Where are my exam results? Not, it appears, waiting for me in reception at work. What! Outrageous! Is this not the week commencing the thirty-first of August? What the… whatever, it’s not worth worrying about, especially as I’ve been waiting since 24th June for these results. So what’s another week? Pish! More alarmingly, my Belle and Sebastian comic hasn’t arrived yet either. So it goes.
My boss called me into her office to talk about the report that I gave her two weeks ago, and that she hasn’t yet read. As ridiculous as that sounds, that’s just how she rolls.
“So, have you included…?”
“Yes, it’s on page…”
“And how about…?”
“Yes, it’s under section…”
“Well, could you make sure that you include it, please?”
And that was it. Ramble time. We got to talking about a report that my boss had written that was presented in absentia at a meeting she couldn’t attend. There was some opposition to some of the things that the paper recommended by some people at the meeting.
“They’re after me,” she said, “I know they are. It’s another plot. They want me out.”
I wasn’t so sure. They’d disagreed with her views in a forum for debate. Debate is about thrust and counter-thrust, balancing points against each other. Not about personalities. She went on.
“I don’t trust him, especially. He’s always very nicey-nicey when you’re there face to face with him, but he’s sly – very sly – and I think he’s up to something. We have to be very careful, you know.”
We have to be? Hello, are you mental?
“Just bear that in mind.”
I went to the pub with Chas, an astonishingly talented Polish admin officer from our team. The communication is poor on their side of the room. Middle Manager is worse than my boss at handling people. Some of us went to the room of doom in Moss Side to measure up for furniture last week; Chas’s team haven’t been told that we’re definitely moving. What a crock of shit.
Chas watches Terminator 2 every couple of months. He likes formula one, and fears that robots will one day take over the world.