Thursday, October 06, 2005
The Light At The End Of The Tunnel Is The Light Of An Oncoming Train
It’s been madder than mad. I haven’t had time to fart.
The big news from work is that Bill Surname, Chief Executive Officer, has rejected a series of buy out bids from Jumped Up Yobs In Suits Corporation. He told them to stick their money where the sun don’t shine, which is ironic considering that’s exactly what they were trying to do. It’s impossibly gloomy around here.
I had money on him taking the cash and legging it: doing a bit of travelling, filling the house up with Rickenbackers, pottering around the garden indefinitely and watching The L Word. I would have.
Instead, he thinks he’s turned around the mildly harrowing experience of almost being taken over to his own advantage. Something about the cut of their jibs must have appealed, because he’s “persuaded” the Four Horsepersons Of The Apocalypse to come and work for Company X. We’re all colleagues now. They’re just a bunch of crooks on the make. It’s a terrible idea.
They can’t shake the habit of looking at you with complete disgust. It’s their entire world view. One poor sod made an innocuous comment in a team meeting last week and for the difference it made, he may as well have said “Hey guys! Why don’t we all have a communal dump, right here? It’ll be a gas!” They took him out and kicked his head in.
Stella, my eighties style yuppie witch of a team leader, has responded with a bit of a shuffle. The long and short is that Mike and Terry now spend a lot more time out and about on customer sites - or taking the piss, as it’s also called - while the short and curly is that I’m more deskbound than ever and my workload has doubled, maybe trebled, in recent weeks.
Everybody wants everything now and they seem to think that constantly bombarding me with those awful instant messenger thingies - surely a greater threat to the well being of the planet than global warming and George W combined - will help them deliver their shitty little projects on time.
I bumped into Neil, my former team leader, this morning. He’s been out in the car park for the last couple of weeks, digging a big hole in the ground. It’s quite impressive, actually. Sometimes it fills up with rain, other days it all but drains away. You can imagine jumping in and never hitting the bottom.
He was wearing muddy workman’s boots and an orange vest. On the back it read “Your donkey jacket would look good on my bedroom floor.”
He told me he was digging for victory. I said the light at the end of the tunnel is the light of an oncoming train.
The big news from work is that Bill Surname, Chief Executive Officer, has rejected a series of buy out bids from Jumped Up Yobs In Suits Corporation. He told them to stick their money where the sun don’t shine, which is ironic considering that’s exactly what they were trying to do. It’s impossibly gloomy around here.
I had money on him taking the cash and legging it: doing a bit of travelling, filling the house up with Rickenbackers, pottering around the garden indefinitely and watching The L Word. I would have.
Instead, he thinks he’s turned around the mildly harrowing experience of almost being taken over to his own advantage. Something about the cut of their jibs must have appealed, because he’s “persuaded” the Four Horsepersons Of The Apocalypse to come and work for Company X. We’re all colleagues now. They’re just a bunch of crooks on the make. It’s a terrible idea.
They can’t shake the habit of looking at you with complete disgust. It’s their entire world view. One poor sod made an innocuous comment in a team meeting last week and for the difference it made, he may as well have said “Hey guys! Why don’t we all have a communal dump, right here? It’ll be a gas!” They took him out and kicked his head in.
Stella, my eighties style yuppie witch of a team leader, has responded with a bit of a shuffle. The long and short is that Mike and Terry now spend a lot more time out and about on customer sites - or taking the piss, as it’s also called - while the short and curly is that I’m more deskbound than ever and my workload has doubled, maybe trebled, in recent weeks.
Everybody wants everything now and they seem to think that constantly bombarding me with those awful instant messenger thingies - surely a greater threat to the well being of the planet than global warming and George W combined - will help them deliver their shitty little projects on time.
I bumped into Neil, my former team leader, this morning. He’s been out in the car park for the last couple of weeks, digging a big hole in the ground. It’s quite impressive, actually. Sometimes it fills up with rain, other days it all but drains away. You can imagine jumping in and never hitting the bottom.
He was wearing muddy workman’s boots and an orange vest. On the back it read “Your donkey jacket would look good on my bedroom floor.”
He told me he was digging for victory. I said the light at the end of the tunnel is the light of an oncoming train.

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