Wednesday, March 31, 2004

Charlotte Sometimes 

These days I tend to spend my lunch hour dining al desko, listening to music on headphones and trawling for amusing blogs. Today I’m enjoying the sublime electronic rhythms of Boards of Canada at blood letting volume, and engaging in a spot of scurrilous e-banter with Terry.
Charlotte, the CEO‘s personal assistant, today resplendent in a preposterous pink power suit and black shawl, hair and make-up by Robert Smith, has been charging round the office all day, timing herself with a stopwatch and recording her observations on a clipboard. It’s as if she’s in training for the hyperactive executive Olympics. Each circuit is more frantic than the last. Me and Terry have been recording our own observations via the miracle of internet chat.
On her final lap, she virtually hurls herself into our room, swishing dramatically like Barbie at a Batman audition.
“WTF???” I tap at my keyboard.
“WTF???” he responds, and looks up to stare at me quizzically. He shrugs his shoulders and mouths the words “What’s WTF?”
“WHAT THE FUCK!!!” I reply, a great deal louder, thanks to the headphones, than strictly necessary.

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