Monday, November 29, 2004

Bad Review 

At the company where I work, everybody falls into one of two distinct camps: those who have never heard of me, and those who think I’m weird.
Following last week’s email cock up, not my first and probably not my last, there’s been a majority swing from former to latter. Shit happens, etc. It won’t last.

On Thursday afternoon and Friday my in tray spilled over with spoof emails from co-workers, requesting my considered advise on a variety of delicate matters, and fair enough I suppose. People love to take the piss, and my role here is to facilitate that.
But by this afternoon the joke had worn a bit thin, and the odd mail still trickled in. My replies became a little more direct.

Dear Tim,
For six months I’ve been seeing a kind and loving man from London, and now he says he wants to take me up the Arsenal. I’ve always been a Wanderers fan. What should I do?

Hello Uncertain,
It’s Keith from accounts again, isn’t it?
Piss off and do some work, you creepy hippy.

Terry was frosty with me all day Friday, but today there have been signs of a thaw. The ice began to melt and he asked me to show him the original email that I’d replied to - he’d already guessed that Diana must have been the sender.

“She got that bit wrong,” he said, puffing his cheeks indignantly. He had the disgruntled air of a writer whinging over a bad review. “The first time we spoke was when Tabs came in for her interview. Get your facts right.”

“Anything else? You know how Diana loves to be corrected.”

There wasn’t, not really. She’d got the rest of it pretty much spot on -“What about the fantastic sex bit?” “Don’t push your luck,” he answered, trying to suppress a smile - and then he hit delete and hasn’t mentioned it since.

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