Not a day goes by in my new job that I don’t think: made for blogging. But then the common sense fairy touches my shoulder and I step away from the keyboard. This is anonymous enough I think. Recently I had to speak to someone who had been disappointed by a communication from me. I tried to assuage his disappointment with further communications but he went for a prolonged sulk. Finally he had to leave the sulky room and telephone me and during the conversation we had to talk about money. I gave him some figures and explained that £460 was what he was starting with and if he wanted some other things including he would have a further £150 to pay, making £610 in total.
No, it’s £510 he tells me.
£610 I confirm (frantically checking that I have added correctly)
My dear girl he continued, I think you’ll find that it’s £510. His sneer was audible down the phone line. I imagined him sitting in his velour armchair with the antimacassar placed exactly central on the chair back. He might possibly be wearing a grey cardigan.
Somehow I managed not to call him my dear man or even fuckwit and I gave him a relatively gentle lesson in maths.
After the call was finished my colleague said I was rather hoping you’d tell him to get stuffed but I suppose it’s not the done thing. My colleague is not meant to think things like that, far less articulate them.