have enough to do trying to tie up a hundred fucking stupid loose ends buried in a disorganized pile of shite, while one-manning the telephone etc. whine whinge woe is me and so on - without Champion The Wonder Boss phoning me every twenty fucking minutes with some other bright idea.

The stress in my voice must be audible, it must be; please get off the fucking phone you maniac, the other line is ringing and I have a billion things to do. But no.

So it goes like this.

The Boss : "Are you busy?"

Here's me : "Yes I'm up to my fucking eyes, what's up?"

The Boss : "I bet you're skiving"

Here's me : "I am busy trawling through the half-finished shite you didn't bother your arse telling me about, thanks. Anyway what are you doing, shouldn't you be at the show?"

The Boss : "Well I left a few minutes early, it's nearly over for the day."

Here's me : "But it's only half three?"

The Boss : "Yeah but it's half four over here."

Here's me : "No, it's half three over there. It's half two over here."

The Boss : "It's n..."

Here's me : "IT FUCKING IS. Look at the clock."

The Boss : "Oh... I... I thought it was two hours ahead."

Oh my dear sweet fucking Kris Kristofferson, I mean she's been there for two and a half days already.

Here's me : "Look, I'm up to my nuts here, what's up?"

The Boss : "Can you get me an urgent price?"

Here's me : "Yesyesyesyesyes spill the beans already."

The Boss : "From Roamer."

Here's me : "Just... spell... it... out."

The Boss : "A...R...O...M...A"

Seriously like.

Here's me : "Aroma. Fucking AROMA. Aroma. Right. AROMA. Like a SMELL. Do you mean 'Roma', as in 'Rome'?"

The Boss : "No, it's A...U...M...R...M...A"

Here's me : "Wha? A-oom-r'ma? Umrumma? WHAT?? What country is this in?"

The Boss : "Finland"

Here's me because truly I am getting that good at anagrams : "Rauma. It's Rauuu-ma. Right. Ok. To where?"

The Boss : "Trainer"

By now you must imagine that I am barking out short clipped syllables while I try to simultaneously reply to emails, decipher the bosses verbal arsepiss, and half-heartedly attempt suicide through sheer force of will alone.

Here's me : "Spell. It."

The Boss : "T. A. R..."

Here's me : "STOP. Again."

The Boss : "T...R...A...I...N...E...R"

It all gets a bit repetitive round about here but turns out there actually is a town called Trainer, Pennsylvania. Ok, anyway. That episode over, the reception puts through a call from some poor bastard from a market research company who has been holding for me for ten minutes, and who is sadly very much Mr Wrong Place At The Wrong Time.

Poor Market Research Bastard : "Can I speak to The Boss?"
Here's me : "She's out of the office till Thursday"

Poor Bastard : "But I was just speaking to her."

Here's me : "You were not. She is not here."

Poor Bastard : "But I was."

Here's me : "I ASSURE YOU you were not speaking to her as SHE IS IN PARIS"

Poor Bastard : "And when is she back?"


Very much conveying the impression that to answer "yes" to this would be tantamount to Koala-assisted self-evisceration.

I'm rootin' for the French here. Come on my Gallic friends, get yo' fuckin riot on.

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