Edge of Darkness

The Boss : "How would I get an out-of-gauge piece from Dublin..."

Here's me : "Yes?"

The Boss : "To Dublin?"

Here's me : "No no no NO NO NO. To where? It's not from Dublin to fucking Dublin, so from Dublin to where? To Felixestowe? To New York? Rotterdam? The North Pole? To Russia, maybe? To fucking Xing-Gang?!?"

There might well be spittle hanging from my mouth here. Enough is enough.

There is a tense stand-off. Our eyes meet. Mine are probably still swivelling slightly. Her own are a terrifying dead-calm. What is she thinking, in these seconds? What machinations is her brain conceiving, what terrible revenge? What shall she say, to punish my outburst and the sin of losing my fucking rag over being asked yet again a fucking nonsense question? I can't bear it. The seconds seem to stretch away into hours. Still we stare at each other, and her features betray no emotion; her eyes are the abyss Nietzsche spoke of, into which I have gazed for far too long, now gazing back at me.

The Boss, now smiling, breaks into song : "Xing-Gang-Ging, Gooly-Gooly-Gooly, Xing-Gang-Ging, Xing-Gang-Ging, Xing-Gang-Ging, Gooly-Gooly-Gooly, Xing-Gang-Ging, Xing-Gang-Ging, Xing-Gang-Ging!"


..and, now very happily singing this, she seemingly forgets all about the above exchange and turns back to her computer.

Mickey Fucking Mouse

The Boss : “Will you have a price for Nicola today?”

Here’s me : “I did it on Monday.”

The Boss : “And?”

Here’s me : “It was too expensive. I offered her £1800, she says she’s getting it for £1500. Our costs are £1600. I’m looking at other ways of getting it there.”

The Boss : “You should look at other ways of getting it there.”

Here’s me : *sigh* “I am looking at other ways of getting it there. Doing it direct with a haulier seems to be the best way.”

The Boss : “She’s probably doing it direct with a haulier. You should look into that.”

Here’s me : *sigh* “I am looking into that.”

The Boss : “She’s probably using Mickey Mouse.”*

I’m just picturing this for a second.

Here’s me : “Mickey. Fucking. Mouse.”

The Boss : “Morris Rice. Reese. She’s probably using Morris Reese.”

* This happens all the fucking time. You may be familiar with the usage of “Mickey Mouse” to refer to a small or amateurish business operation – you know, as in “They’re a Mickey Mouse outfit” – this has always struck me as slightly bizarre usage in any context, for the obvious reasons – I mean “They’re a Mickey Mouse outfit” – what, so they’re an internationally recognisable multi-billion-dollar global franchise? That’s not what you mean, I’m sure. But anyway, with The Boss, this phrase has entered her lexicon and she now believes it is acceptable to use “Mickey Mouse” to refer to any company she can’t currently remember the name of.


Ah, SHIT! I can’t believe I didn’t include "Mickey Mouse" in the Wankword Bingo. Dammit.

What's In a Name?

So, as explained, The Boss is in Paris. The event in Paris is a construction machinery exhibition, where various makers of construction machinery (the shipping of which is our bread and butter, so to speak) demonstrate new models, etc.

So The Boss phoned, again, just now :

"Have you heard of a German company called Bo.."

Here's me : "Bo...?"

The Boss On Crackly Line Through Useless Handsfree Kit In Noisy Environement : "Bo-matic.."

Here's me : "Um, no."

The Boss : "They seem like a massive company, they have lots of stands here."

Here's me : "Hang on.. is it 'Baumaschinen'"?

The Boss : "Yeah, do you know them then?"

Here's me : "Ahhh....."


('Baumaschinen' is German for 'Construction Machinery')