Tuesday, August 23, 2005
no talking in class
I am sitting in a room where people go to the 'UK' for meetings and say 'Alrighty' or 'Righty' when agreeing with each other.
The meeting is already on 5 to 10 minutes by the time I slink in the door and push my way into a spare wall space, all the seats having been taken by the various layers of lower and middle management, prefect's in past lives surely?
I turn to discreetly ask the girl next to me had I "missed anything of note? Anyone else hand in their notice yet?"
Her snigger momentarily distracted Number 1 in mid flow on the merits of contacting old school friends who may be in positions of influence in the world of commerce. Golf being his preferred method for bonding and bringing in potential revenue streams for 'the company'.
His glare was psychotic. He looked through us with a contempt that only a bully who has never been challenged or had a fight in his life would consider. He was headmaster to our naughty pupils. He was omnipotent. He was Number 1.
After a measured pause, he continued.
Apparently there was a slush fund available to finance these little outings.
One of the familiars from his inner circle had apparently led the way in this area over the weekend and so pleased was Number 1 by this show of ingenious brown nosing that from now it was to become official company policy by diktat.
His flunky, who I call Smithers after guy in The Simpsons, was beaming with pride. I noticed that he had somehow managed to co-ordinate the same pink polo shirt as Number 1 (having already mastered the same haircut the week previous. I had taken to wearing black again.
As the topic went on to marketing institute Power Breakfast's and the like, my mind drifted off to MY old school friends.
I wondered if I could round up a few of them would we have access to this slush fund?
I know a few of them are in prison (although I think they're out now). Most of them are probably builders and engineers, musicians, drunks and unemployed.
I couldn't think on anyone who would be deemed suitable for a round of golf and a chat about marketing over some Chablis.
I was glad.
Another part of me left today.
But I'm still a wageslave stuck in marketing hell.
Help.
The meeting is already on 5 to 10 minutes by the time I slink in the door and push my way into a spare wall space, all the seats having been taken by the various layers of lower and middle management, prefect's in past lives surely?
I turn to discreetly ask the girl next to me had I "missed anything of note? Anyone else hand in their notice yet?"
Her snigger momentarily distracted Number 1 in mid flow on the merits of contacting old school friends who may be in positions of influence in the world of commerce. Golf being his preferred method for bonding and bringing in potential revenue streams for 'the company'.
His glare was psychotic. He looked through us with a contempt that only a bully who has never been challenged or had a fight in his life would consider. He was headmaster to our naughty pupils. He was omnipotent. He was Number 1.
After a measured pause, he continued.
Apparently there was a slush fund available to finance these little outings.
One of the familiars from his inner circle had apparently led the way in this area over the weekend and so pleased was Number 1 by this show of ingenious brown nosing that from now it was to become official company policy by diktat.
His flunky, who I call Smithers after guy in The Simpsons, was beaming with pride. I noticed that he had somehow managed to co-ordinate the same pink polo shirt as Number 1 (having already mastered the same haircut the week previous. I had taken to wearing black again.
As the topic went on to marketing institute Power Breakfast's and the like, my mind drifted off to MY old school friends.
I wondered if I could round up a few of them would we have access to this slush fund?
I know a few of them are in prison (although I think they're out now). Most of them are probably builders and engineers, musicians, drunks and unemployed.
I couldn't think on anyone who would be deemed suitable for a round of golf and a chat about marketing over some Chablis.
I was glad.
Another part of me left today.
But I'm still a wageslave stuck in marketing hell.
Help.
# posted by mydaysasawageslave @ 5:42 AM 
