Today
I crashed back into normality with such force I left a crater the size of
Alaska.
The
joys of a relaxed Bank Holiday disintegrated into a dark cloud of Management
Wankspeak and Head Office Pressure from a group of ‘higher-uppers’ who seemed
distraught to be back at work for the first time in five days and determined to
take it out on those below them.
Tossers.
Anyway
– I battled on through the pain and managed to visit all 4 garages I control in
one day, which is no small achievement (especially given that every few minutes
I had to reply to another pointless, but apparently urgent, e-mail from Those
Above Me.)
We
were selling off Easter Eggs at a ridiculously low price, and I’m guessing
there must be a website somewhere on which the gluttonous masses of Suffolk
notify each other when there is cheap chocolate to be had, because we had a
constant stream of fat-arsed, manky-skinned, American-looking Neanderthals
streaming into each garage to fill their bingo-winged arms with goodies to take
home and indulge in.
It
turned my stomach, but at least the shelves are empty now and we can fill them
up with sun-care products. Nothing like a hot weekend to get your senior
management orgasmic about cashing in on the After-Sun.
RC 23-4-19
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