Wednesday, January 12, 2005

Save Me 

We have a secret signal.

It’s for when you’ve been cornered by some boring bastard who thinks that telling you about the great deal he did on his new Audi Dementia passes for interesting conversation, and then won’t stop.

This morning I was alone in our room when creepy Keith from accounts pounced, telling me the best way to avoid the road works at Hang Yourself Lane - why? why are you telling me this? - and what great fuel consumption he’s getting - please leave me alone, you tedious waste of oxygen - now that the garage has cleared his anal passage, or something. Somebody save me, I don’t want to die like this, of boredom.

Stella, God bless her, came to my rescue. The signal is that you do something with your thumbs. Rub your thumbs together, suck them, gesticulate wildly with them, poke them against the side of your head until blood seeps from your ears - just do something thumb related. I gave her a cheerful / desperate / not at all ludicrous thumbs up when she entered the room and she sprung to action.

Your rescuer phones you but remains silent, allowing you to pretend it’s an important call from a customer - sorry Keith, I’ve got to take this, I’ll speak to you later, yeah? How about when Hell freezes over? - and then it’s up to you to ad-lib for dear life, not unlike Kenneth Williams in the 1971 classic “Carry On Hoping Cabbage Face Will Go Away Soon”.

Feel free to try this yourself. Remember to exchange “Keith” for whatever your own bore is called. But strangely, it nearly always is a Keith, isn’t it? Now why is that?

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