Thursday, March 18, 2004

Days Of Speed 

Now there'd be a certain (not to say cheesy) symmetry if my bruise resembled Lisa Simpson. But it doesn't, or not yet it doesn't anyway. If the situation changes, you'll read it here first.

I've never been entirely sure what the difference is between an Account Manager and a Salesman. What I do know is that all our Account Managers are as snappy and insecure as jack russells on acid, while all the Salesmen think they are God's gift to industry. One thing is certain though: their common purpose is to re-allocate financial resource from other peoples' companies to ours with maximum haste and minimum effort. At the end of the game, the company with the most money wins.

Staff turnover happens at a head spinning pace with Account Managers. They have three months to prove themselves, and if they don't cut the mustard, bring home the bacon, they are shown the door. A lot of them don't even last that long, pressing the eject button themselves in order to be spared the inevitable humiliation.
They work stupid hours, all of them on a short fuse. They hurtle themselves around the country at terrifying speed, buzzing with adrenalin like footballers on the way to a strip club, whacked out of their heads on energy drinks and amphetamines.
The business deals they undertake are nearly always the ones that give you the most grief later down the road, long after they've gone and blown up.

Salesmen on the other hand are super cool. They've always got time to stand around and joke. Most of their days are spent dissing each other's cars, and they look and behave like they're living out some wretched Gillette advert fantasy. They are unapologetically flash, but much worse than that, they can be unspeakably rude, often to people who have done absolutely nothing to deserve their wrath, caretakers and cleaners included. They utterly believe in their own misplaced sense of superiority. There’s nothing in particular that I dislike about them most.
This afternoon there are ten of them sitting on the wall outside my window, lined up like the green bottles in the song. I take careful aim, and one by one, watch each of them accidentally fall.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Copyright(c) 2004-2010 by Tim, A Free Man In Preston.
It kind of goes without saying, but this is my blog. I own it.

Slightly daft MP3 disclaimer: All MP3's are posted here for a limited time only. Music is not posted here with the intention to profit or violate copyright. In the unlikely event that you are the creator or copyright owner of a song published on this site and you want it to be removed, let me know.