Sunday, August 21, 2005

Smash It Up 

“Due diligence is the process by which a purchaser of or an investor in a company or business investigates the records of the target to support its value and find out whether there are ‘skeletons in the cupboard’. Professional reports from accountants and solicitors may be included.”

Representatives from Jumped Up Yobs In Suits Corporation are performing due diligence on Company X this very minute. It’s a bit like when two dogs meet for the first time and sniff each other’s arses to decide whether romance is in the air and rogering is on the table.
They’ve been snooping around for a while now, cocking their legs wherever it suits them. They’re here when you turn up for work and they’re still here when you go home. Their SUVs - blacked out windows, wanky registration plates, wheels wider than bungalows - never seem to leave the car park.
Bill Surname calls them prospective business partners but they’re hooligans by any other name. You just know that the baton charge is their preferred management style. They’re always watching.
It's not conducive to a happy working environment and we never had one of those in the first place.

Stella’s response has been to bury her head in a barrage of psycho-babble. She’s constantly revising her magnum opus, a whiteboard awash with meaningless gibberish that she’s picked up from God knows where. The current status report:

Feeling moderately eager with high expectations? Distressed? Angry? Where do I fit? What is expected of me? Do it, delegate it, wish away your troubles? I need to find a place and establish myself. Come on over to my place: let’s do business. Customer’s who bought books by Margaret Thatcher also bought books by these authors: Ronald Reagan, Mikhail Gorbachev, Alex Comfort. My girlfriend was blown away just hours after I read this book. Dependant on authority and hierarchy? Some of the techniques taught will make your performance above average.

A maelstrom of messages. On Friday morning I wandered into her office to find her rubbing one out. I apologised and said I’d come back in ten minutes.
“No Tim,” she insisted. “Stay. You might learn something.”
I said “Do you think they have webbed feet underneath their jack boots?”
In its place she wrote “Bend it, mend it, skip dinner, smoke yourself thinner.” She looked at me expectantly.
I took a marker pen and wrote “Run it up a flagpole and see who sets fire to it.”

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