The Boss is Coming - Look Busy

I knew something was wrong quite early on today. I have a nose for these things, at this stage I think I'd have met with tragedy by now if I didn't.


There was, shall we say, an Atmosphere.


It's hard to say just why, subtle little things, but one of the main giveaways is the way The Boss types when She has a Problem. She pounds away at the keyboard will all of the aggression and total lack of any kind of grace of a very bad drunken teenage death-metal drummer. Who has maybe just been dumped by his girlfriend or something. Anyway, I detected this vibe, and not feeling really up to this today, was trying to just keep my head down and lay low. 


But no, despite not wanting trouble, trouble plainly wanted me.

The Boss : "Did you send those bills to Caroline today?"

Here's me : "What, more today?"

The Boss : "SHE ASKED YOU TO SEND THEM THIS MORNING!"

Here's me : "Uh, no, she asked me yesterday morning, and I did send them at that stage. Uh, you were copied in..."

The Boss : "SHE ASKED TODAY!"

Here's me : "I didn't get asked for any more today, honestly."

The Boss : "NO."

Boss Says No, then. I do intend to tell her right before I leave here that it's not as useful a multi-purpose word as "awayandfuckyourselfyoubatshitcrazyoldbastard". 


I wait.

The Boss, barely scaling down from the summit of Mt. Angry : "The ones she asked for yesterday!"

Here's me : "You said... nevermind."

About a year ago, I'd probably have argued this. Then I'd probably have asked her what the hell her problem was and asked her kindly that whatever the fuck it was not to take it out on me. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Such is the WAY OF PAIN.

Here's me : "I sent them yesterday?"

The Boss is obviously wrestling with some sort of blood clot in the brain. I try to look too intensely busy to be spoken to. It is very nearly the truth. It does not, however, work.

The Boss : "AND HAVE YOU PUT AWAY THOSE FILES YET!"

Here's me, looking at the files which she is indicating, which are sitting on the desk between us, totally unable to help myself : "Those files? Yeah."

The Boss : "DON'T BE SMARK WITH IT!"

Plainly the woman is actually about to have a meltdown, and also the prospect of spending a while in the store-room out back right now seems, for once, rather attractive, so I seize up the files and my iPod and head on out to the store-room, fully intending to try to make this last the rest of the day if I can.






To be continued.

Unaccountable

All was silent in the Halls of the Damned, when suddenly :

The Boss : "FUCK!"

Here's me : "What?"

The Boss : "BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD! God forgive me!"

Here's me : "God doesn't care. What's the problem?"

The Boss, screeching in her sudden panic : "I haven't sent off the accounts!"

Here's me : "Oh."

The Boss : "They were supposed to be with the accountants for yesterday latest!"

Here's me : "Oh."

The Boss : "Can you send them for me?"

Here's me : "Yes. What do you want me to send?"

The Boss : "November 09!"

Here's me : "Just November?"

The Boss, as if I'm stupid : "No, November through to October!"

Here's me, staring at her, eyebrow raised.

The Boss : "WHAT'S THE PROBLEM!?!?"

Here's me, veerrrry sloooowly : "You just said 'November through to October'. November 09 to October... what. Try again."

The Boss : "No, November before! A fullancial year! And I have to go early! I have a dentist's appointment!"

Here's me, ignoring that little pormanteau : "OK. Do you have their address handy, I'll post it to them tonight?"

By 'post it' I refer to posting one of the A4 hardbacked ledgers which I have previously mentioned constitutes our accounts system (along with the pencil and my still-missing shiny new fucking rubber)

The Boss : "You'll have to scan it!"

Sigh.

Here's me : "You want me to scan this whole book?"

The Boss : "YOU HAVE TO!"

Here's me : "If I scan this whole thing it'll be an e-mail the size of Manchester."

The Boss : "JUST DO IT!"

Here's me : "Gah. Give it here."

So I take it, and step up to the plate, and start tinkering with the much-hacked photocopier/scanner device. The book when opened is two sides of A4, naturally I want to set this on the scanner and just scan an A3 sized document each time, yeah? So I'm just checking this is all lining up correctly and so on, running a couple of test copies to check I'm scanning the appropriate area and such...


The Boss is outraged.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING PLAYING WITH THAT THING!"

Here's me, sadly shaking my head : "Never mind."

The Boss : "START SCANNING THEM!"

Here's me, still calm but only just : "Calm. Down. I am spending a couple of minutes setting this up in order to save about half an hour. Just leave me to it."

The Boss is momentarily placated. So I'm standing there at the scanner/photocopier thing, putting a hardback book on it and scanning each page, lifting it, turning the page, repeating this process, and generally wondering just where the fuck my fucking life started to go so badly wrong and thinking it was probably that time me and a friend drink a bottle of his mother's Bacardi one night when we were fourteen.

a reconstruction of the crime scene, for the reader's perusal

So, I race on through this process, and stop briefly to remove the few test copies I did from underneath, which I then drop into The Boss's bin, which regular readers shall know is just beside the copier. 


Mistake.


The Boss was previously merely "outraged", now it is fair to say she is fucking apoplectic.

"YOU CAN'T JUST PUT THOSE IN THE BIN THOSE ARE OUR ACCOUNTS!", she actually fucking yells at me, then reaches into the bin, pulls out the papers I have just deposited there, makes a great show of ripping them up and then actually fucking throws them down the side of the fucking bin.

not a reconstruction. actual scene. FML.

I'm pretty sure my mouth is hanging open and my fists are clenching in a manner that would make most people quietly walk away, there very well may be steam coming out of my ears actually.

The Boss's life and my employment here are both saved by the phone ringing. I return to my desk and froth quietly, and The Boss starts shouting inanities down the phone. The call ends a moment later when she slams the phone down.

"THE STUPID BASTARDS!"

I don't even look round.

"THEY'VE MOVED ME TO AN EARLIER APPOINTMENT BUT THEY PHONED DUBLIN TO TELL ME!"

Can't help myself now - "They phoned who in Dublin?"

The Boss screams our company name at me.

Here's me, once again a perfectly tranquil mask of calm hiding the murder that lies at the heart of me : "That is us."

The Boss : "THEY PHONED THE DUBLIN BRANCH!"

with which she seizes up her bags and runs to the door, leaving me now a bizarre mixture of confused, angry and amused. Not least because we don't have a Dublin branch.








EPILOGUE :

About ten minutes after leaving The Boss phoned me and, very bright, breezy and cheerful, said "I thought I'd just to give you something to do while I was away!" and proceeded to give me instructions on something she needs done which would make a funny entry in and of itself but I'm too utterly fucking pissed off to go there right now.


If you're looking for me, I'll be in the office here, kicking the shit out of everything in sight and screaming myself hoarse.

Silence Is Golden

Ever had one of those moments in life when you walk into a room and just know in your gut that something is just not right?

Gah.

Such a moment greeted me this morning.

In a sauntered from the mist and drizzle, not exactly full of the joys but certainly in pretty reasonable form, with that "hey it's Friday!" thing going on. I smiled at The Boss and chirped "Morning!", but even as I said it I knew something was amiss.

No greeting was returned, merely an icy stare.

Ohhhh-kaaaaay then.

I stare back. I've got this general-purpose stare that I use in such circumstances, it's more or less a completely blank look, I think. The Boss cracks first :

"You haven't booked Statesville."

Minimalism works for me in these situations.

"Correct."

The Boss : "WHY NOT?"

Here's me : "Because I knew nothing about it."

The Boss : "I told you before I left here on Wednesday morning to book it!"

Here's me : "Firstly, that was yesterday. Thursday morning. Secondly, you said something about 'Lakeville', which is in Minnesota, and mentioned nothing about 'Statesville', which is in North Carolina. I did provisionally book Lakeville."

The Boss is enraged.

"I KNOW WHAT I SAID! I NEEDED THAT BOOKED AND YOU HAVEN'T DONE IT!"

Here's me : "Respectfully. Sometimes what you think you're saying and what is actually coming out of your mouth bear very little relation. Sometimes in fact.."

The Boss is now livid and screams at me to interrupt me : "GERRY!"

I must at this juncture advise you, the reader, that my name is not, in fact, Gerry. I remain silent and stare at the mentalist while waiting for her ears and brain to process what has just happened.

Not to be derailed, she storms over to me.

"I saw you write this down as I was saying it! GIVE ME YOUR DIARY!"

It's true. I write in a large A4 desk diary key details from pretty much every conversation I have either in the office or on the phone. It's a handy habit I got into many years ago. She seizes up my diary and flicks to yesterday, where indeed I have written what she actually said, pretty much verbatim. There is an edifying moment when her eyes widen, presumably taking in not only my attention to detail but also just how insane the instructions I have apparently failed to act on were.

So now she is sulking and refusing to talk to me. Which, if I can get past the fact that you could cut the atmosphere in here with a knife, sort of works for me.

Lawnmower Boss

Right, here's the deal. We have one of those photocopier/printer/scanner/fax machine jobs that plugs into a network point in here. Because the whole building is on a shared network of some kind, occasionally something happens that leads to, for reasons I don't really understand, the scanner function not being able to see the network. It appears to happen just randomly sometimes and I have neither any clue as to why nor any inclination to try and figure it out. I'm pretty sure no-one is actively trying to hack the photocopier, at least.

So anyway I went for a smoke, and upon my return am greeted with hostility and accusation, thusly :

The Boss : "Are you turning the photocopier off whenever you go out?"

Here's me : "What?"

The Boss : "Are you messing about?"

Here's me : (sigh) "What are you talking about? What? Just what can it possibly be?"

The Boss : "Every time you go out the scanner stops working."

Here's me, slowly, deliberately. I'm chewing this idea over in my mind : "Every time I go out, the scanner stops working. You think that the scanner stopping working is somehow linked to me leaving the room. That is what you're saying to me, right?"

The Boss, verging on manic : "Are you doing something to it!?"

Here's me, steadily ascending in volume, steadily losing my grip : "Yes! Yes I am! I have this... little... fucking... fucking remote control button, in my pocket, and every time I go for a cigarette I push it so the scanner stops working! Ha! HA HA!"

The Boss : "Well if it's not you what is it?"

Here's me : "Well fuck me, you've got me there. You're like Sherlock Bloody Holmes, ruling out the impossible first. Brilliant."

The Boss, possibly realising that this is epic lunacy, retreats somewhat : "Well have you any idea what the problem might be?"

Here's me : "I think... and it's just a theory... that someone in the conference room is using a machine for whatever, and whenever it gets turned on, for some reason it either hogs that network point, or it's an IP address thing, and somehow boots our scanner off the network, so it can't see our shared drive anymore when we try to scan. But I don't know for sure, ok? It's just a thought."

The Boss sits down at her desk and telephones reception, and more or less screams "Koala says your conference machine is disappearing our scanner!"

I am holding my head in both hands, trying not to hyperventilate.

The Boss replaces the telephone handset and turns to me once more.

"They want us to send theme a description of the problem by e-mail so they can forward it to the IT guy."

Here's me : "No sweat, I'll do that now."

The Boss : "No, I want to do it."

Here's me : "Oh fuckkkkkkk...."

The Boss : "Well?"

Here's me : "Well what?"

The Boss : "What should I say to them?"

Here's me : "Just let me send them the e-mail."

The Boss : "NO."

OH MY FUCKING GOD WHY MUST YOU BE SUCH AN ARSEHOLE.

Here's me : "Riiiiiight. OK. Tell them, uh... that we recently installed a new printer and scanner unit that connects via network point six"

The Boss, typing, speaking aloud : "INSTALLED.PRINT.SCANNER.CONNECTS.TO.SIX.NETWORKS."

Here's me : "Oh, gawd, no, I mean it connects to network point number six. The point in the wall."

The Boss : "CONNECTS.TO.NETWORK.FIREWALL."

Worth mentioning, The Boss writes all her e-mails like this, in block capitals with no pronouns in sight; they pretty much all read like war-time telegrams. I'm serious, fuck Neo, if The Boss had been plugged into The Matrix the machines would have released the humans and slunk off to be subservient but untroubled pocket calculators and iPods instead.

Here's me, pretty much giving up : "And... at various points through the day, randomly, the machine can't see the network. Not the firewall. Forget the firewall. The network."

The Boss : "RANDOM. MACHINE. CAN'T. SEE. FIREWALL. FIREWORKS. um NETWORKS."

.

..

...

Here's me : "Just so, yes."

Glint in my eye.

Here's me, and I'm not joking when I say I deserve a fucking Oscar for how I deliver this : "You should let him know it happens every time I leave the room, too. In case it's anything to do with my phone."

If I can get a hold of the response from the IT guy I'll certainly share it with you.

Shut it Down? Shut the Fuck Up

The essence of this issue is probably familiar enough to anyone who has worked at all in IT, or even helped a relative with some computer-related issue. Unsurprisingly, herein it has been taken the Nth degree.

I have arrived in to discover my computer is a bit fucked. Just that non-specific kind of fucked that is the Joy of Windows. Our computers are left on 24/7 because during non-business hours the (remote) IT staff do... whatever is they do. I can't really say since we don't run any software beyond e-mail (ooh, it's a lie... I have spreadsheets... but keep it quiet, such things are frowned upon in here) . But anyway the poor bastard of a thing needs reset, so I do this, and sit back to wait for it.

The Boss : "Why are you sitting there doing nothing?"

Here's me : "Had to reset the computer."

The Boss, apparently shocked : "You're not supposed to turn it off!"

Here's me : "Wasn't much choice. I don't think it'll be a problem, like."

The Boss : "It's your own fault anyway."

Now. What the fuck?

Some people, smarter, wiser, better people, at this stage would just say to themselves, internally 'Aye' (or 'whatever', or 'yeah right' or whatsoever your local equivalent may be) and let the matter rest there, but sadly I have all my life been the kind of koala who cannot resist probing the loose tooth, from stirring the hornet's nest if you will. And at times, I will confide this, I feel tested, sorely tested.

Here's me, actually turning round 90' to make eye contact for a change : "Now. Tell me. Explain. Why would that be my fault?"

The Boss : "You don't turn it off at night."

Incredulous, I am. Petulant, I become.

Here's me : "We're not supposed to turn them off at night. You just told me we're not supposed to turn them off. You just said that. Just now."

The Boss : "You're not supposed to turn it right off. But you should shut it down."

Here's me : "Shut it down without turning it off?"

Does she shut down the PC but leave the power supply connected to the wall thinking the IT department can sneak in through the mains supply? Does she?

The Boss, sagely : "On the computer. You should shut it down there."

Here's me : "As opposed to?"

The Boss : "On the hard drive."

Ah.

Here's me, coming the innocent : "So should I shut it down at night?"

The Boss, pleased at having the reins for once : "Yes. But just shut down the computer, not the hard drive."

She demonstrates by pressing the on/off switch on the monitor that sits in front of her.

Here's me : "Ah. Right. OK."

The Boss : "Ha ha, SEE you don't know everything!"

Instant Anger - Just Add Boss

First conversation of the morning.

The Boss, sitting on the far side of the room, holds up a piece of paper, blank side towards me.

The Boss : "What's this?"

Here's me : "I don't know."

The Boss : "Well where did it come from?"

Here's me : "I don't know."

The Boss : "Well it was on your desk."

Here's me : "Well what is it?"

The Boss : "That's what I'm asking you."

Here's me : "Well I mean could you let me see it?"

The Boss : "Lose the attitude."

I will crack today, I am almost certain.

This May Well Represent The Last Straw

The Boss has been absent from the office for two weeks now, and I have been very busy, although in a very productive, on-top-of-it, getting-shit-done kind of a way. Mostly, anyway. But upon her return everything has been gone through with the fine toothed comb, so to speak, and this is actually slightly more painful and intrusive than a very bad experience in Customs, or maybe even jail.

To set the scene, The Boss is staring at her screen, which is some distance from me and at the wrong angle for me to be able to see anyway, and is randomly interrogating me based upon two weeks of e-mails. I've had to condense this considerably, because it basically lasted for eight hours. Dark days indeed, this office is steadily turning into some Village of the Damned type scene. I'm expecting a thick mist to come rolling under the door any moment now.

The Boss : "Did you do this one?"

Here's me : "What one?"

The Boss : "Denmark."

Here's me : "I did a lot of Denmark. Which Denmark?"

The Boss : "Have you done all of these then?"

Here's me : "Well I think so, but I mean, can you be specific?"

The Boss : "Did you do all the Denmark or not?"

Here's me : "Er... " oh fuck it "Yes."

The Boss : "Did you do this one?"

Here's me : "What one?"

The Boss : "Mombasa."

Here's me : "Yes.

The Boss : "Finland?"

Here's me : "What Finland?"

The Boss : "Norway."

Here's me : "I did a Norway."

The Boss : "But Finland?"

Here's me : "What Finland?"

The Boss : "Any Finland."

Here's me : "I don't think so."

The Boss : "So you didn't do it?"

Here's me : "What? Wait. I didn't think there was a Finland job..?"

The Boss : "So you didn't do Finland. You can't just leave things lying, you know."

Here's me : "Was there a Finland job?"

The Boss : "Did you do all these to Galveston."

Here's me : "Yes. What Finland?"

The Boss : "Never mind. Did you do those invoices for Frances?"

Here's me : "Yes. What Finland job was that, again?"

The Boss : "All of them?"

Here's me : "Yes."

The Boss : "Did you do this one?"

Here's me : "WHAT one?"

The Boss : "Do you have a problem with me asking you questions?"

Here's me : "No. Seriously. I just can't answer them if I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

The Boss : "Did you do Galveston?"

Here's me, staring at the ceiling and speaking in a kind of a whimper : "You asked me that about thirty seconds ago."

The Boss, dangerously : "Do you think I'm giving you a hard time?"

Here's me, carefully : "No. I am... " think goddamit think "..just, sometimes, not sure of exactly what it is that you're asking."

The Boss : "That's because you never listen. You need to learn. Did you do Norway?"

Here's me : "Yes. You've already asked me that."

The Boss : "No I didn't. I asked you about Finland."

Here's me : "No you oh what's the point right ok."

The Boss : "So you didn't do Norway?"

Here's me : "No, I did."

The Boss : "You said you didn't do it."

Here's me : "No, I said I didn't do Finland."

The Boss, angry, triumphant, insane : "Ah, so you didn't do Finland! You just ignored the Finland job!"

Here's me, talking to a fixed point in the middle distance : "Truthfully, no, I did not do the Finland job, but there was no Finland job so I think it's fairly excusable."

The Boss, dripping some sort of odious malice : "Well Iiiiii see a Finland."

I bound over quickly and brightly.

Here's me : "Really my goodness I must have made a terrible mistake where is the Finland I have failed to do please??"

The Boss, actually, for real - this'll blow your fucking minds, kids - puts her hand flat over the screen, attempting to mask the email which is open upon it, and glares at me with raw, naked contempt.

Here's me, smiling like The Joker : "Which Finland please?"

The Boss : "Never mind."

Here's me, all eyeballs and teeth : "I need to learn."

The Boss, sullenly and aggressively, drops her hand from the screen.

Here's me, in the flat dead tones of the new murderer : "That", I state, indicating the screen with a pointing finger that barely shows a tremble despite the hell that is flowing through my veins, "is Norway."

The Boss folds her arms and regards me with her 'orrible little beady eyes for a moment, and I can almost see the wheels of whatever diabolical instrument drives her mind turning, then slowly intones, with an air of utter disgust :

"Did you do anything while I was away?"

Denied

In order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to obtain.

MARK TWAIN

As those of you who have been following this will be aware, quite often it is from the tiniest, most innocuous and seemingly innocent beginnings that the greatest madness erupts in these chambers.

And so:

Here's me : "Do we have any more paperclips? I'm running out."

The Boss, in a manner that strongly suggests she's spoiling for a rumble : "No."

Here's me : "Well could you order some with the next stationery order?"

The Boss : "No".

Here's me : [sigh] "May I ask why?"

The Boss : "You don't need paperclips."

Here's me : [sigh] "I really do. I use a lot of them. And I'm running out. Please could I just have some paperclips?"

The Boss : "What are you using them for?"

Here's me getting steadily more uneasy : "To... clip... pieces of paper together... in files?"

The Boss, bizarrely very angry about this : "You should use staples."

Here's me, sucked in : "Well you see I use paperclips while the file is still coming together, then once it's finished, I remove the paperclip, and staple them."

The Boss, with an ugly air of malicious triumph : "You should have paperclips then."

Bollocks. She might have me here.

Here's me, it's a fair cop : "OK. I may have lost some during this process. Can I please just have some paperclips?"

The Boss : "No. I don't want you using paperclips any more. Use staples from now on."

Here's me, utterly caught in the web : "But.. while the file is coming together, I have to... perhaps insert other pages, and take pages out to fax them and so on... and if I leave them loose they'll get all muddled."

I'm gonna cry. This is so unfair. It's just not right. I just want some fucking paperclips. Please just give me some paperclips you evil maniac.

The Boss, now inordinately pleased with herself : "You can't leave them loose. You'll have to staple them, then take the staples out each time."

Here's me : "But... but.. that's a bit... um.. mad?"

The Boss : "Don't be carky with me."

Here's me : "Carky?"

The Boss has said it now and is damn well going to stand by it : "Carky."

Here's me : "Carky? Are you calling me carky?"

The Boss : "Don't be key with me."

Here's me : "Wha???"

It's the little, tiny things in life, the small, insignificant things, that make people insane. I'm just sayin'.

No Longer At This Address

The Boss : "Do you have that contact for Turkey?""

Here's me : "What contact for Turkey?"

The Boss : "The one I gave you."

Here's me : "What one you gave me?"

The Boss : "I gave you his e-mail address last year, you were looking for a rate."

Here's me : "Oh aye... I vaguely remember. What was his name again?"

The Boss : "Can't you just get me his e-mail address?"

Here's me : "Er.. no?"

The Boss : "It should come up when you start typing it in."

Here's me : " Do.

you.

know.

his.

name."

The Boss : "Can you not remember?"

Here's me : "NO."

The Boss : "Hassan."

I type this in to the 'To' box.

Here's me : "I have no 'Hassan' coming up."

The Boss : "Atia."

I type this in too.

Here's me : "I have no 'Atia' coming up."

The Boss : "No, Hassan Atia."

Sigh.

Here's me, entirely weary of this life : "I have no Hassan, no Atia, no Hassan Atia."

The Boss : "Do you not keep a record of your addresses?"

Here's me : "Er, yes? In the address book?"

The Boss : "Well where's your address book?"

Here's me wishing I could just disappear : "oh gawd oh gawd oh gawd in the computer where do you keep yours i'm scared to ask?"

The Boss : "I left it at home."

Here's me : "Are you telling me you keep your e-mail addresses in a book? In an actual, physical book?"

The Boss : "Yeah."

Here's me, wide-eyed : "In an actual manual, paper, handwritten book?"

The Boss : "Yeah."

Here's me gripping the edge of my desk with white knuckles like I'm riding the Big Dipper into the Abyss : "Which you write e-mail addresses off the screen into?"

The Boss : "Yeah."

Here's me probably with strands of saliva hanging from my slackening jaw : "Which you take home with you?"

The Boss : "Don't be smart with me. Your fancy one isn't much better if you can't find his e-mail address in it, is it?"

Here's me : "I CAN HARDLY FIND HIS SODDING ADDRESS IF YOU DON'T TELL ME HIS SODDING NAME."

The Boss : "Hiba. His name's Hiba."

Typing.

Found.

Here's me : "Here it is. Hiba. Right. Jesus Christ, like. I mean, fuck. Jesus. Fuck."

The Boss : "I could have found that faster myself."

Clench.

The Boss : "You need to start keeping a better record of your email addresses."

That snapping sound on the edge of your hearing, that is me.

All Things Being Equal

The Boss : "Where's Kembla Island?"

Here's me : "Ummm.... do you mean Port Kembla?"

The Boss : "Maybe."

Here's me : "Port Kembla is in Australia, but it's not an island."

The Boss : "Pembla Island."

Here's me : "Never heard of it. Hang on, I'll google it."

(I google it. No results, but google suggests 'Pemba Island', which is a tiny little island near Zanzibar)

Here's me : "Is it Pemba Island, maybe? There's no 'Pembla' Island, but according to this Pemba Island is part of Tanzania, out near Zanzibar."

The Boss : "You work as a shipping agent and you had to look that up?"

Here's me, almost foaming at the mouth : "And you're my boss and you don't know Port Kembla from a tiny wee speck of sand in the Indian Ocean?"

The Boss : "Same difference. A port is a port."

Here's me : "gahhhhh...."



Just for your reference, Port Kembla is one of the largest industrial seaports in Australia. Here it is from above :





By comparison, and just so you get an idea of what I'm dealing with here, here's a shot of the quay on Pemba Island :

I'm Sorry, Did I Break Your Concentration?

Barely have I sat down at the desk this morning.

The Boss : "Don't forget you have to sort out that load to France today."

Here's me : "Done, sorted it yesterday."

The Boss : "And that container for Romania."

Here's me : "Yeah, that's sorted too."

The Boss : "And there's those two trucks going to Rigger."

Here's me even though I know full well what she means : "Rigger?"

The Boss : "Rigga..."

Here's me : "Riga?"

The Boss : "Yeah, don't forget to sort those."

Here's me : "They're already sorted."

The Boss : "And those documents for Francis."

Here's me : "Posted them yesterday."

The Boss : "With the right exchange rate?"

Here's me : "Yes, checked it, 1.64"

The Boss : "I was sure it was 1.63"

Here's me waving a piece of paper : "No, 1.64, look."

The Boss : "But did you remember to take off the fuel surcharge?"

Here's me : "Yes."

The Boss : "And you need to sort out that van in Tilbury."

Here's me : "Sorted it last night."

The Boss, accusingly : "And you were supposed to phone Terry first thing this morning."

Here's me, wearily : "I'll phone him now."

The Boss, angrily : "Why haven't you haven't phoned him already?"

Here's me, resignedly : "Because since I sat down you have been telling me to do an endless list of things that I've already done?"

The Boss : "Well, if I didn't keep prodding you, you'd never do anything."



Pass me a hammer.

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?"

Here's me : "AS. I PREVIOUSLY. STATED. SHE. IS. OUT. OF. THE. OFFICE. UNTIL. THURSDAY. IS. THERE. ANYTHING. I. CAN. HELP. YOU. WITH?"

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.

Down With This Sort of Thing

The Boss : "Where's Honkey-joke?"

Here's me : "Er... dunno, what's the punchline?"

The Boss : "Honky-jokey?"

Here's me : "Um... Honkajoki? Finland?"

The Boss : "No, it's in Denmark. I thought you knew everything."

That's a blood-boiler right there. I hear that phrase a couple of times a week, any time I don't know the answer to some nonsense question. It appears that I give the impression of being A Smartarse. This is probably because I am usually right. No, no shit, I am. I have a habit of not opening my mouth at all until I think and/or seek information, and of not just saying the first random-asspiss-thought that comes to mind, which means that in here, I'm quite often correct. This is plainly causing a lot of irritation. Perhaps I should blurt out inanities more often, in order to be accepted or something.

So anyway I go and read what's on The Boss's screen and it's "Havkajak", which is indeed in Denmark. I don't know for certain how it's pronounced but if it's enunciated "Honkey-Jokey" I'll actually fry and eat my own member.