A zen-like calm existed in the office this week. We sailed into smoother waters thanks to the Obersturmbannführer taking a few days leave. A result for us but a loss for our European cousins who will have to endure her elephantine tramp and waspish tongue as she steamrolls across the continent fueled on cheap sausage meat and lager.

However, it’s important to remember in our harbour of calm that life is dialectical and a rhythm of opposites. So, back to the misery on Monday morning.

 

My boss insisted I read an email circular about voluntary redundancy at work.

“Why?” I asked knowing that I didn’t quality for the scheme.

“I have to make sure you’ve all read it,” she replied like some pre-programmed cyborg.

“Well, I don’t qualify and you know I don’t qualify so what’s the point?”

“The point is you need to know about it.”

“Why do I need to know about it? I don’t qualify.”

“I said are you going to read it?” (Her voice has crept up a couple quavers on the scale by now).

“No.”

Another productive day on the office.

 

The boss made a big song and dance about appropriate office cover before flouncing off on holiday. It’s a tad rich considering she is never in the office because of various meetings.

Lo and behold who is the only person in today while she is staggering around some eastern European fleshpot drunk on cheap lager and pork scratchings?

I can only hope a rhino escapes from the Zoo of Bratislavia and there is a terrible accident which leaves her in plaster for a few weeks. It will allow the rest of us to regain our sanity and pull back from bricking her up behind a wall.

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